#( v. beneath the crimson moon || blood moon )

[vulpinekiss]

Tag dump 2: Skin verses

[memoriakissed]

Tag drop: Fixed Verse Tags

[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (iv)

FOUR - MOON AND STARS

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 9.8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, graphic descriptions of violence, smut, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, p in v

“Fuck, Eris,” you moan.

He slaps your leg harshly in a wordless command to keep your voice down as he buries himself further between your thighs. 

You’re not quite sure how you ended up here, pressed up against a bookshelf with Eris on his knees beneath you, your leg swung over his shoulder as he feasts on you like a man starved. You’re sure the myriads of ancient philosophers behind you are rolling over in their graves right now. But with the way he’s suckling on your clit like it’s his last day on Earth, you can’t complain.

You bite down on your lip so hard you can taste blood to keep the sounds at bay, but he seems determined to make your job impossible as he curls a finger against that delicious spot deep inside you. Your legs tremble violently as you feel your high approaching, and you grip onto his crimson hair for dear life. He can feel you clench around his fingers, and he flicks his tongue against your clit at a punishing speed.

“Eris, I’m—”

Your lips part in a silent gasp as you reach your peak. The ecstasy coursing through your veins is dizzying, and your legs fall limp. Eris holds you steady as he continues his ministrations, riding you through your orgasm until the overstimulation is too much and you’re pushing his head away. You glance down shyly through spotted vision to find up looking up at you, grinning like a devil. He pulls your panties back into place and eases your leg off his shoulder before rising to his full height. He taps his thumb against your mouth, and you part your lips obediently. He dips his fingers into your mouth, and you wrap your lips around them. Your cheeks flare at the taste of your own arousal, and he groans as you swirl your tongue around his fingers, sucking them clean.

“Always so good for me, Little Bird,” he murmurs while pressing a chaste kiss on the shell of your ear.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and dips down to your height to capture your lips in a slow, but sensual, kiss. 

“I think I like you better on your knees,” you mumble into his mouth. 

He grins against your lips, “I’d gladly spend eternity on my knees for you.”

You sink your teeth into his bottom lip teasingly, “If I’d known that all it takes to defeat the Fox is spread my legs, I would’ve dropped my dress a long time ago.”

He nips you back harder, “Don’t mistake my insatiable appetite for weakness, darling.”

Despite the playfulness of his words, there’s an underlying warning that makes your skin prickle with thrill. You whine in protest as he pulls away. He wipes his thumb over his mouth, collecting the remaining evidence of your tryst, before sucking it between swollen lips. 

“As much as I would love to stay hidden with you between bookshelves all day,” he smooths down the front of your wrinkled dress, “I do have a meeting to get to.”

Your lips dip into an exaggerated pout and you reach up to fix his tousled hair, “What will I ever do without you?”

The lilt of your teasing tone elicits a toothy grin.

“Allow me to walk you out,” he intertwines your fingers with his.

You frown and keeping your feet planted in your spot despite his efforts to guide you away, “Can I stay for a bit longer? I was hoping to get through the late Lady Margrave’s anthology before I was so rudely interrupted.”

His lips twitch upwards, but you can see the hesitancy in his eyes.

“I’d rather not leave you here alone,” he maintains.

You raise your hand to his face, rubbing your thumb along his jawline in a coaxing manner, “I promise I won’t be long. And Sage will keep an eye on me,” you reference the smokehound who is currently sleeping soundly in her favorite spot in front of the fireplace.  

He purses his lips, and groans as you teasingly trail your touch down the sensitive skin behind his pointed ear, “You are the devil.”

“I learned from the best,” you muse as you place a swift kiss on the corner of his lips, “Is that a yes?”

“A reluctant one,” he quips, “Only if you promise not to stray from the library—in and out.”

“Promise.”

With your fingers metaphorically crossed behind your back, you don’t feel an ounce of guilt lying through your teeth. 

He rubs his thumb along your knuckles before hesitantly pulling away, “’Till we meet again?”

You flash a coy smile, “’Till we meet again.”

Your shoulders slump with relief as he winnows away in a flash before he can change his mind about letting you stay. You pat your hair down and adjust the skirt of your dress before wandering back towards the front of the library. Sage twitches softly as you take a seat on the couch behind her and pick up your book. The fire warms you as you mindlessly page through the anthology, biding your time before you plot your next search of the house. Your eyes flick back and forth between the text in front of you and the grandfather clock in the corner, your leg bouncing with anticipation. Once the clock strikes 11:00, you deem fifteen minutes to be an acceptable waiting period. You shut the book and place it on the small table beside you, knowing that it will be magically reshelved. Sage sluggishly lifts her head when you rise to your feet, and you give her a soothing scratch between her ears.

“You’ll keep quiet about this, won’t you?” you coo as if she’s a loving pet, rather than a vicious animal.

She merely blinks at you, vermillion eyes unbothered.

An uncomfortable feeling settles in your chest. Eris must really trust you if this creature he’s trained to kill doesn’t so much as bat an eye at your snooping. You give her one last stroke before rising to your fall height and setting off towards the grand, oak doors. You slowly creak them open, peering out to make sure the hallway is empty before exiting. 

The chronically dim light of the hallways works to your advantage as you slink along the shadows in the corridors. This is risky—much riskier than you last venture, as the clock hasn’t even struck noon yet. There are sure to be guards and Vanserras lurking behind every corner. But with only two weeks left to uncover Eris’s true intentions, time is ticking. It’s been difficult keeping Rhys’s incessant pestering at bay, and you’re not sure when you’ll get another opportunity to search through the house with Eris’s constant watchful eye. 

You don’t rush through your movements this time. You empty your mind of everything except Azriel’s map, your eyes and ears at high alert. Beron’s office is about a mile and a half from the library, four floors up. With your creeping pace it will take at least thirty minutes to get there, so you can’t afford even a momentary lapse in focus. You approach your first guard and hold your breath as they unknowingly pass you. You keep your side pressed against the wall as you continue, your footsteps feather-light.

The Mother must be on your side, as you finally make it to the right hallway without running into a single Vanserra. You presume that Eris’s brothers must be with him at whatever meeting he is currently attending. The hair on your arms stands on end as you approach a large, scarlet door. Of course it’s red, you think to yourself. You pause, scanning both ends of the hallway. You wait a few beats, looking out for any unexpected guests, before emerging from the shadows and approaching the blood-colored door. You press your ear against the wood, listening carefully for any breathing or movements. You can sense some wards inside the room, but thankfully none on the door. So, with a deep breath, you wrap your hand around the doorknob.

Your heart beats at a thunderous pace as you creak the door open, inch by inch. Your shoulders slump with your relief as you are greeted with an empty, albeit ghastly, room. You hastily step inside and shut the door behind you before fully taking in your new surroundings.

Unlike Eris’s chambers and office which hold a warm glow, this room is…cold, to say the least. The walls are made of the same limestone in the hallways, and the floor is covered by a carpet the same shade of red as the door. In the center of the office sits a sleek, black desk. From what you’ve heard about the cruel High Lord, this is a fitting space.

You scan over the papers on his desk, careful not to move anything out of place. Nothing piques your interest, so you move to his cabinets. The first drawer slides open easily but contains no information you didn’t already know. You go to pull the second open, but frown at the ward keeping it sealed tight. You could use your spell-cleaving abilities—but doing so may alert Beron that someone went rifling through his office. With a sigh of frustration, you redirect your search to more discrete hiding places. 

You run a hand underneath the desk, and find a small, hidden compartment. You pull it out, and a rush of adrenaline surges through you as you stare down at the box full of correspondences with Brialynn. Although she is no longer a threat to Prythian, you eagerly rifle through them, hoping to find something that may reveal Beron’s next steps. But as you page through, your hope diminishes. Nothing useful—yet again. You carefully rearrange the parchment the same way you found it, and slot it back underneath the desk. 

“If I was a misogynistic tyrant, where would I hide my secrets?” you wonder aloud. 

You scale the room, running your hand along the bookshelf in the corner. Most of the books have collected so much dust, the titles are nearly impossible to read. But there’s a single binding in the corner catches your eye. It’s dust-free, unlike the others. You pull it out, but instantly regret your decision as you flip it open. You shouldn’t be surprised, really, that the only used book in Beron’s office is filled with obscene images of nude females. But that doesn’t stop your face from contorting with disgust. Despite the bile rising in your throat, you still flip through it just in case there is something of use buried within the explicit photographs. However, you are only met with disappointment and an even more blistering nausea as you come up short. You shove the book back in its place with a shudder. Pig.

Having searched every nook and cranny of the dreadful office, you’re at a loss. Your eyes land on that second warded drawer, and you bite your lip in contemplation. Is it worth the risk? You fish a spare coin from the depths of your pockets and pinch it tightly between your fingers. 

“Heads, cleave. Tails, don’t cleave,” you mutter to yourself.

If Rhys could see you know, he’d be screaming. Your lips twitch at the thought, and you throw the coin high in the air. It clatters against the desk and rolls around for a bit before landing.

Heads.

Cleave, it is.

You place both hands on the cabinet and shut your eyes. You take a deep breath in and dispel every lingering thought in your head with a slow exhale. You focus on the feeling of the cabinet at your fingertips, picture yourself physically sucking out every last drop of magic. A wet chill snakes across your hands, up your arms, as you twist and play with the magic, coaxing it to unfurl from the cabinet. Click.

Your eyes flutter open at the sound, and you find the drawer cracked open. A toothy grin stretches across your face as you grab the singular folder lying within. However, your smile drops instantly as you page through the contents: log after log of Eris’s whereabouts, finances, and even his smokehounds’ patrol patterns. Thankfully there’s nothing here that links Eris to the Night Court, but Beron knows about his monthly visits to the Spring Court. He knows his son is up to something. And if he finds out what, then…

Thunderous footsteps in the hallway break your train of thought. Your face pales, and you hastily shove the folder back inside the cabinet. Your hands tremble as you quickly put the ward back into place. Just as the lock of the drawer clicks, so does the blood red door swing open. 

You stand, frozen, as you stare into the cold, dark eyes of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. His lips are snarled, and his presence seems to engulf the whole room, but for some reason, his gaze isn’t fixed on you. He strides forward in three thunderous steps, and you stumble backwards to the other side of the desk, shaking like a leaf. But again, he seems to look right past you as he stops in front of the drawer where you were just stood moments earlier. Every survival instinct you have seems to vanish as you stand there, waiting for him to throw you in the dungeon, or better yet, execute you on the spot. But he doesn’t so much as look in your direction as he opens the cabinet and flips through the folder. 

Is he blind? How on Earth is he not seeing you?

You glance down at your trembling hands, and the silver ring sitting snugly around your  thumb winks at you. It couldn’t be—could it?

You creep backwards towards the door, and Beron slams the cabinet shut with a huff. 

“Must be a false alarm,” he grumbles under his breath.

He marches towards you, and you scramble out of the way just in time for him to brisk by. He swings the door shut with a slam behind him, and despite being left alone in the room, relief doesn’t wash over you. 

Your legs wobble as you reel over what just happened. You should be dead, or at the very least, behind bars. But by the grace of Eris, you’re standing here unscathed, despite feeling like your heart is seconds away from giving out. You stand unmoving for a few minutes, until the shock settles enough to make your escape.

The hallway is empty, and you don’t hesitate to slink into the shadows along the walls. You try your best to remain light-footed, but you can’t creep out the way you crept in. You all but run through the house, heart still pounding in your ears. Your stomach churns as you turn a corner and find yourself in a brightly lit passage—no shadows in sight. No sneaking through this one. If you get caught running, your near escape from death will be all for nothing. So, you take a deep breath before emerging from the shadows and setting into a steady stride. You breathe in and out with each step, counting your paces until you near the end of the stretch. Almost there.

But as you turn the corner, you collide with something hard.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eris stares down at you, wide-eyed.

Think quick, you urge yourself.

“I was just—I was just looking for a restroom, and I got lost,” you stammer.

Your tone is unconvincing. But you hope the lie is enough considering you aren’t, in fact, too far from the library he left you in.

His jaw clenches and he grips your upper arm tightly, pulling you into an alcove around the corner. You want to shrink under his scrutinizing glare, but keep your chin high.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” his tone is firm despite his hushed whisper.

Your force your lips upwards into an innocent smile, “You just scared me, that’s all.”

He purses his lips and studies you as if he can see straight through your lie. He sticks his head out into the hallway, checking to make sure you’re alone, before speaking in a low murmur, “You promised you’d be in and out.”

“I know,” you hook your pinky finger with his in an attempt to settle his unease, “I’m sorry. Really.”

His relaxes slightly into your touch, but the tension in his shoulders is still apparent.

“Let me walk you out,” he sighs, and you silently sing praises that he doesn’t press the subject further.

He pulls his hand away from yours but rests a hand against your lower back as he leads you down the hallway. You follow quietly, still on edge. Even as you exit the walls of the Forest House in favor of the chilling autumn wind, you remain silent. The two of you pass at least a dozen sentries on your journey through the courtyard, but with Eris by your side, they don’t so much as bat an eye. It isn’t until you’re at least twenty yards out of the golden gates that you halt and turn towards the crimson-haired man beside you.

“I really am sorry,” you blurt, “I didn’t mean any harm.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’m not angry with you, Little Bird,” his voice is warm, but holds a certain harshness as he continues, “But you must think me a fool if you believe I can’t sniff out a lie when I hear one.”

Your cheeks flush and you divert your gaze to the ground beneath you. Intermix lies with half-truths, if needed. He’s privy to others deceiving him, Azriel’s voice rings through your mind. You twist the ring around your thumb in thought before raising your hand, the silver glistening brightly underneath the beating sun. 

“What is this?” you deadpan, gesturing to the ring on your finger.

His eyes harden and his soft smile dips down, “I take it you met my father?”

“I ran into him in the hallways,” you speak with conviction this time to conceal your lie, “And I wasn’t looking for the washroom. I wanted to surprise you in your chambers, and I thought I could find my way there on my own.”

He scans your face as he mulls over your response. To your relief, he seems to take the bait.

“It’s something I picked up during the war on Hybern,” he finally answers your question, “When adorned, the wearer becomes invisible to any High Lord’s gaze.”

 Your lips part as you study the shining piece of jewelry on your thumb. You move to slide it off and return it, but his hand wraps around yours.

“I told you I want you to keep it,” he affirms. You open your mouth to protest, but he changes the subject before you get a chance, “When will I see you again?”

Your height weighs heavy, but you force on a playful smile, “Bold of you to assume I want to see you again.”

He matches your teasing tone, “Bold of you to lie again.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin betrays you.

“Tonight?”

His eyebrows shoot up and his grin widens, “So eager to see me again, aren’t you darling?”

Your eyes narrow into a glare, “I can always occupy myself with my filthy little romance novels,” you drawl.

“It would be cruel of me to leave you imagining my head between your thighs when I can show you the real thing,” he stalks closer to you with a wide-mouthed smirk, “Meet me here after nightfall. I’ll send you a signal when I’m ready.”

A red tint crawls up your neck at his sinful insinuation. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered, you raise your lips to his ear and whisper lowly, “’Till we meet again.”

Before he can respond, you winnow away in a flash. The dust-filled cabin greets you. You don’t bother discarding your boots or coat as you pace by the fire. What the hell do you do now? Telling Eris what you found in Beron’s office would mean blowing your cover, effectively ending your mission. But not telling him would mean putting him in danger. You run shaky fingers through your hair, pulling tightly at your roots as if the pain will give you some sort of answer. 

You tug desperately at your connection with Rhys, screaming down through the cobblestone tunnels of your mind. Your patience is wearing thin, and the walls of the cabin seem to shrink in closer with each pacing step. 

Are you okay?

Finally, Rhys’s voice chimes through and you feel like you can breathe again.

I found something, you skip the niceties, in Beron’s office.

You can hear the frown in his voice as he replies, I thought I told you to stay far, far away from him.

You roll your eyes and choose to ignore his chastising, Do you want to hear what I found or not?

Obviously, he quips, irritation clearly laced in his tone.

Beron knows Eris is up to something, you cut straight to the point, I’m unclear on the extent of his knowledge—I had to get out of there before I could really comb through it all. But he knows Eris is sneaking around behind his back.

There’s a prolonged pause, and you hold your breath as you wait for Rhys’s response.

That’s it?

Your eyes widen in incredulity, and you hiss over the connection, What do you mean ‘that’s it’? Eris is in danger.

I mean that’s not our problem to deal with, and your job is to dig up information on Eris, not Beron.

The nonchalance in his voice makes your blood boil.

It most certainly is our problem if Beron is out for blood. If he makes a move against Eris before Eris gets to him, not only is our alliance with Autumn shot, but so is Prythian stuck with Beron as High Lord for another eternity.

You don’t attempt to hide the distress in your voice—even if you risk revealing more than you intend about your feelings towards the Autumn Court heir. 

You’re right, Rhys reluctantly replies.

You head lulls back in relief, I know I am. 

I’ll have Cassian tip Eris off when they next meet in Spring, Rhys decides.

You frown. Cassian and Eris meet on a monthly basis in the Spring Court, and if you remember correctly, they aren’t due to meet again until you leave Autumn.

You need to inform him sooner, you argue, What if Beron makes a move before then?

If we tip him off now, that may very well expose you. And my first priority is your safety, not the sly bastard’s.

Much to your displeasure, Rhys’s tone is firm and leaves no room for discussion. 

Fine, you bitterly relent.

You raise the cobblestone barriers of you mind before he can reply. You know it’s childish and rude, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You were already on edge, and now your mood has been soured even further. 

“Stupid High Lords,” you grumble while kicking the dust underneath your feet, “What ever happened to democracy?”

Democracy hasn’t existed in Prythian in at least a millennia. But that doesn’t stop you from fantasizing about a world in which it does—a world void of archaic classist ideologies, misogyny, and most importantly, pompous High Lords who have a stick so far up their ass they can’t see straight. You lay on your bed, still fully clothed, and stare up the ceiling as you immerse yourself in your imaginary land. Maybe it could be ruled by females—warriors like the Valkyries. Education would be a universal right. A soft smile tugs at your lips at the thought of it. Maybe you could work teaching younglings, fae and humans alike, the works of Tydeus and his scholarly counterparts. Or maybe you’d be a scholar yourself, travelling from territory to territory, documenting the lives of each kind of resident because everyone’s story deserves to be told.

Anxiety still grips you like a vice—but dwelling on it would be futile. So, you close your eyes and keep building your dream wor;d. And for just a moment, you let yourself slip away from the harsh reality of your predicament.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Meet me after nightfall, he said, I’ll send you a signal, he said.

Night has fallen. It fell nearly four hours ago, in fact. And as the clock nears midnight, there’s still no signal in sight. 

You’ve been trying your best to busy yourself—folding clothes, reading, tending to the fire. But with each minute that ticks by, your patience thins and your worry grows. He’s probably still wrapped up in whatever business he has. But after your revelation in Beron’s office that morning, you can’t help but picture a grimmer scenario. 

As the long hand of the clock passes the 12, your resolve crumbles. You hastily pull on your boots and drape a cloak over your shoulders. Before you can talk yourself out of it, the world twists and folds and you find yourself in the spot outside the golden gates where you left him earlier that day.

It’s deadly silent, the only sound coming from the large oak trees rustling against the wind. The stars twinkle bright above, giving you some source of light as you scale the area. You keep quiet, eyes and ears alert for any sign of life. 

A sinister feeling rolls through your gut. Something’s wrong. You’re not sure how, or why, but you can sense it—clear as the night sky in Velaris.

You calmly approach the golden gates, chin held high as the sentries come into view. They look over you in a scrutinizing manner, but don’t make any movement to stop you as you pass underneath the glistening arch. Once through, you conceal yourself in the shadows as you scale the courtyard and head towards the closest entry to Eris’s chambers.

The moment you enter the Forest House, the sinking feeling in your stomach grows. You make quick work of the stairwells and hallways, moving swiftly but remaining in the shadows to avoid detection. This time, the image of Azriel’s map doesn’t guide you—rather, your body moves on its own accord, as if being tugged along by some otherworldly force. Your steps falter as you approach the oak doors of Eris’s private chambers. You slip out of the shadows and press an ear to the door. All you can hear is the crackling of a fire, and so with trembling hands, you slowly twist the door open.

Your heart breaks at the sight before you.

All you see is red. It burns bright ruby in the embers of fire. It flows deep crimson in the locks of his hair. And it bleeds angry scarlet from the skin of his back.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice is almost unrecognizable. He sits crouched in front of the fire; head slumped. His limbs are limp, shoulders heaving in shuddered breaths. And his back faces you, displaying a tunic so bloodied, you can barely see its eggshell white color.

“Leave,” he croaks.

But you can’t. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. All you can do is stare at the violence of the red. Everywhere.

His head cranes to the side, and your eyes meet his. Gone is bright amber. They are cruel—handcrafted by the wicked of the world.

“Are you deaf?” he snarls, “Get out. Now.”

His cold gaze returns to the fire. Despite the malice of his tone, you creep forward slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. As you walk closer, you can see the slash marks more vividly. You can see how the fabric of his shirt splits around each slice, count the number of marks on his back. He’s trembling. With rage or pain, you’re not sure—perhaps both. And as you approach his side, you can see how he holds his hands over the blazing flames. It’s reminiscent of your burn and pull away game. But he never pulls away. 

You crouch down beside him on your knees, facing his side. But his gaze is unmoving from the flames. His jaw clenches tightly as you study his profile. Up close you can see the swelling around his eyes, the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Your own eyes water but you refuse to let them fall. Instead, you reach your arms out to his. You move slowly to avoid startling him, and he doesn’t stop you as you gently wrap your hands around his wrists. The fire burns hot against your skin, but you grit your teeth through the pain. 

He allows you to gently guide his hands away from the flames. You intertwine your fingers with his and rub his knuckles soothingly even as his hands lie limp in your grip. His head remains trained towards the fire, and you can see the reflection of the flames dancing in his golden irises. You lower your head reverently to his hands and brush your lips against them. You place a delicate kiss on each knuckle—as if doing so can take away just a little bit of his agony. Just as you think he may relax into your touch, he snatches his hands out of your grip.

Eris rises abruptly, hissing at the pain, and braces himself with one arm against the wall. He glares down at you.

“I told you to fucking leave,” he bellows. But you don’t so much as flinch at his harsh tone. Instead, you rise from the ground in front of him.

“No,” you speak with conviction, but maintain a gentle tone.

His jaw shifts, “I’ll call for my guards.”

“No, you won’t,” you retort.

He’s furious—you can surmise that much. But his cold exterior is slipping, and you’ll be here to catch him when he falls.

“Wipe that pathetic look off your face,” he sneers, “I can’t stand it.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply simply.

His façade cracks. For just a moment, you can see the anguish hidden beneath his glaring eyes. His hand slips down the wall, and he grunts as he pushes himself back up. But his body is trembling, his legs shaking. You lurch forward just in time.

You loop your arms around his neck, careful not to graze any of his wounds, and encourage him to lean his body weight onto you. With a shaky breath, Eris succumbs to your touch and rests his head in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap loosely around your body to stabilize himself.

You can feel his eyes shut tight against your skin, and you gently stroke your fingers through his hair. He slowly tightens his grip around your waist, his hands fisting the fabric of your dress, until he gives into your comfort completely. You stand there for a while holding him, each of you afraid to be the first to speak.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You continue threading your fingers through his locks, “I know. But I’m here.”

His grip around you tightens. You know he’ll need to lie down soon, but you don’t want to push him.

“Let me help you,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, “You can’t,” he pauses before adding, “Faebane.”

You surmised as much. But that doesn’t stop the nausea at the far too vivid image of his torture. 

“Allow me to try. Please.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. But after a few beats of silence, he grunts and lifts his head from your shoulder. You don’t miss the wince he tries to hide at the movement. He doesn’t protest as you wrap his arm around your shoulder and tug him in the direction of the bed. He leans his weight against you and allows you to guide him slowly. He grits his teeth with each step, but doesn’t so much as whimper at the shooting pain. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he nearly cries in relief when you reach the bed. He slumps down on his stomach and turns his head to the opposite wall, so he doesn’t have to look at you.

You stare down at the man before you, and hastily wipe away the tear that trails down your cheek. He looks…broken. You desperately want to march into Beron’s office and kill him yourself. But you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to maintain your composure. He flinches as you rest your hands at the bottom of his tunic, gripping it softly.

“May I?” you ask.

He nods reluctantly against the pillow.

You take a deep breath to brace yourself before ripping the fabric and sliding it off his body. You swallow your gasp as you lay your eyes on his bare back. At least a dozen angry red slashes cover the expanse of skin. They are raised, surrounded in half-dried blood. It’s clear that whatever torture device his miserable excuse for a father used was laced with Faebane, as they show no signs of healing. 

Eris shudders as you run a finger along the side of one of the wounds, careful not to press too hard or touch the affected area directly. You can’t heal him with the generous amount of Faebane. But you may be able to take the pain away.

The room is silent aside from the crackling fire as you hover your hands over his back and shut your eyes. You empty your mind and focus on your fingertips. You imagine tendrils of bright light extending, curling around each wound and stroking it with a gentle touch. You picture your mother—how she used her healing hands long ago to take away your pain when you cracked your head against the staircase banister as a youngling. You remember her soft touch, which in and of itself soothed your anguish. And then, you evoke an image of Eris. You focus on the strong bridge of his nose, the crinkle of his eyes when he laughs, the freckles on his skin. 

A moan of relief fills the otherwise silent room, and your eyes snap open. Eris’s features are relaxed—a stark contrast to the look of agony they held moments ago. 

“Better?” you ask softly.

He nods, his chapped lips parted. 

“Do you have a washroom?” you ask.

He blindly points an arm to the back left corner of the room.

The elegance of his bathroom doesn’t even register in your mind as you hastily grab several washcloths and wet them with warm water before returning to the bed. Eris hasn’t moved an inch.

“I’m going to clean them, if that’s alright,” you speak clearly.

He nods silently again.

The bed creaks underneath you as you sit on the edge and begin to work on his wounds. Even though he can no longer feel pain, you still take great care to clean each area carefully as to not further irritate the skin. With the mess of blood gone from his back, you can clearly see each laceration. They’re deep—painfully so—but once the Faebane wears off, you figure they should heal quickly. 

“All done,” you set the bloodied rags aside and stroke your hand soothingly down his side. 

He sluggishly turns over but still doesn’t meet your eye, even as he lays with his back on the bed. You remain seated on the edge, not wanting to cross any more boundaries than you already have.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asks quietly, his eyes trained on the fire across the room.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. You knew the question was coming. And with the heavy emotions weighing on you, you can’t bring yourself to lie.

“A gift from my mother,” you reply, “She was of the Day Court, gifted with limited healing powers.”

He hums, “What was she like—your mother?”

Your lips curl into a soft smile and you kick off your boots so you can rest your feet on the bed.

“She was warm. Like a crackling hearth,” you roll the ring around your thumb, “Smart as a whip. I think in another life, she would’ve been a renowned scholar.”

His lips twitch upwards, but his eyes are solemn.

“Why wasn’t she?” he asks.

Because her life was stripped away by a cruel male who unknowingly impregnated her, you think.

 “Because she loved being a mother more,” you reply.

He nods in understanding. Silence fills the air again, but this time, it isn’t suffocating. You divert your gaze to the fire, watching how the flames move together in a coordinated waltz.

“I’m sorry,” Eris croaks, “For snapping at you.”

You turn your head, eyes wide with surprise. For the first time since you first entered the room, his gaze is trained on you. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. Their amber hue is magnificent. Even with the sorrow they hold, you wish to be bathed in the golden, bright as the sun, for the rest of your days. 

“Your eyes are breathtaking,” you whisper in response.

The golden resembles honey as his lips stretch into a soft smile. He shifts over slightly, beckoning you to come closer. You tentatively crawl forward and lie a few feet away from him, but he pulls you against his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his arm, sinking into his touch.

“They’re my mother’s,” he muses.

“What’s she like?” you use his own question against him.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “When I was young, she was bright—like the sun. But she’s…dimmed since then,” he diverts his gaze to the ceiling and wets his lips before continuing, “Autumn is beautiful, in all its colors. But people often forget how unforgiving its harsh winds can blow.”

You purse your lips as you mull over his words. You shift in his hold so you lay on your side, facing him. You’ve always longed to trace the bridge of his nose, the sharp cut of his jawline. And this time, you don’t stop yourself.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” you ask while dusting your fingers over his freckles.

“Many times,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering at your delicate touch.

“Why don’t you?” you run your finger down the tip of his nose.

He catches your hand in his, resting it against his chest. You suck in a breath as he shifts, turning his head to face you. 

“Even in all its cruelty, this is my home,” he rasps, “You haven’t seen the wickedness I’m capable of. I wasn’t made to fly free like you, Little Bird.”

He wears a soft smile, but the sadness lingering beneath the mask is hauntingly beautiful. 

“It’s only in darkness that we see the brightest stars,” you barely speak above a whisper.

His forehead falls against yours, and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re too good for me, Little Bird. I can’t give you the life you want—the life you deserve,” his lips brush yours as he speaks.

You furrow your brows, “You don’t know what I want.”

His nose bumps yours, “And what is it that you want?”

A hurricane of emotion crashes over you. As you look into the golden of his eyes, you feel everything all at once—the fear, the confusion, the guilt, and most overwhelming of them all, love.

“I want you.”

It’s Love that surges you forward. It’s Love you hope he feels as you connect your lips to his. For the first time in your life, it’s Love that takes you over completely.

“I want you,” you repeat against his mouth, “Darkness and all its shining stars.”

It’s slow, but filled with a passion unlike any you’ve shared with him before. It’s salty—from his tears or yours, you’re not sure. And as your lips slide against his, you breathe a life into each other you never knew was missing before.

He raises himself from the bed and cages you between his elbows, his lips never leaving yours. You tangle your hands into his hair as he slides his tongue along your bottom lip, deepening the kiss. As he lifts you up and fiddles with the zipper at the back of your dress, you are reminded of the wounds on his back.

“You need to rest,” you gasp against his mouth, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles as he drags down the zipper at an agonizingly slow pace.

Any semblance of logic leaves your mind as he drags the fabric down your body. He disconnects his lips from yours and you arch into his touch as he reattaches them to your neck. He makes quick work of your bra as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as he wraps his lips around your nipple, flicking over the other with his thumb. He takes his time, worshipping every dip, every curve of your body. The arousal pooling between your legs is almost too much as he switches his mouth over to your other breast.

“Take me,” you gasp, “Mark me,” he toys with the band of your panties, “Have me,” he pulls the material down, “I’m yours.”

He groans against your breast before removing his mouth and licking his swollen lips, “You can’t say those things to me, Little Bird.”

“I mean it,” the hand trailing up your quivering thigh pauses, “I want you. All of you.”

He rises so your eyes are level with his, his hand still inches from where you need him most. He searches your face for any sign of hesitation—but there’s none.

“Are you sure?”

You grab his face and pull his lips down to yours. He shudders at your wordless affirmation but moves his lips against yours with a fervor you’ve never felt before. As his tongue swipes into your mouth, so does his hand continue upwards. You whimper as drags his middle finger through your slick, teasing your entrance before sinking in. Your eyes flutter shut as he curls it inside you, using his thumb to rub circles on your clit. You struggle to keep up with his kiss as he pumps his finger in you, stimulating the most intimate part of your body. Just as you fall back into rhythm, he works a second finger inside you. You mewl and tug harder on the hair at the nape of his neck. He rests his forehead against yours as his fingers stretch you out, his thumb continuing its ministrations against your clit. You feel the coil tightening in your gut, the unbridled pleasure building rapidly. 

You grip his bicep, squeezing it slightly, “I need you inside of me. Please.”

You gasp as he curls his fingers once more before pulling them out. Your body involuntarily chases after his touch, but he doesn’t give you a second to process the loss as he reconnects his lips to yours. Your hands tremble with need as you hastily work on the fastenings of his pants, eagerly pushing them down. You palm him through his underwear as he shoves the material off his legs. He moans into your mouth as you dip a hand underneath, wrapping your hand around his hardened length. You can feel him pulsing with need under your fingers as you stroke him. You retreat as he shoves the last bit of material down his legs, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as he frees himself completely. 

Eris braces himself with both arms above you and your heart thrums in your chest as he stares down at you.

“You’re sure you want this, Little Bird?” he asks.

Your doe eyes are wide with need, “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

“You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” he whispers as he nudges your thighs further apart.

You nod and wrap your arms around him, careful not to touch the wounds on his back. He runs his tip through your soaking folds, and you jolt at the sensation. You brace yourself on his shoulders as he lines himself up with your entrance. Your lips part in a silent gasp as he pushes just his tip in. He presses his nose to yours with a heavy groan, but doesn’t move as you adjust to the foreign stretch. 

“Keep going,” you gasp.

He peppers kisses along your jawline as he inches in further. Your toes curl at the burning stretch, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

“I need you to breath for me,” he mumbles against your jaw.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath as you force yourself to exhale, eyes squinting as he shifts inside you. You cry out as he pushes in another inch, and he rests his forehead against yours once more.

“Talk to me, Bird,” he mumbles.

“It hurts,” you gasp, “But keep going.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he pulls out slightly before pushing back in. He inches in further which each shallow thrust, and you slowly become accustomed to the stretch.

“Feels better now,” you gasp as he sinks in a bit more.

“Just a little more,” he coos, thumb stroking your cheek soothingly.

You think you might implode as he pushes in completely, his hips meeting yours. He releases a guttural groan as he bottoms out. You’ve never felt so full, and you’re sure you’re adding new wounds to his shoulder with how hard your nails are digging in.

“How does it feel?” his voice is strained as he reins in the instinct to pound you into oblivion.

“So full,” you whimper.

He catches the tear that trails down your cheek with his thumb.

“Is it okay if I move?” he asks gently.

You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to brace yourself. He hooks one arm underneath your thigh, steadying you before drawing back slightly and pushing back in. You moan in unison at the feeling, your walls squeezing him like a vice.

“Do it again,” you gasp.

His hips move again in a shallow thrust, and although the burn hasn’t subsided completely, it’s now accompanied by a budding pleasure in your gut. He reconnects his lips to yours, swallowing your gasp as he pulls out almost completely before sinking back in.

“Faster, Eris, please,” you moan into his mouth.

He shudders at the way you say his name, eagerly fulfilling your request as he slowly accelerates his pace. You whine with each roll of his hips, completely enamored with the way he fits into you so perfectly.

He reaches a hand down between you and you cry out as he uses his fingers to stimulate your clit. His thrusts never falter, and you relish in the sound of his skin slapping against yours each time he bottoms out. 

“You were made for me, darling,” he mumbles against your mouth, “The way your cunt just sucks me in.”

He raises your leg slightly, the new angle allowing him to hit you even deeper. The pressure in your gut builds with each thrust, and you feel your high rapidly approaching as he flicks your clit even faster.

“’M so close, Eris,” you groan into his mouth, barely able to keep your lips sliding against his.

He moves with a newfound vigor, latching his lips against your neck.

“Let go for me, love,” he coaxes, grunting at the way your walls spasm around him.

He flicks your nipple with his free hand, and that’s all it takes for you to find your release. You all but scream as you reach your high, clutching tightly onto his hair as waves of pleasure roll through you. His teeth press into your neck as his pace falters, and he bottoms out again before spilling into you. His groan is even louder than yours as he keeps rolling his hips, riding through both of your orgasms. Your vision spots and you feel like you’re floating as you come down from the peak of your high, falling limp beneath him. He slumps against you, pressing your body further into the mattress. With his weight on top of you and his softening cock still inside you, you’ve never felt more alive.

You stay like this for a while, reveling in the aftermath of your orgasms, until the lust-filled fog raises and the soreness between your thighs registers. He pulls out slowly, and you wince at the overstimulation. He raises his head from your neck and places a sweet kiss on your lips before flopping down beside you, exhaustion finally kicking in.

You lazily drape an arm over his stomach and nuzzle your head into the crook of his shoulder. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer, and places a kiss on the top of your head. 

“How was that, Little Bird?” he mumbles into your hair.

You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. There are no words that could do justice to the feeling of pure, unadulterated bliss consuming you. You can feel him smiling against your head as you struggle to speak.

“I don’t think I can ever read my filthy little romance novels again,” you blurt, rather ineloquently.

His chest rumbles with barking laughter, and you can’t help but giggle at the sound.

“Don’t be discouraged,” he grins, “I’m sure we can incorporate your little books into the bedroom in a way that’ll truly leave you speechless.”

You flush at the insinuation, but swiftly reply, “If we’re already planning for next time, then I’d like to be involved in that discussion.”

“Oh?” he muses, “And what is it that you’d like next time, Little Bird?”

You hum in thought, tracing shapes along his abdomen. You peek up at him from his shoulder, and find his eyes already trained on you.

“I could feel you reigning yourself in,” you purr, “Maybe next time you should let go.”

“If I let go then you won’t be walking for a week,” he caresses the dip of your waist.

You nip at his nose teasingly, “I think I’d be perfectly content staying in this bed for a week.”

He takes a steadying breath, and you smirk at the effect you so clearly have over him.

“One day, Little Bird,” he kisses the tip of your nose, “One day I’ll absolutely ruin you.”

You grin and nuzzle your head back into his shoulder, “Sounds like a plan.”

You lay like this, wrapped up in each other’s embrace, for a while. No words are shared, and the only sound filling the room is the crackling of the fireplace. You hope your touch conveys all that you can’t say.

“Thank you,” he whispers after a few beats of silence.

Déjà vu surges over you. You remember the first time you laid beside him—how little, and how much, has changed since then.

You echo his words from that night, “Never thank me.”

You want to say more. You want to tell him everything you feel. You want to open the book of your mind, let him read every single footnote in the story of your life. But there’s so much to say, you wouldn’t even know where to start. So instead, you settle for the words on the very tip of your tongue.

“My brightest star,” you hum, placing a kiss on his ear.

He strokes his thumb along your shoulder, “If I’m the stars, then you’re the moon.”

You smile into his skin, and your eyes flutter shut. Between the comfort of his touch and the whirlwind of a night you’ve had, you find yourself unable to keep exhaustion at bay. 

As you drift from consciousness, there’s no Rhys nagging in the back of your mind. No sister to beg for forgiveness. No dead mother, no cruel father. There’s just Eris.

And for the first time in your life, you feel peace.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Throughout Eris’s long, miserable existence, Pain has been a constant.

It sings in the tortured cries of those who have wronged him. It swims in the eyes of his mother, a shell of the woman she used to be. It bleeds from his skin, with each lash he’s earned from his father.

 It’s Pain that wakes him, yanks him from his fleeting escape from reality.

He hisses at the feeling of silken sheets rubbing against the fresh wounds littered across his back. He moves to push himself up, but pauses at the weight on his chest. When he looks down, Pain vanishes momentarily.

Somehow, you’re even more breathtaking in your sleep. Your cheek is pressed up against his shoulder, arm draped over his stomach. You look so innocent like this, and he wishes the image to forever be imprinted in his memory.

Just as suddenly as it vanished, Pain returns.

He shifts slowly, wincing as he slides out from underneath you. Your head falls against the pillow and your gentle breaths falter, but you don’t stir. Eris grits his teeth as he pushes himself up so he’s seated, his back against the headboard. The cool wood is soothing against his burning skin. He knows that sleep won’t come to him, now that Pain has arrived again. So instead, he indulges himself in you.

Guilt washes over him as he watches how your bare shoulders rise and fall with each breath. He’s selfish for indulging himself in you when he knows he can’t have you. He knows it will have to end soon—before you can fall victim to the tragic fate of Vanserra women.

Eris is just thankful you haven’t realized the shimmering thread of gold tying you to him yet.

He was sure the bond would snap into place for you tonight. Shame pools in his gut as he realizes how badly he wanted it to snap in place for you. In all his selfish desires, there’s nothing he wants more than to call you his. But by some grace of the Mother herself, you’re still blissfully unaware of your mate. 

Since the night of the Equinox, the night when you were wearing that sinful little red number, he’s spent hours on end reading about mating bonds. Much to his disappointment, he’s yet to find anything on how to sever them. But he’s learned two things.

The first is that mating bonds don’t always snap into place for both parties at the same given moment in time. And when they don’t, it’s statistically more likely for males to feel that shining thread of gold first.

The second, and the one that puzzles him right now, is that if the bond doesn’t snap into place immediately, it does when you’ve realized your feelings for your other half, at the peak of your vulnerability. With the…the rawness of how you spoke to him tonight, of how you gave yourself to him entirely, he couldn’t imagine a moment where you could be more vulnerable to the bond’s hold over you.

His fingers ghost over your hair, which looks resembles a halo around your head, as he mulls over the possible explanations. Perhaps the bond is one-sided, and it just won’t snap into place for you. He hasn’t found any literature on this, but if human can be made Fae, then surely nothing is impossible. Alternatively, it’s possible the bond didn’t snap into place because you weren’t wholly vulnerable—because you were holding something back.

 Just as that thought crosses his mind, so does your body shift, exposing a bit of black ink on your side. Eris pauses his stroking movements and his brows cinch together. He doesn’t remember you having a tattoo—and with how many times he’s seen, touched, imagined your naked body, he’d surely remember it. A lump grows in his throat, and against his better judgment, he reaches forward and tugs the sheets down your body.

The cold heart you were just beginning to warm freezes over entirely as he lays eyes on the Night Court insignia inked beside your breast. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, making sure his imagination isn’t playing tricks on him.

But the only one playing tricks is you.

His jaw clenches so tightly that it might break as he brushes over the marking with his thumb. Behind the Illyrian Mountain lies a shining sun—symbolic of the Day Court, he pieces together.

Morrigan’s big, brown eyes. Your ability to appear out of nowhere, as if emerging from the shadows. All the questions about his family, his business dealings. Lurking around the halls of the Forest House. Your penchant for ancient literature unbecoming of a regular merchant’s daughter.

Bile rises in his throat as everything hits him all at once. He snatches his hand away from your body, as if you’re poisonous to the touch. Eris scrambles to the side of the bed and heaves, but nothing comes out. He squints his eyes shut and tugs harshly at the roots of his hair.

He’s a fool. A fool for not realizing it before, for being so entranced by your allure that he didn’t see what was so obviously sitting right in front of him. A fucking fool for thinking that someone could love him, so unequivocally.

You’ve had him wrapped around your finger this whole time—pinpointing his weaknesses and using them to your advantage. You’re no better than he is. No better than Beron. No better than your pathetic gang of friends in Velaris. 

Worst of all, you are the darkness you speak so fondly of. 

Pure, unbridled rage bubbles in the pit of his stomach. Red hot fire surges from his fingertips, and he knows if he doesn’t move away from you he’ll burn the whole house down until only ashes are left.

So, he finds himself back in front of the fireplace, his hands dancing with the flames, with only Pain to keep him company. And as he stares into the burning embers, he decides his next move. If you want to play him like a pawn, then so be it. He’ll just have to take your queen.

taglist:

@lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can @hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @batboygirlie @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah @6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1

[doumadono]

Warnings: blood, mentions of decomposition, violence, mental & physical abuse, toxic relationship, gore, nakedness, merman!Dabi, female original character, original characters, descriptions of murders and drowning, smut (p in v, oral - f & m receiving), manipulation

Summary: Miyaka, a young woman driven to the brink by a domineering and aloof husband, resolves to end her life in the lake near her husband's estate. Little does she realize that one quaint encounter will irrevocably alter everything, reshaping her understanding of herself, and blurring the boundaries between reality and the inexplicable

Word count: circa 12.1k A/N: I'm delighted to have had the opportunity to take part in this captivating even created by talented @candycandy00 It was my maiden voyage into the world of horror writing, and I genuinely hope that you find my contribution enjoyable. A huge shoutout to my merman specialist, @crystalwolfblog – her unwavering support and expertise were instrumental in shaping this story!

It was an enchanting night.

She stood at the edge of the great lake, its inky waters reflecting the dim glow of the moon like a mirror tainted with despair. Her heart, heavy with the weight of an unhappy marriage, throbbed in her chest, matching the rhythm of her labored breaths. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a lump formed in her throat as she gazed into the blackness of the abyss before her.

The night was eerily silent, save for the distant croak of a lone frog and the rustling of leaves in the chilling breeze. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the darkness that had consumed her entire life. A long, white, flowing dress clung to her trembling form, a stark contrast to the beauty of the night. It felt like a shroud of misery, concealing the bruises and scars that marred her body.

She had been married to a man she loathed, a man who had wed her solely for her parents' substantial dowry. He was possessive, controlling, and violent, and every day with him was a torment she couldn't escape. As she looked down at the scars on her palms, she could hear his voice in her mind, venomous and cruel. "You're mine, and you'll do as I say," he would snarl, his eyes filled with a possessive rage that chilled her soul.

Tonight, as she stood by the lake, she knew she had reached the precipice of her despair. The moon's silver rays bathed the water in an eerie glow, and she found herself muttering out loud, as if trying to rationalize the unthinkable. "I can't go on like this," she whispered to the inky depths before her, her voice a hollow echo in the night. "There's no escape from this torment, no end to the pain he inflicts upon me."

Her fingers brushed against the bruises on her neck, a painful reminder of her husband's merciless grip. The darkness seemed to envelop her, offering a macabre solace, a release from the relentless agony that had become her life.

A sense of dread washed over her as she took a step closer to the water's edge, the lake beckoning with a malevolent allure. She could hear the echoes of her own pleas for help, trapped within the walls of her loveless home. She had no one to turn to, no one to confide in, for he had isolated her from all those who cared about her, even though there weren't many of them.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body. The weight of her misery threatened to drag her under, deeper into the cold abyss. Her mind was a whirlwind of torment, and she continued to speak her sorrow aloud. "I just want the pain to stop," she murmured, her voice quivering. "I want freedom from this living nightmare."

Meantime, claws, like daggers forged in the abyss, pierced the tender flesh of the fish, snapping it asunder with the ease of breaking brittle twigs. Delicate bones shattered, their lamenting cracks akin to dried leaves crumbling beneath a malevolent force, as the ichor of life spilled forth in crimson tendrils, vanishing into the dark, ravenous depths. Razor-edged teeth, like shards of obsidian, tore through the delicate meat, rending it into fragments devoured by the insatiable monster.

This lake, embraced by a shroud of old woods, lay in proximity to a quiet city, a deceptive guise for an ideal feeding ground, or so it would seem. Elders strolled along its shore, seeking solace in the serenity of its waters, while children harbored dreams of frigid immersion, and clandestine encounters found their haven amidst the trees. Yet, the reality proved far bleaker.

Touya had ventured here in the hopes of a bountiful feast, having expended immense effort to navigate a subterranean passage connecting the vast expanse of the open sea to this secluded lake. His rewards were meager, a pitiful array of minuscule fish, native to these forsaken waters.

Resting on the lakebed, his lithe form culminating in a shark-like appendage, he contemplated a return to the boundless sea, where sustenance was plentiful. However, his sharply pointed, fin-like ears detected a peculiar disturbance, both auditory and visual.

The cacophony of a loud splash rent the silence, an intrusion too substantial for a mere fish or woodland creature's leap. Touya's senses honed in on the source, identifying an anomaly—an unmistakable human presence.

Swiftly, he propelled himself towards this enigma, only to discover a form cloaked in a long, flowing white gown, gradually succumbing to the lake's murky abyss. Drawing nearer, he seized the delicate ankle, hauling the figure closer for examination.

Fortuna's fickle favor had delivered a woman into his grasp, and while the prospect of her tender flesh stirred his primal hunger, an audacious notion overcame his instincts. The thrill of an encounter akin to a true siren's seduction beckoned, and the notion of her consumption transformed into a sinister game.

Against his ravenous desires, Touya encircled the fragile woman's frame with his sinuous arms, drawing her from the water's embrace onto the shore, where the macabre performance of a siren's sinister plan would soon commence.

As she splashed and struggled in the water, her vision blurred with panic. Her arms flailed wildly, and she gasped for air, unaware of what had caught her beneath the surface. Each thrash seemed to pull her deeper into the dark abyss, and the murky water filled her mouth easily, making her gag and sputter.

She couldn't see what had a hold of her, but the sensation of strong arms wrapping around her fragile body only heightened her fear. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lungs burned for oxygen as she continued to fight against the unseen force.

Desperation set in, and she opened her mouth to scream, but instead, she inadvertently swallowed more water. It flooded her throat and rushed into her lungs, choking her, a burning sensation filling her pharynx and nose. The world around her grew dimmer, and her struggles weakened as her consciousness waned.

In the end, the water won, claiming her as its own. She slipped into unconsciousness, her body limp.

The beast, concealed beneath the watery veil of his domain, observed her futile resistance with a dispassionate eye. In the realm of aqueous shadows, humans were like vulnerable prey, their minds adrift in a soporific stupor. Submerged in liquid depths, they became rabid creatures confined within a cage of their own making, drawing ever nearer to the precipice of their demise with each gasping breath.

In a stroke of providence, the woman in his grasp surrendered to the dark embrace of unconsciousness. Her unconsciousness spared him the ordeal of wrestling with her thrashing form. It was a mercy he granted her, one she should consider herself fortunate to receive, for he had contemplated a far less compassionate fate.

With a grace befitting a creature of his nature, he transported her limp form to the water's edge, a sanctuary where the forest's tender grass merged with the lake's sandy shore. Touya did not deign to change his form, instead choosing to remain perched beside her prone body, a silent sentinel.

Reclining with his tail coiled comfortably, his scrutinizing gaze fell upon the woman's fragile form. Despite the dark blemishes that adorned her skin like aged spots upon a ripened fruit, her flesh beckoned like an illicit delicacy. The mere thought of sinking his serrated teeth and razor-sharp claws into her tender form sent his mouth awash with anticipation. He yearned to hear her cries of agony, to witness the crimson cascade of her life's essence, to observe the last flicker of vitality extinguish from her eyes as he ravaged her insides.

Yet, in a rare moment of restraint, the monster resisted the primal urge. No, he would savor this encounter, extracting a different form of pleasure if she were to awaken, for the thrill of her torment held a dark allure all its own.

Coughing violently, she jolted back to consciousness, her body wracked with spasms as the water that had filled her lungs was expelled with each hacking cough. It felt like her chest was on fire, and every cough sent painful ripples through her body.

For a moment, she struggled to sit up, her vision still blurred and her head pounding. She couldn't see clearly, but she had a distinct feeling that she was not alone. Panic gripped her again as she realized that someone or something was nearby.

Her coughs soon subsided, and she took ragged, shallow breaths, trying to clear the lingering water from her airways. Her gaze finally focused, and she saw it – a creature unlike anything she had ever encountered.

It sat beside her, its sharp features illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. Its eyes, piercing and predatory, had turquoise irises with black sclera, a striking and unusual combination, creating an otherworldly appearance. The turquoise color itself was vibrant, reminiscent of the clear, tropical waters of a pristine ocean. Its gaze was fixed on her. Its body was a grotesque blend of human and sea creature, with scales and fins that seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

Terror coursed through her as she realized she was not in the safety of her own world anymore. She had been pulled into a nightmare, and this creature, this beast, was surely about to kill her.

She scrambled back, away from it, her heart pounding in her chest. Her voice trembled as she stammered, "W-who are you? What do you want from me?" But deep down, she feared that she already knew the answer.

As she desperately attempted to crawl through the grassy-muddy ground, every movement felt like a relentless struggle against the unforgiving terrain. The thick mud clung tenaciously to her hands and knees, making progress slow and arduous.

Eyes, vibrant and eerily alive, remained fixed on her every frantic movement. Yet, the pallid form that lay behind her, marred by ominous, dark splotches, remained immobile, preserving its enigmatic stillness until the woman's frenetic struggles yielded to silence.

A hand, adorned with webbed membranes that stretched sinuously between each finger, terminated in formidable claws. It moved through his own hair, a short cascade of pristine white, like freshly fallen snow. An insidious smile played upon his lips, revealing rows of serrated teeth that glistened malevolently in the dim light. His ears, akin to the finned appendages of some abyssal creature, possessed two sharp points and twitched slightly as he cocked his head in contemplation. "Is this how you extend gratitude to your savior?" His voice, a beguiling cadence that rivaled the most enchanting melody, seemed ill-fitted for his grotesque form. Yet, it was a weapon, not an adornment, a reminder that he wielded both power and allure. "One should exercise greater caution around these waters, miss. The prospect of losing one's life so recklessly hardly seems appealing."

The sight of her futile attempt to flee stirred a perverse pleasure within him. He found himself increasingly torn by his own plot, yet its wheels were set in motion, and he felt compelled to carry it to its conclusion. "Are you unharmed, miss? Do you feel any pain?" The inward cringe he felt at his unexpected benevolence clashed with his innate siren pride, an unsettling dissonance that inexplicably satisfied him.

The shock of hearing the creature speak, its voice so mesmerizing and soft, took her aback for a moment. She struggled to regain her confidence, her voice quivering as she managed to stammer out a question again, "W-What are you?"

As she continued to tremble, she finally collapsed onto her still-muddy knees. The weight of despair and desperation bore down on her, and she found herself confessing her dark intentions, her voice heavy with anguish, "I... I wanted to end my life."

She couldn't fathom why she had confessed her merciless plan to end her own life to this strange water creature. It felt surreal, as if she had already crossed into some sort of hellish realm beyond the realm of the living. Perhaps she had succumbed to the deadly water filling her lungs, and this creature was nothing more than a manifestation of her fractured mind.

But despite the uncertainty and the eerie circumstances, a part of her clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this encounter held some deeper meaning.

End her own life? He understood all too well that humans were, in his estimation, pitiful and often nothing more than a source of sustenance. However, this act was a new level of wretchedness, a lamentable display that played perfectly into his hands. It would grant him effortless dominion over her fragile psyche, cloaked in a deceptive veneer of benevolence, free from the shadow of his true nature. It promised to be a game as simple as toying with a child's plaything.

Touya edged closer, his movements constrained only by the limits of his domain. His cold hand, pallid and adorned with menacing claws, extended toward her own, long fingers encircling her palm with a touch that grazed her skin like a whispered threat. "End your life? Miss, how could you contemplate such a tragic act?" His voice, like the sweetest of lullabies, dripped with feigned empathy. "A woman of such exquisite beauty, extinguishing her own light — it would be a grievous loss to the world."

The sole witnesses to this deceitful charade were the moon, whose silvery glow bathed the lake and the encircling dark forest, and the enigmatic veil of night. The woods formed an impenetrable barrier, a divide between his aquatic realm and the distant human settlement, lending an illusion of sanctuary. This tableau, a fusion of darkness illuminated by the radiant moon, resembled a masterpiece plucked from the realm of the surreal, gracing the place with an eerie charm.

Her body shivered, not just from the cold but from the sensation of the creature's wet hand with its sharp claws closing around hers. It was an eerie feeling, like a surreal dream that she couldn't wake up from. The moonlit darkness around her only added to the strangeness of the moment.

The creature's soothing voice seemed to be at odds with the sharpness of its claws, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and fascination in the beast's presence. Everything about this encounter defied logic and reason, and she was desperately seeking some semblance of understanding in this bizarre situation. "What are you?" she asked once more, her voice trembling as she stared into the creature's captivating turquoise eyes. "Am I... am I dead?"

Touya tenderly clasped her hand, his fingers exploring the contours of her skin and the supple muscles beneath. An insidious hunger stirred within him, and he battled the overpowering urge to sink his teeth into her soft flesh.

Instead, he brought her delicate palm to his lips, where his tongue languidly traced a sinuous path across her skin. A shiver of desire coursed through him as he inhaled the intoxicating fragrance that clung to her, an aroma as sweet and irresistible as the most alluring of temptations. "I believe you are quite alive, miss," he purred, his voice a seductive whisper. "One cannot be considered dead while radiating such warmth."

Horrified and disgusted by the creature's unsettling actions, she finally found her voice and strength. With a shudder, she forcefully withdrew her hand from the creature's grasp, her face contorted in a mixture of revulsion and fear. "What are you?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a newfound determination. The earlier feeling of hope had been tainted by the creature's disturbing behavior, and she needed answers more than ever. She was no longer willing to tolerate the enigmatic presence of the creature without understanding the truth of its nature.

A pair of luminescent, cerulean eyes bore into her with an eerie intensity, even as the monstrous figure let out a low, mocking laugh. He unfurled his form, revealing a pale body adorned with enigmatic dark markings and a magnificent tail that shimmered like a sinister jewel beneath the moon's ghostly radiance. "Is it truly so challenging to discern, miss?" he taunted, his voice a silky, melodious cadence. "I am a water-dwelling creature, inhabiting these very depths. You seem remarkably ungrateful - I saved your life, and not a word of thanks graces your lips."

The sudden audacity displayed by the woman intrigued him. It was a peculiar sight to behold — someone who had sought to end their own existence, now attempting to assert dominance as if he were the lesser of the two. He harbored a morbid fascination for this unfolding drama and was more than willing to indulge her in this charade.

As she shivered in the coldness of the night, her mind raced with conflicting emotions. The creature's words were unsettling, yet there was a grain of truth in what it had said - it had saved her from her own desperate act, and she couldn't deny that fact.

Swallowing her fear, she decided to pursue the conversation further. "I... I appreciate that you saved me," she stammered, her voice still shaking. "But I need to understand. What's your name? Do you even have one? And why did you intervene? I didn't want to be saved, that's not what I hoped for."

"You may call me Touya," he acknowledged with a nod, bestowing upon her a disarming smile that revealed a row of dangerously sharp teeth. "I am, by nature, a siren, and you, dear miss, have disrupted the tranquil harmony of my lake. At first, I assumed it was some unsuspecting creature taking an ill-fated plunge, but when my eyes fell upon a human as resplendent as yourself, I simply couldn't ignore the spectacle."

He offered this explanation in a voice as smooth as velvet, its mellifluous tones designed to insinuate themselves into her fragile psyche. Touya typically employed this beguiling cadence to lure unsuspecting individuals into the water, but in her case, he sought to quell her anxiety and delay her inevitable flight. "I dare say, fortune itself must be watching over you," he continued, his voice dripping with a honeyed reassurance. "For you have chosen to cast yourself into these depths, and in that choice, you've affirmed the value of life, young miss."

She remained silent, her shock and bewilderment apparent in her wide eyes as she stared at Touya. She blinked several times, as if trying to convince herself that this surreal encounter was real.

Her formerly white dress, now covered in mud and grass, clung to her body, the once pristine fabric marred by her ordeal. Some marine flora had found its way onto the dress as well, further adding to the disarray of her appearance. Her hair was a tangled mess, damp from her recent struggle in the lake. The soaked material of the dress offered little concealment, and her perky breasts were subtly visible through the fabric.

The woman struggled to make sense of it all, torn between the desire to flee from this creature and the nagging feeling that there was something soothing about his presence.

The woman's bewilderment bore a certain charm, and Touya couldn't help but relish the success of his beguiling voice. Seizing the opportunity, he inched closer to her until he was positioned right beside her, his attention now devoted to the delicate task of untangling debris from her disheveled hair. "I hope you don't find it intrusive, but might I inquire about your name, miss?" he asked, his voice a soothing melody, while he carefully plucked remnants from her tangled locks. "I find myself quite intrigued by the enigma I've just rescued."

His gaze wandered to her, swiftly detecting the telltale marks that marred her neck — a grim testament to the assailant who had been thwarted in their pursuit. With a possessive glint in his eyes, he whispered softly, his fingers lightly grazing her throat as he voiced his observation, "It seems someone has inflicted harm upon you."

"My name is not important," she replied with a distant, haunted look in her eyes. "I've been called so many slurs, I almost forgot my own name."

As Touya got closer, her senses were alarmed, and she instinctively got up, her stained attire a mess as she attempted to improve her appearance. She felt a mixture of fear and unease in the presence of this enigmatic creature.

Suddenly, a male voice came from afar, calling out for Miyaka. 

She gasped, her heart pounding as she recognized the voice of her husband. The very mention of her name sent a chill down her spine, and she knew that her desperate escape had not gone unnoticed. Panic washed over her, and she turned to Touya, her voice trembling. "I need to go now," she said urgently. "I have to go."

And with that she simply ran away, stopping twice to look back at the merman over her shoulder. Soon yet, she vanished in the woods.

Touya felt the embers of his anger smoldering within him, stoked by an ever-growing hunger, especially after the tantalizing taste of her skin.

With a frustrated growl, he retreated back into the murky depths of the lake, cursing himself for the absurd notion that had briefly gripped him.

The embrace of the cold water swiftly quelled his rising temper. As he sank to the lake's bottom, he contemplated how best to reclaim the woman he refused to let slip from his grasp.

_____________________________

Over the following days, Touya employed his hypnotic voice, weaving a mesmerizing aria to beckon her back to the waters. It did ensnare a lost, young soul, but not the one he so fervently desired. Nevertheless, the young girl, enticed by his enchantment, undressed and ventured into the chilling embrace of the lake a few nights later.

That was the moment he seized.

As the girl floated on her back, lost in the tranquility of the lake's surface, a sinister force latched onto her ankle, yanking her beneath the water's surface.

Desperation and fear churned within her, and she thrashed wildly, her outstretched hands clawing at the surface, futilely struggling against the monstrous grip. A pale hand, equipped with menacing claws, clamped onto her slender ankle, sealing her grim fate as prey to a relentless kelpie.

He held her under until her struggles ceased, ensuring her life was extinguished before allowing himself to retrieve the lifeless body.

With an eerie detachment, Touya surveyed his gruesome feast. He tore into her flesh, devouring the most succulent portions and discarding what he deemed unworthy. Each organ yielded a delectable, squishy texture, untainted by the ravages of time and human indulgence. 

But the heart, that was his ultimate indulgence. Delving for the heart was always a pleasure for Touya, akin to prying open a clam. He reveled in the visceral experience — ripping through flesh, unveiling the rib cage formed from robust bones that snapped like dry twigs under his unrelenting grasp. Inside lay the heart. Sinking his teeth into the still-beating organ was akin to prying open a precious pearl encased within the ribs, the bones cracking like brittle twigs beneath his formidable grip.

Having sated his appetite by consuming the choicest portions, he discarded whatever seemed unworthy, flinging it aside. Seated beside the lifeless body on the bottom of the lake, he seized the hand, twisting it until the elbow joint surrendered with a gruesome pop. The skin tore haphazardly, leaving jagged edges adorning the amputated limb. Now he could relish the taste of human flesh as he bit into it.

This grotesque repast sustained him for the next few days, casting a pall of momentary satisfaction over his insatiable hunger. All that remained were bones, some still intact while others lay shattered, along with soiled garments and scattered remnants of meat.

Yet, he didn't forget about the girl named Miyaka. He toiled tirelessly to entice her back to the lake, driven by an unrelenting determination to make her his own once more.

_____________________________

Her husband was furious at her attempt to escape, and his anger had escalated to violence. The evening had been unbearable, her husband's rage unleashed upon her for daring to defy him and attempt to escape. He had scolded and hit her, his anger leaving her bruised and terrified. As a punishment, the man decided to confine her to a cramped guest bedroom in their shared, or rather his exclusive, house.

The memories of her near escape and her encounter with Touya, the merman, haunted her constantly. She longed for the soothing presence of the lake, where she had briefly found respite from her torment.

One evening, as the sun began to set and darkness crept over the land, she heard a faint, melodious voice carried by the evening breeze. It was distant, yet unmistakable. The voice belonged to Touya, the merman who had saved her life just a few days prior. The sound seemed to come from afar, but Miyaka was more than sure of its origin.

Miyaka cried throughout the day and night, her tears eventually lulling her to sleep in her cramped confinement. And there, in the depths of the night, the magical, soothing voice of Touya returned to her. Sometimes she would shake off the feeling, trying to rationalize that it was impossible for her to hear his voice from so far away. But in the lonely darkness of her captivity, she began to dream about the merman, his appearance simultaneously dangerous and alluring. His presence in her dreams became a lifeline, a glimmer of hope in her otherwise bleak existence.

One night, Miyaka decided to try her luck as their maid forgot to lock her in the bedroom after bringing her supper. The nights had become colder, and she threw a light coat over her shoulders, concealing her black dress beneath. Tiptoeing downstairs, she could hear her husband engaged in a conversation with his friends who had come to visit. Luck seemed to be on her side as she also heard the clinks of glasses, most likely filled with sake – it meant her husband wouldn't notice her leaving the house.

Quietly sneaking through the corridor, she closed the front door gently behind her. The cool night air filled her lungs, and a smile crept onto her lips – she felt free again.

Suddenly, a female voice emerged from the darkness on her left. "You shouldn't be seeing him, he's a demon," it cautioned. It was their maid, an old lady named Yuki.

Miyaka frowned and replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I just need to take a walk. I can't function like this."

Yuki sighed, her eyes filled with concern, and she moved closer, holding some logs in her hands. She reached out and gently placed one hand on Miyaka's shoulder. "My child, stay away from that lake, it's a cursed place. Many souls were lost there, long forgotten by this world. Don't let your sadness and loneliness drag you there, to that hellish place."

Miyaka shook the hand of the older woman off her shoulder. "Please stop, Yuki-san. I'm a grown-up, and I know how to take care of myself. I've been there many times before, and I've never seen or heard anything unusual," Miyaka lied smoothly. "People often concoct unusual stories, usually to frighten children away from venturing there on their own, to prevent accidents or drownings. And don't tell my husband you saw me."

Yuki let out a deep sigh, her eyes carrying a sadness that seemed to weigh her down. "You're making a mistake, my child."

But Miyaka wasn't listening anymore. She was already running towards the lake, as if some strange, invisible force was pushing her towards it.

Touya's throat felt raspy as he completed his haunting melody. A gnawing doubt crept in, questioning the worth of straining his vocal cords for the sake of a pitiful human.

With an irritated growl, Touya glared at the moon before submerging himself back into the water. He couldn't help but feel frustrated that the woman hadn't been devoured when she first plunged into the lake; it seemed like that was her intention after all. Yet, the irresistible urge to play with human pathetic life had taken precedence.

As he rested on the lake's bottom, he patiently waited, a glimmer of hope in his heart that perhaps she had at last heard his enticing voice, sparing him the need to actively seek her out once more.

Miyaka finally arrived at the lake, the moon casting an eerie glow over the surrounding woods. The night was heavy with a sense of foreboding, the tall trees looming like silent sentinels in the darkness. The lake, approachable through a narrow path in the woods, shimmered like a dark mirror, its surface reflecting the cold, distant stars.

As she crouched near the water, her fingers trembling, she tapped the surface with her fingertips, whispering his name in a hushed, desperate tone. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a chill ran down her spine. The air seemed thick with an unnatural stillness, as if the very forest held its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Miyaka's feelings were a tumultuous mix of fear and longing. She had been drawn here by an inexplicable force, a connection she couldn't explain. Her mind told her to flee this eerie place, to return to the safety of her husband's house, but her heart and soul yearned for something else, something she couldn't quite comprehend.

As she continued to call out to him, the water remained still, and a sense of dread settled over her. In the heart of the night, in the midst of the haunted woods, she was about to confront a reality she could never have imagined.

A shock of white hair emerged from beneath the water's surface, followed by a pair of radiant blue eyes that observed her with an eerie, almost otherworldly glow, resembling the lost flames of souls.

So she had returned! The woman had willingly walked back into the snare that would ultimately lead to her demise. It was a stark testament to the foolishness of humans, their vulnerability to the allure of his voice despite their long-standing awareness of water creatures like him. Truly, their ignorance was nothing short of pathetic.

As the woman extended her hand into the water, he gracefully swam closer and gently enveloped her hand with his own, guiding it beneath the water's surface just enough to plant a delicate kiss on the top of her palm. To her, it likely appeared as a customary human gesture, but for him, it was an opportunity to savor her essence once more, and she tasted exquisite.

He released her hand and revealed his full form to her. "You've returned, miss," he stated calmly. "I thought you were too frightened of me to come back."

When her hand dipped into the water, she felt a gentle pull, and her breath caught as the merman's lips pressed against the top of her palm. It was a fleeting gesture, one that she perceived as a kind human custom, but the sensation sent shivers through her.

As he let go of her hand, she finally saw him in his entirety. He revealed himself to her, and she was spellbound by his otherworldly appearance. His words reached her ears, and she couldn't help but respond, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fascination. "I... I couldn't stay away," she admitted, her gaze locked on his mesmerizing eyes. "I don't understand what's happening, but there's something about you that draws me back, despite my fear."

"Oh? Is that so?" He mused with a hint of curiosity. Without further ado, he gracefully submerged beneath the water's surface without unnecessary words.

Miyaka watched with a mixture of fascination and trepidation as he hummed and disappeared beneath the water's surface. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for his return, her mind awash with questions and a growing sense of unease.

She couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath those dark, mysterious waters.

Touya emerged from the murky water just a moment later, but there was something different about him this time.

Instead of his tail, Touya was now standing on his own two legs. His body was strong, but his skin was pale with dark purple splatters all over it. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his wet hair.

Then he turned to her, standing there like the day he was born, completely unbothered by his nakedness. "Maybe it was destiny itself that brought you here, or perhaps you are in love, miss. How about we take a little walk?" he hummed, using his voice in a specific way to maintain his control over her.

Miyaka's eyes widened in shock as she saw him looking more like a human. Her cheeks flushed at his nakedness, and at first, she turned her head away, trying to regain her composure. His voice, however, was so sweet and enchanting that she found herself unable to resist his offer.

With a shy smile, she finally met his gaze and nodded in agreement. "A walk sounds nice," she replied, her voice slightly trembling.

"Then, come on, for it would be my privilege to stroll alongside a lady of your grace," Touya whispered, his voice a gentle melody, its soft vibrations resonating in the quietude of the night.

As they embarked on their journey, the moonlight filtered through the forest canopy, bestowing an otherworldly glow upon their surroundings. Miyaka found herself caught in a swirl of emotions. On one hand, the night's beauty enthralled her — the moon's tranquil reflection upon the serene lake and the enigmatic presence of her companion held an undeniable allure.

Yet, beneath this surface enchantment, a lingering fear clung to her heart. She walked alongside a creature she could barely fathom—a being who had both saved her and possessed the potential to harm her. Her steps were cautious, her senses acutely attuned, yet she couldn't deny the strange magnetism of the situation that kept her near him.

"Touya," she ventured with trepidation, "you mentioned being a siren earlier, and I believe you obviously... But I've been pondering... What sustenance does a being like you feed on?"

The merman gazed at her through half-lidded eyes, offering a subtle shrug of his shoulders. "I am indeed a siren, and I'm pleased that you trust me. If you're truly curious, I subsist on fish and other creatures that dwell within this very lake." Touya gently entwined his hand with hers, their fingers interlocking. "Is there a particular reason for your concern?" he inquired softly.

Miyaka's fingers held onto Touya's hand with a hint of tension as she confessed, "Our maid, Yuki-san, she warned me about you. She called you a devil and spoke of the many people who have disappeared near this lake." Her gaze wavered between fear and fascination as she continued, "Despite her warnings, I couldn't resist the pull of this place, and of you."

In response, Touya emitted a low purring sound and drew a bit nearer, his hand reaching to tenderly brush her cheek. "People often spin tales to frighten children or to add intrigue to their lives," he remarked, his voice laced with a soothing quality. "Do you truly believe I would have saved you if I were the monster they depict?" he lied smoothly.

Miyaka yielded to the allure of Touya's touch, her fear momentarily giving way to an inexplicable attraction. "I... I don't know what to believe anymore," she confessed, her voice quivering with uncertainty. “But I trust you…”

As they continued their walk, Miyaka was suddenly assaulted by a foul odor that made her wince and scrunch up her nose. "Oh God, what an awful smell!" She scanned the area, trying to locate the source of the stench.

Dabi's brow furrowed with a sense of foreboding; he already had a suspicion about what she was referring to. It was likely the remains of the girl who had come to the lake before her, her torn and discarded body now possibly decomposing in the tall grass, right where he had left it; Touya had no inclination to allow the wretched remnants of a pitiful human to decompose within the sacred waters of his lake. He cursed himself for not disposing of it more discreetly, hiding the evidence of his previous encounter.

Miyaka couldn't resist investigating the foul odor. She carefully approached the nearby bushes, her heart pounding with dread. As she parted the dense foliage, she was met with a gruesome sight.

There, partially concealed among the tangled branches and leaves, were the decaying remains of what appeared to be a human. The body was in a horrifying state of decomposition, and the stench was overwhelming. Maggots crawled in and out of the decomposing flesh, and Miyaka felt bile rise in her throat.

She stumbled back, horrified by the grisly discovery. "Oh my God," she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and disgust. "What... what is this?!" The realization that something terrible had happened here sent shivers down her spine. "Oh my dear God!" She started crying.

Touya swiftly ensnared her in his grasp, drawing her nearer as his arms coiled around her, a tight and sinister embrace. His hushed whispers carried an eerie weight, like a sinister lullaby meant to enthrall. "You humans are often desperate creatures," he murmured, his tone taking on a dark, chilling timbre. "I didn't know she was here. She probably came for the same reason you did those days ago, but she succeeded."

The sinister undercurrent in his words hung in the air, weaving a web of unsettling secrets and uncertainty. Miyaka's heart raced as Touya pulled her into a tight hug, but his touch only intensified her fear and disgust. The overwhelming desire to escape this situation consumed her, like a trapped animal seeking freedom. As her mind churned with conflicting emotions, the feeling of unease grew stronger. She needed to get away, to put distance between herself and whatever had transpired here. "That's disgusting! Poor soul..." she whispered, her voice trembling. 

But then realization struck, and her horror deepened. "Wait... How do you know it was a woman? These remains are unrecognizable, you can't determine who it was... Oh my God... oh my God, you killed her..." Miyaka began to back away slowly, her eyes filled with a terror that clawed at her very soul.

Touya's frown deepened as he regarded her, her skepticism gnawing at his patience. His voice, laced with irritation, rumbled like distant thunder, "You are too quick to pass judgment, miss. My existence is far removed from your understanding, and my senses perceive the world in ways you cannot fathom."

Turning away from her, he continued in a lower tone, his words designed to play on her human psyche, "I saved your life, yet you accuse me of murder."

Miyaka, caught in a conflict of emotions, felt a wave of guilt cascade over her like a shadowed waterfall. Had her accusations been too hasty, she wondered? Touya's words, though cryptic, resonated with a strange sincerity. Yet, the puzzle pieces of this enigmatic encounter didn't quite fit into the mosaic of her understanding.

Opting to retain her doubts in the vault of her thoughts, Miyaka approached Touya, her arms encircling his waist from behind with a hesitancy akin to a delicate breeze quivering through a forest of doubts. Her voice trembled, a blend of trepidation and contrition as she spoke. "I... I apologize if I misconstrued, Touya. The world here feels surreal, and my fear cast shadows over my judgment. Forgive me."

Touya's lips curled into a smile, hidden from her eyes. In her vulnerability, her heartstrings resonated to his voice's enchanting tune. The pieces of his plan were falling into place as he desired.

He released a deep, contemplative sigh, his fingers gently caressing the arms wrapped around his waist. His voice, a velvet whisper, embraced the still night air. "Yes, I saved you. If I were the monster you fear, you would have been my meal the very day you graced the water with your presence. But, dear miss, I forgive you, for there's something about you that intrigues me."

Miyaka's voice quivered as she made her request, her longing for confirmation overpowering her doubts. "Touya," she murmured, the name like a sweet melody on her lips, "would you... kiss me? To anchor this moment in reality, to assure me that I'm not merely adrift in some dream?"

Touya's hands gently slid to Miyaka's, separating them from his waist. He released himself from her embrace and turned to face her, his smile still present as he cupped her face with his cool palms. "Sirens are known for granting wishes. Your wish is my command, fair lady," he whispered softly before leaning in to kiss her.

Their kiss was both slow and intense, a dance of desire and mystery. Touya's sharp teeth clanked against hers, but he quickly took control of the kiss, his forked tongue parting her lips, exploring her mouth.

Miyaka responded eagerly to Touya's kiss, her initial hesitation giving way to a surge of desire and curiosity. Her hands began to explore his physique with a boldness she hadn't known she possessed. Fingers traced the lines of his pale skin, feeling the strange yet alluring texture of his body. As their lips moved in a passionate dance, her fingers traveled from his chest to his back and further south, grasping his ass. Her tongue danced with his.

Touya blinked, and retreated, his gaze locked on her with a smug, playful smile dancing on his lips. He ran his tongue over his mouth. "Behold, dear lady, clutching a monster’s ass, nurtured by the wild with manners undefined?" he mused with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Miyaka's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as she felt the heat of embarrassment wash over her. She stammered out an apology, her words a mixture of guilt and confusion. "I'm... I'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice quivering. "I don't know why I did that. It was impulsive, and I should never have... I didn't mean to offend you." Her eyes averted, unable to meet his gaze, she felt a strange mixture of attraction and shame clouding her judgment.

The monster chuckled, capturing her lips with a playful kiss, his palm caressing her cheek. This time, his arms enveloped her waist, and his hands embarked on a slow journey downward, firmly fondling her ass.

Miyaka's gaze locked with Touya's as she struggled to find the words to convey her complex feelings. "Touya," she began, her voice filled with uncertainty, "I want to be with you, but I'm lost. I don't know what to do or how to navigate this... connection we have... What am I supposed to do?"

Touya emitted a soft, melodic hum, gently pressing his forehead to hers. "You see, my dear, you have the power to rid yourself of your tormentor, to break free from those chains that bind you. Return to me, and I shall envelop you in a love that knows no bounds, a love that will shield and cherish you," he whispered, his words like a seductive melody. 

Dabi couldn't contain his satisfaction. He marveled at how effortlessly he manipulated her. She was not only surrendering herself willingly, but she was also unwittingly becoming a pawn in his sinister game. The thrill of her impending arrival, the promise of chaos in her wake — oh, how he relished it all!

In that surreal moment, Miyaka found herself strangely drawn to the merman's words. The idea of breaking free from her tormentor, of taking control of her own destiny, it all felt so tempting, so liberating. The plan that had sounded wrong at first now seemed like the path she was meant to take, the one that would finally lead her to a life free from the clutches of her abusive husband.

She hesitated for just a moment, the weight of her decision sinking in, and then, with newfound determination, she whispered, "Yes... I'll do it. I'll break free from him, no matter what it takes." 

Using his seductive voice, he whispered into her ear, his tone laced with malice, "Do it. Show him what you're truly made of, and we shall be bound together for eternity." His words were a siren's call, leading her deeper into the abyss of darkness that he reveled in.

Touya watched Miyaka's retreating figure, a sinister smile curling on his lips as he imagined the torment he would inflict upon her. To him, she was nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game, a foolish woman who had fallen right into his meticulously set trap. The prospect of torturing her and relishing in her suffering thrilled him.

_____________________________

That night Miyaka found herself trapped in a nightmare. She stood alone in a strange, dark room that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. There was no light, no discernible features, just an overwhelming sense of oppressive darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

The first thing that assaulted her senses was the pungent scent of blood, heavy and metallic, hanging in the air like a suffocating fog. It clung to her, filling her nostrils with a sickening, nauseating aroma that made her stomach churn with dread.

As she cautiously took a step forward, her footsteps echoed eerily in the void, the sound resonating through the darkness. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the fear intensifying with each passing moment. She called out for help, but her voice seemed to vanish into the abyss, swallowed by the oppressive silence.

The room felt like a labyrinth, a never-ending maze of despair. Miyaka's breath quickened, and her skin prickled with a cold, clammy sweat. Panic welled up inside her as she desperately searched for an escape, but the darkness remained unyielding, trapping her in its suffocating grip. 

In the next moment, the oppressive darkness was pierced by a strange, eerie light that suddenly illuminated a portion of the floor in front of her. The ghastly scene that unfolded was horrifying beyond imagination.

There, sprawled out in a grotesque and mangled state, lay a heavily destroyed female body. It bore the unmistakable marks of teeth, deep and savage, along with numerous bruises and cuts inflicted by sharp, brutal claws. The sight was enough to make her blood run cold, and a wave of revulsion surged through her.

The lifeless figure on the ground seemed to be a cruel testament to unimaginable violence. It was as if some malevolent force had unleashed its fury upon this unfortunate soul, leaving behind a gruesome tableau of suffering and torment.

Miyaka's breath hitched, and her heart pounded in her chest as she gazed upon this macabre scene. The strange light continued to flicker, casting eerie shadows that danced across the lifeless form. She felt a suffocating dread wash over her, realizing that she was trapped, unable to escape the horrors that lurked in the shadows.

Suddenly, amidst the surreal horror, Miyaka heard a grotesque noise that resembled something being voraciously chewed. Her heart raced as she turned her head to the side slowly, where the eerie light flickered once more, revealing a chilling sight.

In the dim illumination, she saw a dark figure, unmistakably Touya, slowly devouring a still-beating heart held in his clawed hands. His sharp claws dug into the quivering meat of the organ, his eyes glinting with a sinister hunger.

The gruesome scene played out before her eyes, and she was paralyzed with terror, unable to look away from the horrifying spectacle unfolding in this twisted nightmare. Miyaka's terror reached its zenith as she opened her mouth in a desperate attempt to scream, but to her horror, no sound escaped her lips. Her voice had been stolen by the darkness surrounding her.

The next moment, she was outside, and the moon hung low in the obsidian sky, casting a sinister pallor over the desolate landscape. The eerie silence was shattered by the mournful cries of ghostly sea creatures that drifted ominously in the air, their twisted forms contorted in agony.

Amidst this nightmarish scene, the water's surface rippled and churned, as if it were alive with malevolent intent. From the inky depths, a grotesque figure emerged. It was Touya, but he bore no resemblance to the benevolent creature she had encountered before. His once-lustrous white hair now hung in limp, tangled strands, darkened with the stains of blood and decay. His eyes, once mesmerizing pools of turquoise, were now empty voids, devoid of any humanity. His scales and fins had become jagged and twisted, oozing with an otherworldly ichor.

Touya's mouth gaped open unnaturally wide, revealing rows of serrated teeth, each one gleaming with an eerie luminescence. He lurched toward Miyaka, his movements disjointed and unnatural, as if he were a puppet controlled by some malevolent force. With a gut-wrenching lurch, his grotesque form surged out of the water, and he loomed over her, his breath rancid and putrid. He reached out with his twisted, clawed hands, and ripped right through her chest, pulling her heart out; his touch sent a searing pain through her body.

The next moment, Miyaka found herself standing at the edge of the dark lake once more, alone. The haunting memories of what she witnessed still lingered, but a strange compulsion had drawn her back to this place.

She began to undress, her trembling fingers fumbling with the fabric of her dress. The moonlight cast a silvery glow on her as she shed each layer, leaving her vulnerable in the night. The cool breeze rustled the leaves in the surrounding woods, and the night seemed to hold its breath, as if nature itself watched in anticipation. With each piece of clothing that fell to the ground, she felt a strange sense of liberation, as if she was shedding not just fabric but the weight of her past as well. She stood bare under the moonlight, the lake's dark waters reflecting her silhouette.

Miyaka shivered, whether from the cold or from the anticipation of the unknown, she couldn't tell. 

As the woman stood by the edge of the lake, the moonlight illuminating her bare form, a sudden change in the atmosphere caught her by surprise. Without warning, the heavens opened, and rain began to pour down in a torrential downpour.

The raindrops drenched her, mingling with the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She felt the cool water cascade down her skin, as if nature itself wept for the strange and unsettling journey she had embarked upon.

The rain intensified, soaking the earth around her and turning the once-silent night into a cacophony of sound. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

As another loud clap of thunder echoed through the night, the world seemed to vibrate with its intensity. Miyaka stood drenched and shivering, the rain pouring down around her, when something utterly unexpected unfolded before her eyes.

From the dark depths of the lake, a figure began to emerge. Slowly and deliberately, Touya materialized, his form once again taking on a human shape. The rain-slicked water glistened on his bare skin, accentuating the contours of his body.

He stepped out of the lake, his movements graceful and unhurried, and stood before her in all his naked glory. The moonlight and raindrops played tricks with the shadows and highlights on his body, creating an almost ethereal, mesmerizing effect.

Miyaka's heart raced, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from this captivating sight. The storm raged around them, but in this moment, it was as if time had stood still, and the world held its breath in the presence of the enigmatic creature before her.

She watched helplessly as Touya's delicious naked body walked purposefully towards her. She felt as though her heart were consumed by a white-hot fire, and was being stabbed with a thousand needles, and she didn't know why. Never had she felt a pain even remotely like this before; it was horrendous. It was a pain she would never wish upon anybody, even a foe.

Touya wrapped his arms around Miyaka, pulling her close, and they both sank to their knees on the wet sand. The storm raged fiercer around them.

Touya, with a powerful force, pushed Miyaka down onto the ground, pinning her beneath his weight, the storm's intensity mirroring the tempestuous passion that had ignited between them.

Miyaka parted her lips, rolling her head back, as Touya's lips found the sweet spot on her exposed neck. His mouth closed over it, and a shiver of pleasure coursed through her as he gently sucked on the sensitive area, right where her pulse point was located.

The merman, displaying skill and patience, gently inserted two fingers into her, his groan reflecting the tightness he encountered. Leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along her body, his head descended to her pussy, where he proceeded to wrap his lips around her needy core. Two fingers gently ran across her clit, up and down, up and down.

The woman moaned in pleasure at his fingers massaging her insides.

Touya seemed to be savoring every moment, leisurely tracing his tongue along her slit. His captivating turquoise eyes locked onto her, a mischievous smirk gracing his face as he reveled in the heavenly expression on her face. His forked tongue, with expert precision, skillfully explores every tantalizing crevice, evoking a passionate response that leaves her drenched with desire.

They shifted their positions, with her now kneeling between Touya's legs. She proceeded with deliberate and seductive movements, using her soft hands to sensually stroke his aroused member. A smile of satisfaction graced Miyaka’s lips as she noticed the uncontrollable moan that escaped the merman's mouth when her tongue made contact with the engorged head of his throbbing shaft.

A heated tongue writhed sloppily inside of her cunt, catching Miyaka off guard once more. 

Her breath caught in her throat, and she surrendered to the intense pleasure coursing through her. In a symphony of blissful moans and gasps, she couldn't contain herself, her body quivering as Touya's skilled hand rubbed her swollen clit raw.

Soon, Miyaka mounted Touya, aligning his throbbing dick with her glistening, slick  entrance. She eased his impressive length into her eager pussy, relishing the intense sensation of being stretched beyond what her husband had ever provided.

Touya's hands firmly gripped Miyaka's hips, and he drove himself into her with unrestrained fervor, lost in the primal rhythm of their connection. Each powerful thrust was accompanied by a guttural growl leaving his lips.

Miyaka's breath caught in her throat as she rested her hands on Touya's chiseled chest, snapping her hips back and forth, riding him like he would be a wild stallion. 

Her young body quivered as the successive waves of her climax surged through her. Miyaka's breathing quickened, and her gaze appeared to lose focus as if her eyes were drifting backward. She rode Touya for what felt like an eternity, and then, in a sudden motion, she forcefully slammed down on his throbbing dick, her pussy muscles clenching tightly around his shaft. As she relaxed her pussy slightly, merman shot hot, sticky ropes of cum deep within her core. Miyaka leaned forward to share a passionate kiss with him; their tongues danced together. 

As the ecstasy of the moment began to fade, Miyaka's senses returned, and she suddenly became aware of the rain growing thicker around them. But to her profound horror, when she reluctantly opened her eyes after breaking the passionate kiss with Touya, she realized that it wasn't water pouring down upon them; it was a deluge of blood, staining everything in a nightmarish crimson hue. 

Miyaka wanted to scream, to release the overwhelming anguish that gripped her, but no sound escaped her lips. Instead, she felt like she was suffocating, the blood rain gathering in her nose, making each breath a painful struggle.

After she blinked, Miyaka found herself standing by the side of their marital bed, a sinister calmness in the room as her husband slept soundly. The air was heavy with the weight of her suppressed emotions, and in the distance, she could hear the cruel slurs and insults he had hurled at her throughout their troubled marriage. Each word echoed in her mind, a painful reminder of the torment she had endured.

The anger within her boiled over, a searing rage that consumed her. Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she reached out and began to strike his chest with a fury she had kept buried for far too long. Her screams filled the room as she unleashed the pent-up hatred she felt towards him, her voice cracking with the intensity of her emotions. "I hate you!" she screamed, her voice raw with bitterness. "I hate everything about you!" Her fists hammered down, each blow a cathartic release of the pain and suffering she had endured in silence for too many years. The room seemed to close in around her as she confronted the source of her torment, the darkness of the night bearing witness to her long-suppressed fury.

_____________________________

A haunting, low moan pulled Miyaka out of her nightmarish slumber. Confusion gripped her as she slowly opened her eyes, disoriented and uncertain of her surroundings. It took a few bewildering moments, but then the horrifying realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

She stood next to her marital bed, her trembling hand gripping a bloodied butcher's knife. On the bed, the nightmarish scene unfolded before her eyes — her husband, lying there with numerous gruesome cuts to his chest and neck, blood pooling around him. His eyes, filled with terror, locked onto her with a fading, desperate gaze, his voice stolen by the brutality of his wounds.

Miyaka's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the gruesome tableau of violence she had somehow become a part of. 

"Noooo!" Miyaka screamed. Her world shattered in a cacophony of horror as she screamed hysterically, the knife slipping from her trembling hand. Her husband's neck bled profusely, a torrent of crimson that stained everything it touched.

In sheer desperation, she pressed her trembling fingers against the gaping wound, trying to stem the relentless flow of blood. Warm, sticky liquid soaked through her delicate palms, mingling with her own tears splashing on top of her palms as they streamed down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, my love, I'm so sorry! Oh my God, what have I done?! What have I done?! Oh God!" Apologies escaped her trembling lips, choked with guilt and fear. 

As Miyaka stood over her husband, the time seemed to slow down. 

His once-threatening presence now lay vulnerable before her, his breaths shallow and labored. The weight of her decision bore down on her, and a tumultuous mix of emotions churned within her.

She knelt by his side, his life slipping away with each passing moment. His eyes, once filled with cruelty, now held a hint of fear and regret. The realization of what had transpired seemed to dawn on him in those final moments.

Miyaka watched as his chest rose and fell for the last time, his breaths growing weaker until they ceased altogether. His life ended in her arms, and as she looked down at him, a complex array of emotions washed over her — relief, sadness, and the haunting knowledge that her life had taken a dark turn. She had taken control of her destiny, but it had come at a cost she could never truly escape. The memory of his death would forever be etched into her soul. "What have I done..." Miyaka was whispering, her tears streaming uncontrollably.

The old maid, Yuki, was rudely awakened by the piercing screams that echoed through the once-quiet house. Fear gnawed at her as she rushed to the source of the disturbance, her trembling hands clutching the edges of her nightgown.

When she entered the room and laid eyes upon the nightmarish scene, Yuki’s own scream pierced the air. Horror contorted her features as she beheld the lifeless form of Miyaka's husband and the distraught Miyaka herself, tears streaming down her face.

Yuki, her voice shaking with dread, stammered, "What... What happened here, ma'am?! You... You murdered him!"

Miyaka, overwhelmed by the gruesome events, could only sob in response, trying to explain the inexplicable. She was lost in a maelstrom of emotions, her world unraveling before her eyes.

In the end, unable to bear the weight of her actions and the night's horrors, Miyaka made a fateful decision. She fled from the scene, her tear-streaked face a mask of desperation, and ran toward the only place she believed was safe — the dark embrace of the lake that had lured her with its eerie allure, where the enigmatic merman awaited her. Her mission was accomplished.

_____________________________

Touya's keen senses detected the hurried steps drawing nearer to the lake, and the unmistakable scent of blood hung heavy in the air. She had done it — Miyaka had followed through with their dark plan! He could already sense the turmoil coursing through her, her distress palpable.

With a predatory grace, he decided to rise to the surface of the water, and he waited there, anticipating her arrival.

Miyaka ran through the woods, her breath ragged and her heart pounding in her chest. Her once-silky, pink nightgown was now marred by dark stains of blood, a chilling testament to the horrors she had taken part in. Her long, dark hair was tangled and matted, wild strands framing her flushed cheeks.

She moved with a frantic urgency, her feet making a wet sound as they pounded against the damp earth. Every step took her farther away from the nightmarish scene she had left behind, but the memory of it clung to her like a shadow.

Miyaka reached the shore of the lake, her voice trembling as she called out for Touya. Her desperate cries echoed through the eerie stillness of the night, each plea carrying the weight of her fear and longing. "Touya!" she called, her voice quivering with emotion. "Please, I need you!" She scanned the dark waters, her heart racing in anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. 

Touya's head emerged from the water, his wet hair clinging to his pale skin, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto her. "My love," he beckoned, his voice soothing yet strangely commanding. "Why the distress? Didn't I promise to protect you? Come to me, and find the safety and solace you seek." His words were laden with an irresistible invitation, drawing her deeper into his world.

Miyaka, trembling all over her body, took slow, hesitant steps into the water. Her tear-stained face glistened in the moonlight as she approached Touya, her heart heavy with guilt and despair. She continued to cry, her voice shaky as she began to tell Touya about what she had done. "I... I did it," she whispered, her voice quivering with remorse. "I... I followed your words, and I hurt him. He's gone now." Her confession hung in the air like a dark cloud, and she looked into Touya's eyes, seeking some form of understanding or absolution for the choices she had made.

The water enveloped Miyaka, and she shivered involuntarily as its icy coldness seeped into her skin. The sensation sent a shock of discomfort through her, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions swirling within her. Her nightgown grew heavy, soaked with the icy water.

Touya extended his hand, gently seizing hers, and drew her closer, enveloping her in his warm embrace. One of his hands tenderly caressed her hair, his touch a deceptive contrast to the darkness that lay beneath.

He savored the sensation of her distress, finding it akin to sweet nectar, adding an intoxicating layer to the unfolding narrative of their entwined destinies.

"My sweet Miyaka," he murmured, his voice laced with a sinister sweetness. "Such a good girl." His praise was both soothing and unsettling, as he reveled in the intricate web of emotions he had woven around her.

Miyaka found solace in Touya's embrace, even as her body went numb from the cold water. His presence provided a strange comfort that she couldn't quite explain.

She looked up at him, her voice quivering, and asked in a trembling whisper, "What... What do we do now?" The world around her had descended into chaos, and she clung to him as her anchor in this bewildering nightmare.

Touya held her in a tight embrace, "I shall shield you, for you are mine," he said with eerie grace.

Miyaka looked up at Touya with worry in her eyes, her voice filled with desperation. "My maid... she saw what happened. I can't return to the estate. What should I do now?"

The monstrous being scoffed dismissively. "Don't concern yourself with that old hag. She knows nothing. You are under my protection now, and you shall remain safe for all time."

Miyaka snuggled closer to Touya, resting her head on the crook of his neck for comfort. Her curiosity piqued, she asked in a soft voice, "Touya, what are those dark purple spots on your skin? I forgot to ask earlier..."

"That's how my body looks," Touya replied openly, "They are just marks from years ago when some sailors tried to burn me alive after I killed their captain on the open sea."

Miyaka's eyes widened as she listened to his gruesome story. She struggled to reconcile this dark tale with the merman who had saved her and told her he had never attacked anyone. She asked, her voice filled with uncertainty, "But... you saved me, and you said you've never harmed anyone. I don't understand, Touya..."

"Perhaps it's because you're nothing more than a naive, little human," Touya chuckled, his hold on her growing stronger.

Miyaka winced as Touya's grip tightened, causing discomfort. She mustered the courage to speak up, her voice trembling. "Touya, your hold is hurting me," she said softly. "Please, let's not be unkind..."

"Well, my dear, I need to ensure my prized possession won't simply slip through my fingers," he remarked with a sinister smile. "Oh, I've been waiting for this moment for so long — to have you back in my embrace."

Miyaka attempted to slip out of Touya's strong embrace, but her efforts were in vain. Instead, a sudden force of his hands pushed her beneath the water's surface, and panic surged through her. She thrashed and struggled, desperate for air and to break free from the grip that had become suffocating.

Her distress only seemed to heighten his pleasure. The sight of her desperately thrashing around, fighting for her own life, sent a thrilling wave of excitement through him.

The merman seized a handful of Miyaka's hair and yanked her back up, a cruel grin on his face as she gasped for air. "Did you truly believe that I would want a pathetic human like you?" he taunted with a chilling edge to his words.

Tears streamed down Miyaka's face as she sobbed, her voice trembling with desperation. "Why are you being so cruel and nasty?!" she pleaded, her distress palpable in her words. "I love you, and I did what you told me to do so we could be together, Touya!"

Her cries echoed through the dark waters, mixing with the eerie ambiance of their surroundings. Her huge distress was like a storm within her, a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to consume her. She continued, her voice broken and filled with anguish, "You... you visited me in my dreams, brought me pleasure... Why are you doing this now?!"

Touya's voice dripped with cruelty as he responded, "Visit someone as pathetic as you? Never. But it seems my voice has indeed worked wonders on you." He playfully tugged at her hair even harder, causing her pain. "To me, you're nothing more than a piece of meat, and I take great pleasure in tormenting naive humans like you. It adds a delightful flavor to the meal." His words sent a chill down her spine as the darkness of their situation enveloped her.

The merman summoned his strength and, with a powerful motion, pulled Miyaka beneath the water with him. 

Her world plunged into darkness and turmoil as she was dragged into the depths of the lake, her struggles intensifying as she fought against the relentless force pulling her down. Sinister shadows danced around her, and she felt a suffocating pressure in her chest as the water closed in on her.

The eerie silence of the underwater world was broken only by the sound of her muffled cries. She could see Touya's malevolent grin in the dim light, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. The water seemed to press against her, threatening to crush her as she struggled for breath, her desperate gasps for air drowned by the malevolent embrace of the lake.

Dabi launched a relentless assault on Miyaka. His sharp claws tore through the water, leaving vicious trails in their wake. With terrifying swiftness, he closed the distance between them, his razor-sharp teeth bared in a menacing grin. He attacked with ruthless ferocity, his claws raking across her skin, and his teeth sinking into her flesh. The water around them turned crimson as the horrifying struggle unfolded, and Miyaka's desperate cries were silenced by the watery abyss that enveloped them.

Miyaka's nightgown offered little protection as Touya's relentless assault continued. With a vicious tear, the delicate fabric was rent asunder, leaving her exposed to the cold, merciless waters of his lake.

Touya's clawed hands gently cradled Miyaka's cheeks, holding her gaze with a cold, unfeeling intensity. Their eyes locked in a chilling embrace as she struggled to hold onto the last remnants of breath in her burning lungs, each painful gasp a stark reminder of her impending doom.

In that haunting moment, beneath the unforgiving waters, they were locked in a macabre dance of predator and prey.

With a swift and cruel motion, Touya pierced Miyaka's chest with his clawed hand, the flesh yielding easily to his monstrous strength. A searing pain shot through her. Dark haired woman's senses barely registered the horrifying reality of what was happening. The world around her dissolved into a surreal blur, and the excruciating pain in her chest seemed distant, as if happening to someone else. As her life ebbed away, her consciousness faded into a murky abyss, and the last remnants of her existence were swallowed by the cold, merciless waters of the lake.

Touya tore the beating heart from her chest, the organ pulsating in his grip, still warm and alive. As he held it before him, the last vestiges of life ebbed away from Miyaka, her body going limp.

Touya, with a grotesque hunger, sank his sharp teeth into the still-beating heart he held in his clawed hand. The organ yielded to his bite, and the taste of youth surged into his mouth. He savored the sickeningly sweet taste. 

Once he had consumed the last morsel of Miyaka's essence, Touya's malevolent gaze turned towards the lifeless body he still held by the arm. A fleeting pang of guilt tugged at his consciousness, but he quickly dismissed the emotion. "You're mine now, forever," he declared, his monstrous arms embracing the lifeless form. "You'll remain with me for all eternity, sweet naive girl, at the bottom of my lake." 

Touya, in a sinister tone, offered a twisted form of thanks to the lifeless Miyaka. "Thank you for your heart, love," he murmured, his voice laced with malevolence. "It has provided me with the strength I needed to regain my full power." 

The waters of the lake seemed to shiver in response to his sinister words, bearing witness to the unholy pact forged in the depths.

After a moment of holding Miyaka's lifeless body close to his muscular chest, Touya swam further down into the unfathomable depths of the abyss that was the lake. With Miyaka's body firmly in his grasp, he descended into the darkness, disappearing from the realm of the living and vanishing into the watery tomb that was his dominion.

[hoonigiris]

YOU TOUCH MY FACE IN FORGIVENESS—

enhypen as supernatural creatures nulla. i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii.

sim jaeyun as... werewolf

bone. flesh. claws. the moon, round, distilled in the night. jake isn't sure where he starts and the wolf begins, but maybe they've always been one in the same. maybe he's always been like this, a growl lodged in his throat, lips pulled back into a snarl. metal on his tongue, air bathed thick in crimson, the muscle fibers tear with ease between his canines as he presses his prey further into the ground. like habit, like instinct. by the time the moon rises, all jake knows is this. he is a wolf, a beast, a hound, a dog—a dog? something whines in the back of his throat, caught between the skin and flesh and blood. that’s right. it wasn’t always like this. (warm hand, guiding light, a soft place to call home.) home: how can he ever go back? repentance is a dead bird between his jaws, held gently and dripping stale blood onto the porch. the apology stains the wood beneath his feet, dirt in his fur as he paws at the door, waiting for you to let him back in. tail between his legs. shame, for what he’s become without you. jake just wants to go home; he doesn’t think he can, anymore.

[sunspearesque]

Nectar

Summary: by the Old Gods and the New, there exists no greater solace than the taste of one's lover following a wearisome day.

A/N: happy happy love day lovergals, boys, gays, and theys :D this is the first smutty smut i’m sharing with you as a treat for v-day and i’m so excited for y’all to read it :3 the idea for this smut dawned on me at work and lingered in my mind like a nagging ghost for a whole damned week ‘til i finally wrote it down lol !!! big thank u to my bestie @palioom for beta-ing <3

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); needy!Oberyn; food imitating blood; Wet and Wanting™️; teasing; vaginal fingering; finger sucking; i’m obsessed with his hands and so is she; size kink if you squint; pet names; this man loves to bite, smh; cum eating; a hint of soft!Oberyn

WC: 2.3K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

As night descended upon Dorne, the warmth of the day waned, yielding to the crisp coolness of the evening. Over the past few moons, Oberyn had established a new ritual, one that brought him solace.

Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he retreated to the balcony of their bedchamber, embracing it as a sanctuary. There, he would lounge upon a sumptuous, crimson velvet seat, his eyes fixed upon the vast expanse of the sea unfolding before him—a serene realm of water that seemed to murmur long-held secrets of bygone eras.

This balcony, the largest in the castle, served as a haven of intimacy for Oberyn and Nala. At its center, the aforementioned seat beckoned like a welcoming embrace, bearing witness to the couple's cherished moments. Every night, the chair cradled their forms, offering respite from the day's pressures, while an adjacent table held their favored fruits and wine, a testament to their shared evenings of leisure.

As the hours passed and the weight of council meetings bore down on Oberyn, he would return to their bedchamber, seeking the comfort of her company. There, he would find her already ensconced in the plush chair, her demeanor one of patient anticipation. She was a vision of allure, her raven tresses undulating and cascading down her back as she wore a black chiffon robe. Its fabric was transparent enough to reveal the contours of her body, teasing at the hardened peaks of her breasts and the curve of her ass beneath. Loosely tied at her waist, the robe boasted an open front, offering a drawing view of her cleavage, while its long, wide sleeves added an air of elegance to her form.

As Oberyn drew nearer to the balcony, the lilting melody of her humming reached his ears, and a warm smile crept across his face. There she sat, perched at the edge of the chair, engrossed in the simple task of peeling a pomegranate. The fruit's juices dripped from her hands onto a nearby plate, mirroring the vivid hue of blood beneath the moon's light.

She turned to face him as his presence enveloped the balcony, her eyes alight with warmth and affection. "Greetings," she whispered, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she continued to peel the fruit. His smile mirrored hers, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a display of genuine fondness.

"Greetings, my love," he responded in kind, as he lingered against the balcony wall.

“How did your meetings fare?" she inquired, her attention momentarily on the fruit she was deftly peeling.

"Dull," he admitted with a light chuckle. "I've missed you."

She glanced up at him with a teasing pout, her dark eyes softened. "Oh, my dear husband, ever so eager," she pitied playfully, inclining her head to beckon him closer. "Join me."

With a graceful and somewhat devilish smirk, he accepted her invitation, moving silently to sit behind her. He draped his legs on either side of her, encircling her waist with his arms as he rested his chin on her shoulder, their eyes focused on the fruit she continued to peel.

His lips graced her neck with slow, tender kisses. "I've missed your smell, my sweet girl," he murmured between each caress.

Nala chuckled softly at his words, a warm sensation of desire stirring within her. "I love it when you get this eager for me."

"I'm always this eager for you," he confessed, his breath sending shivers down her spine. His lips found her earlobe, and he sucked gently, coaxing a soft moan from her parted lips.

Her hands still held the pomegranate, its juices slowly staining her fingers. He took her right hand in his, his grip encompassing hers as he lifted it to his face. "I’ve never craved blood as much as I crave it now on your fingers," he confessed. He took her thumb into his mouth, sucking the sweet pomegranate juice clean from her digit. He repeated the sensuous act for each of her fingers on her right hand before moving on to her left. Nala's thighs squeezed together involuntarily as she felt the teasing warmth of his tongue on her fingers, a primal ache building between her thighs. He noticed that, and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips.

Relishing in the intoxicating closeness they shared, he shifted to rest his back against the plush chair. Spreading his legs, he created a welcoming space for her. She moved with grace and settled between his legs, her back pressed to his firm chest. She let out a contented hum, reveling in the sensation of his warm embrace.

His wandering hand traced a path down the light fabric of her robe, slipping beneath the material to cup the tender swell of her breast. He squeezed it gently at first, eliciting a soft gasp from her, before his calloused fingers danced over her hardened nipple.

"Oberyn..." Her voice quivered with pleasure as she closed her eyes, savoring the delicious sensation of his touch, a craving that had consumed her throughout the day.

His voice, laced with desire, broke through the silence of the night. "Why are you wearing this robe?" he asked, hoarsely. He squeezed her breast a bit harder, urging her to answer.

"For you, my love," she breathed, her voice now shaky. "I’m aware it's your favored one."

A deep groan escaped him as he lowered himself down, his strong fingers turning her face to meet his. Their lips crashed together in a passionate, fervent kiss. Oberyn's tongue delved into her mouth, savoring the mingling flavors of wine and pomegranate.

"You wore it for me, my love?" he murmured against her lips, the intensity of his kiss unwavering. "Do you long for me to stretch this sweet little cunt of yours?"

Her moans were muffled as he continued to kiss her with unbridled ardor.

He reluctantly parted from her, allowing her to catch her breath. "Please, my prince," she whined, her lips now blushed and swollen from his relentless ministrations.

"Who's eager now?" he teased, a devilish smile playing on his lips. His hand began to creep down the fabric of her robe, and her thighs instinctively parted, welcoming his touch.

Beneath the fabric, her skin felt warm and inviting, quivering as his rough, calloused fingers delicately traced her inner thighs. He sought to drown in her essence, to immerse himself in her body and her very being.

"My love..." she whispered, her fingers extending to circle his wrist and guide his hand to the heated core between her thighs. He cupped her mound with his right hand, his touch sending waves of desire coursing through her.

Leaning slightly toward her, he brought his lips closer to her neck, which she had willingly tilted back to rest upon his shoulder, offering him greater access. He rewarded her obedience with gentle bites to her neck, a quiet hum escaping his lips. He followed with open-mouthed kisses, tracing a path over the reddened bite marks with slow, deliberate sensuality.

She writhed between his legs, his towering presence engulfing her in his embrace. His shoulders, broad and formidable like a fortress, held her securely from behind, anchoring her in place. His hands, enormous and veined. His veins seemed to grow even more pronounced when he was impassioned or fervent—an occurrence not so infrequent. Yet, even amidst the intensity, his fingers, though calloused from years of training and combat, possessed a gentle touch as if she were a precious gem, and indeed, she was his most cherished gem.

His voice, normally hoarse and commanding as befitting a prince, now softened into a gentle coo reserved only for her. His sharp, dagger-like gaze, which could pierce through steel, melted into a tender look whenever he directed it at her. This shift in his demeanor and temperament had the power to dissolve her resistance, causing her to surrender the control she had always been hesitant to yield to anyone, not even to herself, until she met him.

He smelled like home, like the earth, or burnt wood or warm amber; that enveloped her like a comforting embrace. His scent permeated everything around her—their shared bed, their wardrobe, and the very air their child breathed. His scent was a reassuring familiarity, and the familiar was always a welcome comfort. She adored the moments when she started to smell like him whenever he was through with her, smelling like his skin, his sweat, and his cum; a fragrant reminder of his presence that stubbornly marked her mind, her heart, her skin, and her cunt.

His touch grew firmer on her mound, coaxing a moan from her as he felt her thighs quiver between his legs. Wetness pooled on his palm, a testament to her desire surging with each passing moment. His voice, low and sultry, brushed against her ear like a warm breeze, sending shivers down her spine. "She's weeping, my love," he whispered, his breath hot against her shell, "Open your eyes, Nala, look at her." With a subtle lift of his hand, he showcased his glistening palm, soaked in her slick, illuminated by the pale moonlight. She obeyed, her eyes fluttering open for a fleeting second before lazily turning her gaze towards his ear nestled behind her. "That's what your love does to her," she whispered, "She's aching, my prince." Her words dissolved into a whine that elicited a guttural groan from him. His grip on her jaw tightened, his fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, as he claimed her lips once more, kissing her with a consuming hunger that devoured her moans and left her panting when he finally released her.

His hand continued its sensual caress back on her cunt, tracing the contours of her wet folds with serpentine grace, massaging every ridge of her sex. His fingers moved with purpose, gliding up and down, feeling her clench around nothing each time he hovered dangerously close to her entrance. Veering away from her sensitive clit, a deliberate tease that left her trembling and yearning for more. Tears welled in her eyes as the unbearable ache intensified, her face nuzzling into the comforting crook of his neck as she stifled pathetic whines, murmuring pleas that spilled like a desperate prayer.

"Oh, I know, my sweet girl," he cooed, his lips brushing tenderly against her temple. His fingers continued to work their magic, gently parting her soaked folds, feeling the pool of wetness growing obscenely larger. His voice, muffled by the curtain of her hair, reached her ears as he asked, "What do you want, Nala? Speak to me."

"The teasing, my prince… It pains me," she whimpered.

He pressed a single finger against her hungry hole, a featherlight motion that allowed him to feel the eager embrace of her cunt, drawing him in deeper and deeper. Adding a second finger, he relished in the sound of her gasps and felt the grip of her fingers on his trousers, her nails digging into his thighs with a delightful sting. Her hands marked him as hers, forever claimed by her touch.

"Obery—" her voice began, but it was swiftly overtaken by a strained moan as his thumb finally found her throbbing clit.

Finally, finally, by the Seven, Oberyn.

Her eyes squeezed shut again, and her lips parted as she threw her head back onto his shoulder, her body instinctively spreading her thighs wider, a silent plea for more, an insatiable need that begged to be sated.

His thumb began to draw slow, lazy circles on her clit, all the while continuing his gentle pumping of his digits into her, starting to hear the sultry squelch of her slick.

"I will never tire of hearing your sweet moans when I stretch you," he breathed into her ear. "Do you find pleasure when I stretch you, hm? When I fill you up with my hands, my cock, and my seed?" he purred the question, his skilled ministrations unabating.

Her response was a chorus of "Yes, yes, yes," echoing in her mind and heart, the words unspoken but fervently felt.

He brought his other hand up toward her face, and she eagerly took his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it with a moan. Her lips created a seductive rhythm that mirrored the movements of his fingers between her thighs. Her body tightened around his intruding digits, a sign that her orgasm was approaching. He quickened his pace, adding a third finger and intensifying the circle he traced around her clit, driving her closer to ecstasy with every movement.

"Give it to me, princess," he growled through clenched teeth, the urgency in his voice matching the pace of his fingers. "Give your prince your sweet cum. I want it, I want to taste it, to drink it… Make me drunk on you."

Her grip on his thighs tightened to the brink of pain, and she began to tremble uncontrollably between his legs. Her release washed over her in waves as she came, crying out his name over and over again.

Withdrawing his hand from her throbbing cunt, he bent her forward, away from his chest, until she rested on her stomach, her hips raised and her lush ass presented invitingly to him. From behind, he eagerly lapped up every drop of her cum, his tongue caressing her soaked folds and trailing sensually to her tight, puckered ring of muscles. He drank greedily, savoring the taste of her release as she mumbled incoherently beneath him.

He pulled her back into his chest and turned her within his lap, pressing her chest against his, his rough hand tenderly cradling the back of her head as he peppered her cheeks and temples with sweet kisses. She melted limply in his arms, and he whispered, "I will always be eager for you," as she hummed contentedly against him.

[hhoneyglasss]

kill bill

notes: i think our favorite vampiric princess is in order for valentine’s season. hope u enjoy.

pov: alexis solaire — first person limited

pairings: past relationship(?) with alexis/sam, present relationship with darlin’/sam

word count: 2.2k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46534081

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! unhealthy obsession, physical threats, aggressive language, and graphic imagery. please proceed with caution or do not interact with this work if these topics r triggering for u.

reblogs r v much appreciated!

Time is cruel to those who go against its laws, but it's even crueler to those who follow them.

Time has always been something to rival against—a force that dares test the permanency of the Solaire name. Like all things who attempt the same feat, it is crushed into dust, and Solaire blood reigns victorious once again.

It’s a vicious cycle, but it’s one that’s kept us at the top—crimson crowns spilling red onto those beneath it. It can be ugly, even tragic, but it’s worth it. It’s power—indescribable power.

But it’s a lonely game between us, immortality and I. Eternity is kind to no man, to no creature of the night, and I, a Solaire, am no exception. A night of forever endlessly stretches out in front of me, a path I must travel alone.

Or so I thought.

Sam Collins was something more than the immortal night I was damned to. He was the moon, the stars, that lit up the dark blanket of sky who smothered me in its hold. He was always more than immortality or power—he was alive.

Maybe it was the drumming of his heartbeat in his chest or the way his cheeks flushed rose in the summer sun, but Sam Collins exuded life. He was vitality itself, a man who radiated it whenever he walked into a room. He was the true definition of human.

That’s what drew me to him. His humanity reminded me of the life I had lived so many years ago, those memories now forever captured in this perfect man. A gentleman with a heart of gold, but one who let close to none see it.

I was one of the lucky few.

I was falling—drowning in the river that was him. From his warmth to his touch, he invaded every aspect of my being, and I found myself hooked. Suddenly I saw a brighter future ahead, a future where someone would lead me through the night. I found my own northern star—he was Polaris, and I was the once-lost traveler.

But then his light started to dim. Precession began and suddenly the earth wobbled beneath my feet and Polaris was no more. He laid limp in my arms, fallen from the sky into my lap with a car door lodged in his abdomen. My vision stained red, the moon now blurry, and the future I saw now nothing but a faded fantasy.

I thought of the solution—I found a way to restore the life that had once pulsed through his veins. It’d be different, he’d be different, but he’d still be the same Sam. He’d still be my Sam.

My nails in his skin, his eyes locked on mine, and then my teeth in his throat. I hadn’t ever bitten him before—he said he hadn’t wanted that, so I listened. It was different now, though. He needed this, even when he pushed my hands away and begged me to stop.

My blood then dripped into his mouth, and it was complete. The golden glow of Polaris now shone silver, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Sam Collins was alive, even if his heartbeat had slowed to an eternal flatline.

He didn’t understand.

One who had once fallen asleep in my arms now refused to even be in the same room. One who used to kiss me good night and walk me home now couldn’t bear to look at me. One whose heart I thought was mine now claimed I was dead to him.

I thought it was a phase. Bloodlust’s bitterness, or whatever you’d wish to call it. I pictured him coming back to me when it was over—that same crooked smile looking down at me, just with canines a little pointier.

But then the days stretched into weeks, then months, and then sooner than I realized, his bloodlust was over and the silent treatment showed no sign of stopping. He continued to avoid me like some foreign plague, but I still watched him, still thinking about the day he’d come running back to me.

The day hasn’t come.

Not yet, anyway.

That first year turned into two, then five, and ten and then fifteen years had gone by without a single look in my direction. Even if our progeny-maker thread had been cut, I could feel his change in breathing whenever I entered the room. The nervousness in it, the tension.

The pure, unbridled fear.

I was now the creature lurking in the shadows, the monster hiding underneath his childhood bed. The leviathan with fangs dripping crimson.

All hope was not lost, though. The moonlight still shone through the end of the tunnel, and I was patient. He would find his forgiveness eventually—Sam Collins is a good man, and good men know how to forgive.

That hope stood strong until I started to see the beginnings of the oncoming dawn.

This dawn made their grand debut at a monthly clan meeting in the shape of a wolf. A damned creation with scars slashed across their skin, beginning right underneath their jaw and wrapping around their arms, torso, and legs.

One of Sam’s flannels wrapped snug around their frame.

I watched them, my knees pressed to my chest as I sat on the stairs. I watched Sam’s hand rest on the small of their back, and I watched the way they leaned into him. I watched the kiss they placed on his cheek in greeting, and I watched the tilted shy smile he gave in return.

I watched all of it. I saw everything.

Ten minutes after my vigil began, Sam left them with a kiss on their forehead to speak with Vincent and William. They now stood alone on the right side of the room, their hands fiddling with the cuff of Sam’s shirt.

They must’ve detected me watching them when their gaze quickly shifted in my direction. I didn’t stop watching—I simply stared back. Their eyes were wide and curious before they crinkled into a small smile.

They waved.

They had no idea who I was.

All they knew was that someone in this wide room of vampires had done something ‘dreadful’ to their mate, something ‘unforgivable’. As far as they knew right now, everyone was innocent—everyone was a smiling face welcoming them into this clan with open arms.

How wrong they were.

I didn’t smile, nor did I wave back. Their smile faded slowly, and they dropped their arm and turned away.

Good. Pathetic chew toys are to be crushed ‘neath a Solaire’s marble heel, not given allowance to make eye contact, let alone smile.

I stood up from my perch on the stairs and walked away. I went past where Vincent, William, and Sam were speaking to one another, and like the past fifteen wretched years, I noticed the muscles in Sam’s arms tense and I saw his fists clench. His back straightened, and he became terrifically still when I walked by.

I paused, then turned to the mutt. Did they notice how Sam had reacted to my presence? Did they see how his posture changed? Did they notice the half-inch that his brows furrowed inward? Did they see it? Did they see him?

When I examined the expression on their face, I knew that they did.

The small smile that had tugged at their soft features had now completely dissipated—their mouth was pressed into a hard, straight line. Their eyes, once liquid sun in the light of the full moon, had frozen solid.

Resentment was in their eyes.

And protectiveness. As expected from a dog.

All wolves are the same—they bark, they bite, and then they die. One by one, they shrivel up and fall. It’s just nature.

I used to feel a sort of sympathy for them, us both being moonbound. I felt a kindred spirit in a way.

Not anymore.

The thing with the mutt was that they would not last. They had a few measly, troubled decades in this world while I had until the end of time.

I had eternity—they had a ticking clock.

There is no room in this world for immature vagabonds with a pension for death. There is no room for wolves who are fatally tied to their own mortality.

They will die eventually, and the Solaire blood will reign victorious. I will wear my crown again.

I went to stand beside the wall, watching once again when Sam made their way back to them. They jumped up to kiss his cheek again. I gagged.

Over the course of the night, I watched them. I saw when they both sat down for the clan meeting to begin. They never stopped touching for the entire night.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

If his hand wasn’t against their thigh, then his arm wrapped around their shoulder. If they weren’t leaning against him, then their hand closed over his.

Nauseating, disgusting, vile, obscene—there were a million words in the world to describe the scene playing out before me, but none of them quite held the venom I wanted.

The hour-long meeting seemed to drag on into oblivion until William finally dismissed the clan, a good natured smile warming his eyes as he bid us good night. I got up from my seat and began to stalk towards the door, my coat tucked under my arm.

I didn’t get very far when I heard a voice behind me. “Something tells me that staring at Sam’s partner like a tiger about to pounce isn’t gonna make him hate you less.”

Vincent. I stopped and turned around, but I stayed silent. His arms were crossed over his chest, his glare disapproving as it bore into me.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vincent.”

“Tch,” he huffed, “I’m not stupid. Do you think I am?”

I didn’t answer that.

Vincent continued, “It wasn’t just me who noticed, Alexis. I heard them whispering to Sam about it during the meeting. You’re making them uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, then. It’s making Sam uncomfortable.”

“You’re saying that to get me to care about their feelings.”

“And what if I am?” He asked, “He’s the only thing that gets through to you anymore.”

I paused. “…Does it really make him uncomfortable?”

He nodded. Silence fell over us.

He broke it. “So you’ll stop?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll try.”

Silence again.

Vincent leaned on the railing of the stairs. “You need to get over him.”

“I don’t need anything,” I growled.

“Yes, you do,” he countered, “It was different when he was single. You could chase after him all you want—he could handle the staring when it was only directed at him—but it’s not like that anymore.”

I braced myself. I knew what was coming.

“He’s with someone now,” he continued, “They’re mates, Alexis, and you know what?”

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s happy,” he said, “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Maybe you would’ve noticed the change in him if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all of the time, but he’s content now. He smiles. A lot. And he laughs. A lot. He didn’t do that much before.”

Another pause. I started to curl into myself.

“He loves them, Alexis.”

There it was.

The arrow through the Achilles’ heel, a wooden stake piercing my stone heart. Sunlight burned through my flesh until nothing was left but a pile of unlovable ash, blown away in the winter wind.

I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping my coat until my fingers stabbed through the fabric.

I looked up at Vincent. “Say that again, and your tongue will be shoved so far down your throat you’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned on my heel and swept through the meeting room’s double doors, ignoring his angry shouts. They were static now.

I made my way around the building, hoping to find my car before I shattered my keys when I saw the two of them in the parking lot.

The mutt had a bundle of flowers in their arms, the bouquet tied together neatly with a red ribbon. They held a card decorated with hearts in their left hand.

Valentine’s Day. How could I forget?

They gazed with awe at the card and flowers, and the brightest smile lit their adoring features.

I could almost see the stupid fucking halo.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, a gesture he always did when he was bashful.

It was sickening.

I stared at the bouquet.

There were roses in it.

I looked back up at Sam.

I wondered what I could do with those thorns.

My imagination began to run wild. I imagined snatching the roses from their bouquet and sinking the sharp thorns into Sam’s throat, dragging them through his skin while they tore him open. He’d fall to the ground, his hands around his neck, and his wide, too human-like eyes would beg for help. The dog would scream and scream and scream and I’d scream too, relishing in the noise, and my vision would bleed red just like it did fifteen years ago.

They’d call for help, but no one would come. The hours would tick by and the sun would soon rise. I’d watch from the shadows as Sam’s corpse burned to ash instead. He was the forgotten one now.

The asphalt would bleed red too.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

Hey, sorry if I’ve just missed it but is there a list somewhere of all the games that have characters in this bracket?

There is now! I've done it for the first bracket but not for this one, so here it is:

Fire Emblem: Three Houses (x12)

Baldur’s Gate 3 (x9)

Mystic Messenger (x8)

Arcade Spirits (x7)

Obey Me (x7)

Stardew Valley (x6)

Dragon Age: Inquisition (x5)

Monster Prom (x5)

Persona 5 (x5)

Coral Island (x5)

I Was a Teenage Exocolonist (x4)

Persona 3 (x4)

Boyfriend Dungeon (x4)

Romancelvania (x4)

Fire Emblem Fates (x4)

Blooming Panic (x4)

The Arcana (x4)

Potion Permit (x4)

Uta no Prince-sama (x3)

Arcade Spirits: The New Challengers (x3)

Mass Effect (x3)

Hooked On You: Dead by Daylight (x3)

Fallout 4 (x3)

Infinite Blue (x3)

Trouble Comes Twice (x3)

Fire Emblem Engage (x3)

TOUCHSTARVED (x3)

Tri City Monsters (x3)

Fire Emblem: Awakening (x2)

Code: Realize (x2)

Court of Darkness (x2)

XOXO Droplets (x2)

My Time at Sandrock (x2)

Cyberpunk 2077 (x2)

Our Life: Beginning and Always (x2)

My Time at Portia (x2)

Dragon Age 2 (x2)

Tears of Themis (x2)

Doki Doki Literature Club (x2)

Mass Effect: Andromeda (x2)

BUSTAFELLOWS (x2)

Titan Arum (x2)

Harvest Moon: A New Beginning (x2)

My Candy Love (x2)

The Witcher 3 (x2)

The Divine Speaker (x2)

Divinity: Original Sin 2 (x2)

Baldur's Gate 1&2 (x2)

Later Daters (x1)

Fallout: New Vegas (x1)

Monster Camp (x1)

Rune Factory 3 (x1)

Our Life: Now and Forever (x1)

It Lives in The Woods (x1)

Scarlet Hollow (x1)

Stray Gods (x1)

The Fernweh Saga (x1)

Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life (x1)

It Lives Beneath (x1)

The Soul Stone War series (x1)

Seduce Me The Otome (x1)

Fields of Asphodel (x1)

Blood Moon (x1)

The Royal Romance (x1)

The Golden Rose (x1)

Re: Alistair++ (x1)

Persona 2 (x1)

Long Live The Queen (x1)

Dragon Age: Origins (x1)

Magical Diary: Horse Hall (x1)

My Horse Prince (x1)

Gilded Shadows (x1)

Obscura (x1)

Café Enchanté (x1)

Inuyasha: The Secret of the Cursed Mask (x1)

DRAMAtical Murder (x1)

A Villain's Twisted Heart (x1)

The Sims (x1)

GreedFall (x1)

Cryptid Crush (x1)

Postknight 2 (x1)

Sun Haven (x1)

Loren the Amazon Princess (x1)

Hustle Cat (x1)

A Date With Death (x1)

The Ssum (x1)

1931: Scheherazade at the Library of Pergamum (x1)

Dandelion -Wishes Brought To You- (x1)

Persona 4 (x1)

Intertwine (x1)

How Not To Become a Queen (x1)

Thorn for the Villain (x1)

Villainess Idolized By Everyone (x1)

Assignment Due: Project Blue (x1)

Silhouette (x1)

Story of Seasons: Trio of Towns (x1)

Mr Love (x1)

Heart no Kuni no Alice (x1)

Harvest Moon: More Friends of Mineral Town (x1)

Harvest Moon DS Cute (x1)

Story of Seasons: Pioneers of Olive Town (x1)

Number Days Sim Date (x1)

Cupid Parasite (x1)

Amnesia (x1)

Lover Pretend (x1)

Untold Atlas (x1)

Witches x Warlocks (x1)

OZMAFIA!! (x1)

Pokemon Black and White 2 (x1)

Blades of Light and Shadow (x1)

Life is Strange: Before The Storm (x1)

Life is Strange (x1)

Cinderella Phenomenon (x1)

Endless Summer (x1)

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (x1)

Planescape: Torment (x1)

Changeling (x1)

The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe) (x1)

Heaven's Secret (x1)

Andromeda Six (x1)

Dracula: A Love Story (x1)

Path of the Valkyrie (x1)

Arcanum (x1)

Nameless ~The One Thing You Must Recall~ (x1)

Dialtown (x1)

Infamous (x1)

Crimson Spires (x1)

Birushana (x1)

The Wedding (x1)

When Life Gives You Lemons (x1)

Pillars of Eternity series (x1)

//TODO: today (x1)

Heart Fragment (x1)

[thestoriesincoffeestains]

REMINDED

send REMINDED for a scene from my muse’s past in which they encountered something that reminded them of a difficult experience / trauma

Carmen stared at the crimson, satin dress hanging in the back of her closet, the smooth material dripping off her fingers like cool blood. The v-neck cut showed off more skin than she normally allowed, as did the slashes of fabric along the rib line, the slit that strategically showed off glimpses of thigh with every step. She bit down on her bottom lip, overlapping voices echoing through her mind.

"Whose attention do you expect to attract, wearing a dress like that?" Her oldest sister snatched the dress out of Carmen's childhood closet, laughing as she held it over her own curvy form.

Her second-oldest sister reached for it, fingers poking through the cut beneath the bodice, just along the right side. "It's cute. She's following in your footsteps. First the dress, then the boy, then--"

Another sister snagged the hanger and twirled with the dress against her chest. "Aye, you think a dress is gonna help any boy get passed her prickly personality?"

16-year-old Carmen clenched a fist at her side until nails bit into her palm, leaving white crescent moons etched against skin. "Enough. No one asked for your opinions. Besides, not all of us get dressed up to--"

"To what?" her oldest sister smirked, hand at her nip. "Snag disappointing husbands? Get left caring for kids we didn't ask for, stuck in this house as it falls apart around us? That's exactly the future you're headed towards, hermana. Don't think you're better than us, just 'cause you get the trapeze around the world, shaking those hips. You'll still end up here, with us, otherwise alone."

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.05 ~ ♆

“ Fuck you, Odair ”

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

{{ previous part || next part }} {{ masterlist }}

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, death, nightmares, reader throws up whoops, alcohol/tipsy! reader, Finnick is still an ass, etc

{{ word count }} 2.8 k

{{ outfits }}

{{ prompt }} Readjusting to life outside the arena is a challenge. You’re barely able to cope with the blood staining your hands and the new terrors that arise before you’re whisked away back home.

{{ a/n }} happy holidays ! we’re finally going to be getting somewhere in reader and Finnick’s relationship this time around !! there will still be a lot more build up from here don’t fear <3

Finnick had to adjust his grip to keep your buckling knees from bringing both of you to the linoleum tile below. You had gone all but limp in the boy’s arms as choked sobs escaped your lips. You broke down right there in his arms, eventually taking the two of you to your knees regardless of the boy’s strength nor his futile attempts to keep you either standing or to guide you back to your cot. Wires connected sticky monitors to a wailing device and tangled themselves around your arms and chest. A small trickle of blood dribbled down your forearm from where your IV tube had been ripped out in your scuffle away from the medics.

Finnick’s brows knit together in a tight crease as your fingertips pressed hard into his honey-tanned skin. A muscle in the boy’s jaw fluttered as your sobs and burning touch tugged that thread in his chest hard. Your claim from the train ride had been ripped from your grasp without so much as a goodbye, all in the name of survival.

“I’d rather choose death than a life with blood on my hands.”

He didn’t really know why you were gripping him so tight, as if he’d disappear should your grip be released, considering you’d almost taken him out with a medical tool upon his entrance to the small medical bay. The device had cracked the small window next to the doorway, and broken glass now speckled the floor beneath the shattered pane. Your broken, hiccuped cries continued on, ragged breaths barely bringing air into your lungs, while Finnick shot warning glares back towards the doctors who tried to enter the room. The medical professionals slowly backed out upon meeting the deadly daggers within the Darling’s sea-green gaze. You were in hysterics, to say the least. The reality of your survival and the invisible crimson caked into your skin slammed into every fiber of your being and brought bile rising into your already constricted throat. But nothing heaved itself from your empty stomach. Finnick sat cautiously still, the linoleum tile cold beneath his knees, as his gaze turned away from the open door back to your crumpled form. He didn’t say anything nor make any moves to comfort or touch you, only providing space to allow you to get everything out. To be frank, Finnick didn’t know how to react besides sitting still. You hadn’t expressed kindness to him since meeting one another, nor had he you, but the thought of your fear and the pain tearing apart your chest being intensified by the poking and prodding of medics and nurses tugged that thread again painfully as if the tension was pulled so tight on a guitar sting that one more twist would cause it to snap and fly back in a heated slice across his heart.

So the Darling stayed.

He sat with you till exhaustion ebbed into your shoulders, and your tears slowly dried. He sat still as a rock until reality came back into focus, and your fingernails left small, purple crescent moons on his tanned forearms as you released your grip. Your breaths were shaky, and your voice was shot as your bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks flushed with color dragged up to meet calm sea-green oceans. “I-I’m.. sorry…” You struggle to gasp out before your chin dips, and a trembling arm comes up to cough viciously into your elbow. Finnick simply shook his head, rubbing sweaty palms on his tear-stained trousers before combing a hand through the bronze waves thrown atop his head.

“It’s fine,”

The small room fell silent, aside from the bustling commotion outside the bay and your gasping breaths as air still struggled to fill your lungs. “I should go get a nurse. You’re bleeding again.” Finnick huffs after a beat before moving to stand. You don’t say anything as your arms curl around yourself in a tight hug. A thick swallow goes down the boy’s throat as he forces himself away from the room and into the bright, sterile hallway. That thread tugged his shoulders back as if trying to push him backward into that room towards the corner you’d curled into, but he willed himself to move forward. You were just a scared victor. You had gripped the first familiar thing to you after being trapped in a cruel Game for a month. Your actions were instinct-driven and nothing more. You’d only met for two days. There was no point or reason for his chest to be this tight or his skin to hunger after your touch. His jaw sets as he rubs the crescent indents on his skin, searching for a nurse down the hall.

That thread snaps tight in his chest again with each brush of his thumbs over the purple marks.

You’re kept in the medical bay of the Capital’s Tribute Center for a fortnight. The lengthy stay was mostly for observation purposes following a psyche evaluation alongside the closing ceremonies of the 67th Games and another sugarcoated interview full of bright lights and flashing cameras with Caesar Flickerman. You’d thrown up at least once before or after every public appearance. You despised the spotlight, gargling a minted mouthwash between your teeth to coat your tongue and rid the sour taste of bile from your lips. Hyacinth returned to plaster you in garish flourishes and flounces along with an opaque concealer to cover the deep-set smudges of purple beneath your eyes from lack of sleep. The Capital had been gracious enough to mend your wounds well, but makeup was still needed to cover bruises in various stages of healing. You did your best to plaster on that faux, practiced smile before performing once again for the entertainment of millions of Panem citizens.

Your stomach painfully churned upon your realization that the performance would never end. You’d always be forced to perform from this moment forward.

You’d only seen your mentor, Mags, consistently after your breakdown, besides various medical personnel needing to check on you. Finnick was only seen in passing. The two of you hadn’t spoken since your outburst, nor had the two of you stood in the same room long enough to converse with one another, let alone stand beside one another. Only fleeting glances were shared across crowds, and the bronze-haired boy was constantly moving, constantly changing. Each night, he would appear strapped to the hip of a new Capital elitist in progressively more revealing tunics and netting that unfortunately left less and less to the imagination. Your nose crinkled at the aura he put out, cocky and self-absorbed while flashing showboating smirks and suggestive comments back to back. At least the rumors concerning the two of you harboring some kind of “star-crossed lovers” spectacle had died out upon your announced victory and the Darling’s consistent appearances with new presumed partners, earning him the term playboy in the gossip strips of Capital newspapers. You tried to avoid the victor and his attitude at all costs, forcing yourself to forget the moment shared in a forgotten hospital room corner and move on.

Mags was sweet as ever, doting on you like a worried mother hen and doing her best to ensure your comfort, considering your unstable circumstances. She visited you daily, sometimes more than once. The two of you would share a meal or cup of tea, conversing in your own signals and whispered words, discussing anything and everything to help you get through the day. On the hard days, the two of you would sit in a calm silence, simply absorbing the pleasant company of one another.

Tonight, you would finally board the train back to District 4. Back home. You didn't sleep at all the night before. Whether it was nerves, excitement, or the haunting phantoms behind your eyes whenever they closed? You're not sure. It could be all three, honestly. Thatcher was busy lecturing your procession as bright flashes blinded your vision, and loud hollers of the Capital upper-class bludgeoned your ears. However, all you wanted was to be out of the spotlight and locked inside your personal quarters for the next two days before finally seeing your lovely younger brothers again. A gloved hand grips your shoulder and urges you to keep moving. The stark-white uniforms of peacekeepers cloud your peripherals, sending your skin crawling. The grip feels like a brand on your skin.

Moments after the train car doors shut, the industrial machinery surges to life, and the train sets into motion. An ascending chug roars as the metal car picks up speed. “Come, come! Just like our last journey, there is much to be discussed!” Your escort queries while ushering everyone towards a too-familiar dark wood dining table. Your group was small, but Thatcher, Hyacinth, Mags, Yourself, and surprisingly, Finnick gathered at the long table, taking seats behind cursive name cards and crystal wine glasses. You couldn’t help your sweeping gaze across the silk tablecloth toward the 65th victor. The boy was lounged across his armchair, weight pressing into his left elbow on the armrest as his free arm dangled the wine glass, dark wine slowly swirling inside the goblet. His position appeared comfortable but exuded pride. You forced your gaze down to your glass of wine after sea-green oceans caught wind of your unintentional staring. A cheshire smirk pressed dimples into his tanned cheeks, but no words were exchanged between you two.

“Now, we have two days before arriving back on the sunshine sands of District 4. For our dear victor,”

Your name sounds foreign in such a cheerful tone.

“Your family has already been transferred to your lovely new home in Victor’s Village! Our Darling, Finnick here, will be just across from your new home with Mags beside him. Your fellow victors will be around you in the rest of the village for support and companionship!” You wince at the escort’s last words. You didn’t want their feigned “companionship” You just wanted to go home. A dark chuckle resonated across the table, and even Thatcher goes quiet for once.

“Yes of course, we have weekly parties to discuss our methods from the arena, and sit in circles and sing koombaya.”

Your nose scrunches in discomfort at the bronze-haired victor’s blatant sarcasm. Mags shifts uncomfortably in her seat at the end of the table between the two of you while shooting the boy a pointed look. A beat passes before Thatcher clears their throat and tries to continue their speech. “Uhm, yes… I suppose. Ahem. When we arrive at the station, cameras will be ready, so I expect nothing more than big smiles! We are happy to be home and to see our beloved District again. No more, no less. There will be a meeting with the Mayor, then a procession through the District to Victor’s Village, and then another meeting to discuss the terms of the next six months before beginning your Victory tour through all of the districts, ending with a grand celebration in the Capital city with our Honored President Snow.” Thatcher continues. Their voice regains its usual lilt and confidence, almost as if they’re convincing themself of the festivities ahead. They gives another speech on rules and expectations, Hyacinth flutters on about her ideas of possible designs for the tour, among other details, and you feel like you’re about to be sick.

You quickly down about two and a half glasses of wine before you’re buzzed and floaty enough to settle in your seat. You’d drowned out the conversation long before, finding the dozens of tiny rainbow light fractals sparkling in your crystal goblet far more intriguing. The dark wine was dry and bitter-tasting. Through slow-blinking eyes, you finish what’s left in your goblet and excuse yourself from the nonsensical conversation. Amidst your hazy stumble from the table, you didn’t bother or care to notice the sea-green eyes fixating on your retreating form.

You just wanted to lay down, possibly throw up; you couldn’t decide which quite yet. You’d never bothered with alcohol before. Seeing what the fermented liquid had done to your father made the idea unpleasant. But after experiencing the hazy warmth the drink brought to your core and the ease of a clouded mind, you began to see why he had taken up the habit. The Capital didn’t seem to care if minors drank anyway. You told yourself over and over you wouldn’t let this get bad. You refused to be like him. You just needed to get home and see the sweet faces of your brothers.

Your personal quarters were the same as before, sleek and industrial with shades of grey and royal blue velvet followed by dark wooden accents. Your clothes were comfortable linen, the same ones you’d worn off the train before the Games, but this time, your top was an inky black, and your lightweight pants a cool, forest-toned green. Face planting into the plush bedding, you curled in on your side. Your hair had been left in its natural texture since the games, only maneuvered when Hyacinth needed you to appear publicly in her newest design. Your knees hugged close to your chest, and your arms curled in close, making for a tightly coiled fetal position. The back of your skull felt fuzzy as if a hand was leaving ghostly pinpricks up along the nape of your neck to the crown of your head. The feeling was peculiar yet welcome, adding to the fuzziness behind your eyes and the warmth wrapping around your torso.

Your sleep was light and thankfully, dreamless.

Sleep held you hostage for several hours before jolting you awake in a cold sweat, as the fervent need to expel your stomach sent you scrambled to the black porcelain latrine and heaved bile and wine. You were lucky you’d made it to the small washroom at all, with how quickly the intoxicated need took hold of your consciousness.

“Well now, haven’t we been here before?”

You could hear the smirk on Finnick’s face before you’d even finished wiping your mouth on a strip of bath tissue.

“Get out.”

Your tone was cold, glare laced with irritation, as you shifted to clean yourself up and shakily stood after gripping the onyx rim of the washroom sink. You weren’t in the mood for idle chatter nor the taunts that glinted in the sea-green irises behind you. “If you’re just here to gloat or say, “I told you so,” you can shove it. I’ve had enough false charm and teasing, Peacock.”

“Peacock? Is that a new pet name, hm? What was it you told Caesar? Oh, yes - that you would never fall for a stuck-up Peacock like me in mm…say, a thousand years? Maybe Mr. Flickerman was on to something."

"Fuck you, Odair."

Venom spits from your lips as you finally turn, only to be caught off guard by meeting that insufferable smirk mere inches from your face. The two of you were on a fairly level height, but the slight slouch in the boy's stance hinted that he was taller. Your palms connect with honey-tanned skin as you shove the vain Darling back to get around him. "Get out of my room." You quip, blood simmering in your veins as you thrust a pointed finger toward the open door. The swagger in the boy's walk almost had your eye twitching as the various reasons you'd disliked the boy before became crystal clear in the front of your mind. Whatever regret for your previous outburst, or feelings that had flickered between you two in the medical bay were gone, replaced by whatever Golden Boy persona had infected Finnick and twisted calm concern in his eyes to an unreadable cruelty. You hated the boy standing in your doorway.

"Get. Out."

Finnick simply shook his head, before sauntering out of the room, not bothering to mention you’d slept through breakfast. Again.

As the industrial door slid shut behind the boy, that thread snapped tight in his chest again. Swallowing thickly, Finnick shoved his hands deep into his pockets and tried to shrug off the tightness in his chest. The words had tumbled from his lips quicker and harsher than intended and he felt like kicking himself in the ass for his actions. The phantom touch of your hands pressing into his chest made the pink crescents on his forearms sting, and he had to reach up and pick an invisible piece of lint from his tunic for any sense of relief. Maybe he should let you hate him, keep up the act, and remain at arm's length instead of nursing that tight string in his chest linking back to you. You were frightened, traumatized beyond belief, and you just wanted to go home.

Mags was sure to chew him out for a good hour on his behavior well into the late afternoon.

{{ taglist }}

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime @violettbae @the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore @nexxus13 @takanparadiae @yourdailymemedelivery @wowzabowza69

[wanderingviktus]

Prompt#2: Bark

CW: Blood

Characters: Viktus and Nathaniel (X@nathe_ffxiv)

---

When the night rolled in, a silent figure was left to wander in the empty halls of the monastery. The cacophony of voices in prayer filled the night air, the rhythm of their breaths; their words, the meaning of each verse sat with the wind. The heavy smell of incense on my nose, making him cough as booted feet padded along the polished floorboards.

Tonight, the moon was dyed crimson. The clouds parted to give way to bloodied moonlight. Tonight, the prayers were much louder, bouncing against the walls hoping a god could hear their please. It's a foolish endeavor, one that he knew all too well, but he supposes a sliver of hope was good.

Once in a while.

Nathaniel sighs as he rounds another corner. The complicated floorplan of this building was nothing less than infuriating. Had it not been at his sister's behest, he wouldn't be here. He brought his gaze to the red moon, an eerie sight given the harrowing season was coming closer.

He brings a hand to massage his temples, a headache slowly blooming. It was still far too soon for the nobleman to take his rest.

The clack of his booted steps replaced the hymn of prayers. The farther he walked into the monastery, the sounds started to fade. Even now, his breathing sounded too loud upon his ears. His breath starts to condense at each exhale, shivers running down his spine. The cold summons goosebumps despite the layers of clothing covering his skin.

"They weren't lying when they said they kept him in the cold." He murmured to himself, a comfort; a counter to the silence that was suffocating him as he descended the dimly lit stone pathway.

The condensation of his breath becomes more apparent, lips drying at the cold. Nathaniel pauses, the last few sounds of his steps echoing within the dimly lit dungeon. It was quiet, far too quiet for his liking.

He drags a hand to his hair, easing the tension that was coiling beneath. Was it the eerie atmosphere or the cold? The brunette could not put a name to it.

"You took your time." A voice murmurs, breaking the male's train of thought.

He chuckled, finding his bearings once more as he covered the scant few yalms from the origin of the voice. His amber gaze settled on a familiar face, though this one looked far too pale and pained from his usual self.

"When I said to go out some times, I did not mean find yourself locked within a dungeon." Nathaniel scoffs, shaking his head as he steps further. His gaze peering through the metals that kept Viktus under lock and key.

"Hah. Of course, I hardly expected such kinder words when your best friend comes visiting you in a dungeon." Viktus chuckled weakly. His face turned away to look away from Nathe. This moment gave the brunette the room to study his friend in better detail, albeit despite the lack of good lighting.

He was disheveled, so unlike the only son of the Balephrym household. Left in a bloodied shorn top, the frills so unkempt. Dirt and blood decorated his clothing and skin, so unlike the Viktus that he knew. Nathaniel had to take a closer look, grasping the metal bars to peer further into the dimness of the cell.

"You shouldn't come closer if I were you." Viktus' gruff voice made him pause, his gaze focusing on the steely leer that his childhood friend was giving him. It was so unusual for Viktus to use such a tone, given he was more relaxed towards him.

Nathaniel released his grip on the bars, standing to full height. Left with a confused look on his face, Viktus pushed himself up to stand.

The red moonlight spilling from the bars above his head. The familiar tall frame in front of him hunches forward, ashen skin decorated with dried crimson flecks. It certainly looked more gray than usual.

He wrapped his long fingers around the bars, replacing Nathe's place. Viktus frowns, wincing lightly at the onslaught of moonlight, "What a terrible night to go out."

"Viktus, what happened to you?" The surprise in Nathaniel's voice summoned a morose smile from his friend. Viktus looks at him through the bars, eyes blood red and lips decorated with dried blood. He leaned against the bars letting one arm hang beyond the space of his cell. Though he's clearly not the same Viktus, he'd known, the restraint written all over his face. Those same crimson eyes were focused on him, like a predator to a prey, but Viktus reeled himself in. Something was different.

Nathaniel blinked, surely, he'd seen fangs prickle the skin of Viktus' lips?

"You saw me, you can leave me here." Viktus huffed, looking elsewhere as if ashamed. Despite his gaze focused elsewhere, his eyes glanced at the brunette far too often.

"Yes indeed, though I am confused why you're locked down here."

Viktus sighed, bringing a hand up to push the skin off his cheek aside, showcasing a fang. It did little to ease the shiver that rolled down Nathaniel's spine, the dried blood on his skin accentuated with his movement, "Surely you'd know what this would mean."

"Teeth?"

Viktus shook his head, leaving it to Nathe to jest; but he was in no mood for comedy. He brought a hand through his hair, raking his nails along his scalp, pushing a few errant bangs off. "I've been turned." The word struck fear deep within the listener, eyes wide with surprise, shock, and fear. It was odd for a season warrior to fall prey to such vampires, "What happened?"

"I barely remember. Though I was close to death and when I came to, I had feasted upon the young scholars that had wandered too close to where I was found." There was sorrow in his words, the frown delivering Viktus' regret. "It was not my intention."

"Of course, it's not like you to rely on others but killing them sounds over the top." Nathaniel shook his head.

A bark of laughter escaped the caged elezen. His eyes shone crimson, rivaling the bloody moonlight, "Of course, ah but I'm left here for the mean time." The taller male leaned against the stone wall, though his gaze was heavy upon his guest.

"But you've fed."

"And yet I still hunger."

Nathaniel swallowed thickly, and he looked at his friend. Viktus narrowed his eyes, "No. Not you. I've already taken the lives of the innocent; come morning I'll walk to my death."

"Hmm." Nathaniel pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest to ponder. "Is death the only way out?" "No." Viktus replied quickly; but the frown on his face spoke leagues of his disapproval.

"Then what is the other way that they'd let you out?"

He shut his mouth, pursed his lips, and a glare was thrown at his visitor. A minute pass, now two. A third one made him sigh, relented to his friend's query, "If the one who takes me out of here will look after my, hmm, hunger."

"So, that would mean I'd feed you, my blood."

The mention of blood summoned an errant tongue to slide along pale lips. Viktus quickly composed himself, sighing, "Yes."

He brought his hand up, pulling the glove with little finesse. With a deadpan look, he raised his hand up. A few ilms into the cell, but the sight summoned Viktus to him, clammy hands wrapped around his warm palm. He noticed the way Viktus' eyes lightened, but he could see his restraint.

"Well, I'm taking you out. Be quick with it."

"You don't understand what you're doing."

"I do."

"You'll be bound to provide me blood from now on." Viktus spoke, his eyes focused on the floor, but his fingers pressed onto Nathaniel's skin. Nails making crescents on the soft flesh of his palm. "And who knows how far I could go just, feeding, from you."

Tired of the older male's hesitation, he pressed his thumb through Viktus' lips; pressed his tongue down to shut him up. He could feel the distinct sharpness of his fangs, pricking lightly on his skin, "Where's the Viktus who liked to bark? Come on, surely you can show me your bite matches your bark."

Viktus' eyes widened before the familiar dawned upon them. He ran his tongue along the soft pad of Nathaniel's thumb, relishing the taste before pulling back to gently bite onto the offered digit.

The heady rush of warm blood washed his tongue, and he drinks, eager, joyous. His eyes shut as he cradled what the noble offered.

Despite the proposition, Viktus took only what he considered few. He took a few errant licks as he released Nathe's finger. The male stepped away to wipe the trickle of blood from the side of his lips.

"You're a fool aren't you." He couldn't help but curse, chuckling at the sentiment.

"I'm surprised you didn't know that from the beginning." Nathaniel chided in return, wrapping the grate of the door and pulling it open. "Come on let's get out of this wretched place, lest you want to take this cell as your new home."

"I'll have to pass. The incense is making my nose itch." Viktus murmured as he paced to his side.

The duo left a peal of laughter to bounce across the stone-cold walls, smeared with a few droplets of blood in their wake.

[esther-dot]

Do you think Sansa is suffering from Stockholm syndrome regarding Hound? Sometimes the way she romanticised him and think him savior made me think she is suffering but she also subconsciously remember hound wanted to rape her. What do you think?

I’m not sure I would say Stockholm syndrome because she calls him out on his behavior when interacting with him and later refers to him threatening her life ie she doesn’t think his treatment of her is acceptable (talk a little about the assault scene here). Right now, I’m not sure if she’s in denial about what his intention was when he demanded “a kiss” or if she is so naive she actually didn’t understand that he intended to rape her. Whatever the case may be there, the Hound is her “protector” figure and until LF spirits her away from KL, that idea is the most pronounced in their relationship. As a result, Sansa clings to what he provided and it appears in the text in the form of his cloak. Yes, cloaking a woman is used in a romantic context and as someone who loves romance, I understand why that’s where minds leap, but that isn't all there is to the idea, especially not when it comes to the Hound:

There was something slung over the back of his destrier, a heavy shape wrapped in a bloody cloak. "No sign of your daughter, Hand," the Hound rasped down, "but the day was not wholly wasted. We got her little pet." He reached back and shoved the burden off, and it fell with a thump in front of Ned.

Bending, Ned pulled back the cloak, dreading the words he would have to find for Arya, but it was not Nymeria after all. It was the butcher's boy, Mycah, his body covered in dried blood. He had been cut almost in half from shoulder to waist by some terrible blow struck from above.

"You rode him down," Ned said. (AGOT, Eddard III)

This is seen through Ned’s eyes, and let’s contrast a mention of Ned’s cloak to this: 

Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned's cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. (AGOT, Eddard V)

I think it's pretty clear that the cloak is not necessarily a romantic symbol, that at times it is used to discuss protection/safety and shame when someone has committed a great wrong, as it did in the Hound’s case. Instead of sheltering a child, he killed him. So, this scene to me is not Sansa romanticizing the Hound:

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering. (ACOK, Sansa VII)

In spite of his verbal abuse, until this point, the Hound had offered something good to Sansa, protection, by giving her his cloak when she was stripped and saving her from the mob. But, this scene follows the moment he became a threat to her. We have a child he assaulted wrapped in his bloody cloak. It's a sign of his shame, his failure, a comparison between his attempted rape of Sansa and when he murdered a boy back in AGOT. The text didn’t romanticize this, the fandom did. The Hound is stained by his moral failures, and the cloak is a symbol of it, something he draws attention to himself:

I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her.  (ASOS, Arya XIII)

I’ve mentioned that Martin’s surprise at the ship is genuine because this is clearly meant to be horrific. The point is that standing by while this happened to Sansa makes him monstrous. There is nothing positive about him here. In fact, we can compare the Hound’s bloody cloak wrapped around his victims to this:

Yet last night he had dreamt of Rhaegar's children. Lord Tywin had laid the bodies beneath the Iron Throne, wrapped in the crimson cloaks of his house guard. That was clever of him; the blood did not show so badly against the red cloth. The little princess had been barefoot, still dressed in her bed gown, and the boy … the boy … (AGOT, Eddard XII)

Ned, a man who has fought in multiple wars, has nightmares about this sight. In contrast to his horror at such an atrocity, the Hound rode down a boy and slaughtered him. The Hound is the victim of his brother, but he turned around and had his own victims. Martin doesn’t like things to be too one note, so he gave the guy a tragic backstory and has him do a few things for Sansa in a gentle way, but he is a monster. 

I think the fandom’s habit of ignoring her feelings/misinterpreting Sansa has allowed them to miss almost everything that Martin was doing with the Hound and instead, turn it into something it never was. Sansa was in a den of lions, surrounded by monsters. Sure, the Hound was gentle with her a few times, but it is not his goodness, but hers that saves her. It isn’t romanticizing him for her to recognize that he was the only protection she had (until he tried to rape her):

"Someone give the girl something to cover herself with," the Imp said. Sandor Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse weave was scratchy against her skin, but no velvet had ever felt so fine. (ACOK, Sansa III)

is this romanticizing what the Hound did, or is it simply showing how grateful Sansa was? She still has negative thoughts about him, he scares her, but she is rational and knows she needs protecting in a way that Dontos is incapable of offering:

She was afraid of Sandor Clegane . . . and yet, some part of her wished that Ser Dontos had a little of the Hound's ferocity. There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies. (ACOK, Sansa IV)

Is the point that Sansa has real affection for him, that the Hound has a hold on her, or that she is so alone and terrified, she pushes her fear of him aside because she thinks he alone has the ability to protect her? Her appreciation for what the Hound could offer is soon turned against her:

I would be gladder if it were the Hound, Sansa thought. Harsh as he was, she did not believe Sandor Clegane would let any harm come to her. "Won't your guards protect us?"

"And who will protect us from my guards?" (ACOK, Sansa V)

This is absolutely tragic in hindsight because the one person she thought would protect her is the one who turns around and assaults her. But, before we get there, Martin introduces the way Sansa will be saved: 

...and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him. (ACOK, Sansa V)

When the Hound comes to her room and threatens to kill her (ACOK, Sansa VII), Sansa sings Gentle Mother, font of mercy, and then she places her hand on his cheek, showing him kindness, and he spares her. He doesn't spare her because he's good, Sansa saves herself because she is able to “gentle the rage inside him.” I don’t read any of this as romanticizing (on the authors part or on Sansa’s) what the Hound has done. It’s just that the fandom is so fixated on Sansa not being good/perfect they can’t accept that this is her power--kindness, compassion, mercy. Just because she is capable of those things does not mean she loves the people she extends them to. 

Now, I understand that people read something like this:

Sansa heard the soft sound of steel on leather. "Singer," a rough voice said, "best go, if you want to sing again." The light was dim, but she saw a faint glimmer of a blade. The singer saw it too. "Find your own wench—" The knife flashed, and he cried out. "You cut me!" 

"I'll do worse, if you don't go." 

And quick as that, Marillion was gone. The other remained, looming over Sansa in the darkness. "Lord Petyr said watch out for you." It was Lothor Brune's voice, she realized. Not the Hound's, no, how could it be? Of course it had to be Lothor . . .(ASOS, Sansa VI)

and conclude all sorts of things, but I think this simply goes back to the protection idea and how only one person had offered that physical protection to her before, but more importantly, this assault mirrors the Hound’s assault (which @butterflies-dragons has analyzed here) and that is likely why he was her first thought. 

Another reason people think Sansa is romanticizing the Hound is how she misremembers what happened during the Hound’s assault:

Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He'd come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song. (ASOS, Sansa II)

I’m really not sure if Martin has a big plan for a revelation about this or if there is something else Sansa has forgotten or if Sansa simply handles her trauma by burying it. I’ve seen people argue this in many different ways. However it goes down, to me, this changes nothing about what we read. The Hound is just another man who took advantage of Sansa, and in a horrible situation, with no escape, she tried to make the most of it. She does this with LF too after a very rational assessment of events:

He had saved her.

[deleted several sentences]

When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while.

[deleted severl sentences]

I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (AFFC, Sansa I)

I find this all reasonable? These men did these good things for her. She isn’t making more or less of it than it is. Yes, she fails to assume the worst of these people (Tyrion, the Hound, LF), but it’s simply a sign of her innocence/goodness, not a Hound-centric phenomenon, and certainly not a sign that she has romanticized him or any of the other pedos. The Hound, like LF and Tyrion, offer some form of help/protection, but they are also a very specific threat to her, and Sansa is isolated, so she clings to what they give, in spite of everything they take from her.

Not every man who helps her at some point is a love interest, and it’s a mistake to take the framework by which Sansa understands the world (songs/stories) and assume that indicates her romantic interest in a character. Funnily enough, Sansa does actively romanticize Dontos (she calls him her Florian), and yet, people aren’t shipping her with that molester, so I really think the fandom needs to reconsider if they’re listening to Sansa, or interpreting her based on their own feelings about the Hound. 

TL;DR it’s the fandom, not her, who romanticize the Hound.

[corrunuptia-moving]

@lustmord​ cont.

♚;

                                      there is a moment of tension, like water by force stilled, like the silence before thunder. annalise squints, black eyes thinning in a thoughtful eclipse. Ever-dutiful Lucius, before her now in iron-scented glory, streaks of blood caught in the deep scars of his flesh;  h o w    b e a u t i f u l   . but such rampage cannot be condoned, no matter how sweet the fruit. 

she observes him silently, gaze unfaltering as she rises from her throne. bare feet strike the cold stone, dress softly whispering against the floor as she takes a closer look at her loyal knight’s haul. indeed, a sultan’s wealth he has brought her this night, thick and rich with the honeyed coldblood she so craves. the queen cocks her head as a blood-red reflection boldly returns her gaze. 

                     ‘ d i s p l e a s e d ? we would never claim to be displeased with thee.  ’

long fingers curl above a gilded cup, carved with serpents and hounds; her index dips into the blood within, sending no ripples across the muddy crimson. the substance on her pale skin is as bright as the moon in the night sky, as vivid as a memory brought on by a smell. annalise licks her finger tentatively, taking note still of all that was brought before her. s m o o t h,   p r e c i o u s. her thin lips gape with thirst as she turns to lucius.

                     ‘ indeed, thou hath always been generous to us... and thorough, we hope. it would not do for thee to repeat thine    p r e v i o u s    b l u n d e r.  ’

there is a thin veil of impatience over the praise that swells his already grandiose ego. she lets him   h a n g    in his apprehension. in her grace she has forgiven him, once, and must make it clear that such mistakes will not be tolerated again    -    not from him, not from her dearest of kin. when the vileblood queen drags her hand through his white hair and wound-marbled face her touch is firm, like one who holds a weak puppy beneath the river. ah... but he cannot yet be made to drown, for he looks so    p r o u d... !

[agentrouka-blog]

Dany chapters had wolves imaginary. Like she heard wolf howling in adwd n felt lonely n hungry. Do you think wolves are negative commotion in Dany chapters?

2) What are your opinions on wolves mention in Dany chapters?

and 

3) People think wolves are positive in Dany chapters when she heard wolf howling n feel sad. They forget that the lines come after Dany thinking of betrayal. Do you think wolves have negative impact in her chapters?

Hi, wolf anon(s)!

I am positive that smarter people than me have written extensively about wolf imagery in Dany’s chapters. If someone has a link at hand, I would be grateful!

But I checked and it’s only 13 mentions in the books for Dany. That’s not too much.

She buys sausages in at Vaes Dothrak that bother her bloodriders but not her wolfing handmaids:

Delighted with her discovery, Dany insisted the others join her for a sausage. Her handmaids wolfed theirs down giggling and grinning, though the men of her khas sniffed at the grilled meat suspiciously. "They taste different than I remember," Dany said after her first few bites.  (AGOT, Daenerys VI)

She goes into labor during Drogo’s blood magic ceremony. No good things happen in that tent.

Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames. (AGOT, Daenerys VIII)

Stepping into the flames at Drogo’s pyre:

The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a great grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now. (AGOT, Daenerys X)

The outer wall of Qarth, followed by war scenes (middle wall) which do not faze Dany, and sex scenes (inner wall) which do faze her:

Dany took the warlock's words well salted, but the magnificence of the great city was not to be denied. Three thick walls encircled Qarth, elaborately carved. The outer was red sandstone, thirty feet high and decorated with animals: snakes slithering, kites flying, fish swimming, intermingled with wolves of the red waste and striped zorses and monstrous elephants. (ACOK, Daenerys II)

A vision in the House of the Undying, running from the specter of a mute crowned wolf:

In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a scepter, and his eyes followed Dany with mute appeal.

She fled from him, but only as far as the next open door. (ACOK, Daenerys IV)

A story of Unsullied v. Dothraki. Wolves and crows dine together on the remains of a horse-based, defeated army.

"By the time the Unsullied reached the city the sun had set. Crows and wolves were feasting beneath the walls on what remained of the Qohorik heavy horse. The Bright Banners and Second Sons had fled, as sellswords are wont to do in the face of hopeless odds. (ASOS, Daenerys I)

Dany blaming wolves for missing sheep:

"Men make fires. Men cook mutton. Burnt bones prove nothing. Brown Ben says there are red wolves in the hills outside the city, and jackals and wild dogs. Must we pay good silver for every lamb that goes astray between Yunkai and the Skahazadhan?" (ADWD, Daenerys I)

They also want to blame Hazzea’s death on a wolf:

"Men will ask," the grieving father had said. "They will ask me where Hazzea is and how she died."

"She died of a snakebite," Reznak mo Reznak insisted. "A ravening wolf carried her off. A sudden sickness took her. Tell them what you will, but never speak of dragons."  (ADWD, Daenerys II)

Wishing her allies were a bit more vicious:

And you will have the friendship of Lhazar.” Daario won that for me, for all that it is worth. “The Lamb Men. Would that lambs had teeth.” “That would make the wolves more cautious, no doubt.” That made her laugh. (ADWD, Daenerys V)

The fighting pits. Six wolves defeated by an elephant make food for the hungry. 

Beasts were still allowed, though. Dany watched an elephant make short work of a pack of six red wolves. Next a bull was set against a bear in a bloody battle that left both animals torn and dying. "The flesh is not wasted," said Hizdahr. "The butchers use the carcasses to make a healthful stew for the hungry. Any man who presents himself at the Gates of Fate may have a bowl."

"A good law," Dany said. You have so few of them. "We must make certain that this tradition is continued." (ADWD, Daenerys IX)

Who is hungry? Someone who is also wondering about who tried to poison her:

Poison. It had to be poison. The honeyed locusts. Hizdahr urged them on me, but Belwas ate them all. She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead. Yet who else could it have been? Reznak, her perfumed seneschal? The Yunkai'i? The Sons of the Harpy?

Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry. As the moon rose above the grasslands, Dany slipped at last into a restless sleep. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

From eating wolves to food for wolves:

"My friend," she said aloud. "If I stay close to my friend I won't get lost." She would have slept beside the water if she dared, but there were animals who came down to the stream to drink at night. She had seen their tracks. Dany would make a poor meal for a wolf or lion, but even a poor meal was better than none. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

And, finally, between retching and dysentery, she expects to share the fate of that Qohorik heavy horse:

My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb. Her eyes went back to Dragonstone. It looked smaller. She could see smoke rising from its wind-carved summit, miles away. Drogon has returned from hunting. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

Well. I think, without adding anything further, the quotes speak for themselves, don’t they? Enemies, scapegoats, eat or be eaten. Things to run from, things that harm her, things that poison. Beautiful exactly once: when the flames engulf her, when Drogo rides again.

[bangcrizpychan]

Tainted Daisies | iii. Click!

Chapters: | prologue | i | ii | iii  | iv | v | vi | vii | viii | ix | x | xi | epilogue |

Genre:  psychological thriller, angst, mystery, crime, rich kid!stray kids au, college!au, slow burn

Word count: 2.5k

Ratings: 16+

⚠WARNINGS: graphic gore, violence, blood, character death, mentions of drug usage, swear words

Note: Flashbacks are in italics. Also thank you @mikoto-ica-fics​ for letting me add you in this story as a character, wuv u <3

Tainted Daisies Masterlist

Tag list: @nightshade-minho @mikoto-ica-fics  @momochiiiiiiii@nowimyourdaisies @ravenlilshots @channiesmixtape @skzmnho​ @yutacchin​ @minnieflowers​ @xxbluestrifexx​ @mxxndreams​ @hshhj0620​ @kpopwritist​ (If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list, please let me know).  

You woke up in cold sweat, thirst burned your throat as you hurried towards the refrigerator, knees feeling like jelly. You gulped down the entire glass pitcher as you slowly slid down with your back against the fridge.

Everything seemed like a blur to you, confusion filled your mind as you finally realized that you were back home. You looked at the clock and it read '15:05'.

'Was that all just a dream last night?' You thought.

Your eyes traveled down to your wrists and they widened in horror, red marks that were clearly caused by friction were etched on them. You clutched your head as small pieces of memory started to form in your brain.

----

The feeling of nausea flooded you as you slowly opened your eyes, you wanted to hold your head but your hands seemed to be restricted. You waited for your visions to clear up and you saw that you were at an unfamiliar place, there was a raggedy old bed in the corner, a table next to it, a small television, and a pile of clothes by the door that was ajar. The place was small and the only source of light was the lamp hanging above you.

"You're awake," a raspy voice came from the door and you blinked many times to focus your visions.

A man emerged from the shadows and you felt like a bucket of cold water was poured over you. The clothes he was wearing was the same as the one you glimpsed at yesterday on the busy street, you felt tears trickle down your face as he walked closer, taunting you with every step.

He stepped into the light and you finally saw his face, it had a huge burn mark on the right side, he was smiling at you but he had a missing tooth on the front, although it was his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. It was empty, cold, but most of all, it had  a deranged look in it.

"Why are you crying? You knew that I will be coming for you," he said as he reached out his slender hand and touched your face.

"Please, why are you doing this?" You choked, tears streamed down your face as fear finally took control of your body.

"Oh, you are getting good at this," he said and released a maniacally laugh that echoed all throughout the room.

"Y/n!" your train of thoughts abruptly stopped when you heard your name, you looked at the distance and saw Seungmin, with Jeongin by his side walking towards your way. You quickly turned on your heel and scurried away from them, you thanked the crowd of students that drowned you. It was Saturday but you were required to come back to school for the freshmen orientation and introduction of different clubs and orientation, which made you wonder why they were even here in the first place.

You did not pay any attention to the orientation at all because you mostly found these kind of things tedious, when the president of the university finished giving off his closing remarks, you were instructed to go to the lobby and were encouraged to join clubs and organizations. You have decided to stay for a little while and tried to avoid your friends as much as possible.

As you were strolling around the lobby, taking a look behind you once in awhile, you suddenly bumped into someone and a sound books hitting the floor rang in your ears, you rubbed your head and looked at who you just hit.

"Oh, you're Rei, right?" you said at the girl, as you remmbered her as the one Seungmin mentioned yesterday.

"Um, yeah, and you're the new girl," Rei said, biting her lip and tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

"You're classmates with Sengmin, right? So that means you're not a freshman," you said as you helped her pick up her books.

"Yeah, we're in charge of the photography club so," she said, looking down, and you noticed that her shy demeanor was the sign that she no longer wanted to have a conversation with you.

You decided to not pry anymore and let her go as you handed her the rest of her books, she trotted away and you thought about checking out some of the other clubs. You felt an arm grab yours which caused you to release a yelp and follow your instincts by pushing the person away.

"Woah, it's just me," Chan raised his hands up in surrender and gave you a toothy grin that showed his dimple. You muttered an apology and took a deep breath to steady yourself.

"Are you avoiding someone?" Chan asked out of the blue which caught you off guard.

"No, why would you say that?"

"You have that look of paranoia written all over your face," he said and you couldn't help but release a laugh because you felt that you really were bad at pretending.

"Chocolate?" Chan offered you a piece and you gladly took it, you looked at Chan and the world seemed to stop around you, the shuffling of people were blurred and your focus was only on Chan.

You realized that you did not really take a good look at him during your conversation with him at Felix's party yesterday, but with him standing only a meter away from you, it was his eyes that caught yours. It was dark, cold, and mysterious, but it only made you crave to know him even more. You caught yourself thinking about how his eyes would ravish you and your cheeks turned crimson red.

"Your face is red, do you have a fever?" Chan asked as he raised his right hand to touch your forehead. You backed away and played with the hem of your shirt while biting your lower lip, you opened your mouth to say something but Jeongin's voice cut you off.

"Hey, Y/n," you looked behind you and immediately looked down, ashamed of what he would probably think because you avoided him and Seungmin the whole afternoon.

"I know you're avoiding us, if we ever did something wrong, I'm sorry for that," Jeongin said and guilt pervaded you.

"No, you didn't--"

"If you're ready to talk, just call us," he continued and showed you that cute smile you like so much. Jeongin was like a baby brother that you never had and hurting him in any way pains you as well.

"I'm sorry, I promise I'll explain it," you said and rubbed his arm as a sign of comfort, he nodded in response. You looked through the glass walls of the university and you noticed that it was already dark.

"Are you heading home?" You asked Jeongin just before he was about to turn his back from you.

"No, Seungmin and I are going with Rei to meet a reporter, she have to describe what she saw that night."

"Oh, I bumped into her earlier, I guess I'll see you on Monday," you said and the both of you bid each other goodbye.

"If only I know where to find her though," Jeongin whispered to himself as he continued his search for his friend.

"Why are you avoiding them?" Chan's question surprised you, you have forgotten he was there with you.

"I am going to kill you, Y/n, but not now. I still need you to restore everything that I have lost," your captor said.

"I-I don't know w-what you're t-talking about," you cried, struggling to get out of the ropes that were tied around your wrists.

"Don't even fucking try, you bitch! It's all your fault! It's all your fault!" He bellowed and threw a bottle against the wall which earned a shriek from you.

Your captor grabbed a knife from the nearby table and brought it over your face, the cold metal touching your cheek, he slid it down, and stopping at the crook of your neck.

"I am going to kill you in the most horrendous way possible," he taunted, pushing the knife a little deeper in your skin, nipping it. A thick red fluid flowed out from the new formed wound, making you hiss.

"And I will start by destroying those you hold dear," your captor finished before releasing a baleful laugh.

"Oh, it's nothing," you said, shaking off the memory and taking the last piece of chocolate from Chan. The both of you decided to call it a night and went on your separate ways.

---------

A cold breeze made Tanaka Rei shiver as she pulled her sweater closer in hopes of it keeping her body warm. Wisps of of silver grey smoke curled their way through the hazy air as it escaped the mouth of the young woman. Rei released a chuckle, imagining what everyone would think if they found out that the quiet girl in class smokes the hell out of her lungs.

She watched the city lights blare like fireflies, being on the rooftop at the extension building offered her some sort of comfort that she never found in anyone else. Rei dropped the remains of her cigarette and crushed it beneath her foot, smiling to herself before deciding to meet with Seungmin and Jeongin.

She turned away from the railings and was met with a pair of eyes, before she could react, Rei felt her body being thrown to the side. Blood spurted out her elbow as the skin scraped off as she hit the ground; she hissed as she held her elbow to her chest, checking her wound.

"Why the fuck would you do that?!" She screamed at the figure in front of her, the moon was the only source of light and no matter how hard she squinted, she could not figure out who her attacker was.

The attacker slipped their glove-covered hands to their bag, pulled out a razor-sharp knife, and walked towards Rei's defeated state with a cackle.

"No!! Please... I don't want to die," Rei pleaded as her attacker mounted themselves on top of her.

The knife plunged into her chest, causing her to scream out in pain as she tried to pry the attacker off of her. The sharp instrument met Rei's soft and pudgy flesh, again and again, making a satisfying squish as the knife went deeper into her skin. Thick blood flowed freely from her gaping holes, her whole body trembled, blood coming out of her mouth as tears streamed down her pale face. She saw what the secretary had seen that night; the same bloodlust filled eyes before her chest became as still as a monument and met her own demise.

"Hey! you have reached Rei, I'm busy at the moment so please leave a message after the tone," a beep followed the recorded message, causing Seungmin to grunt.

"Where are you? The reporter is waiting for us at the cafe, call me back." Seungmin slipped the phone back into his pocket and  started playing with his camera.

Seungmin sent Jeongin first to the cafe so he can entertain the reporter. The presidents of each club were almost finished packing their stuff which made Seungmin realize that it was already late. An empty can rolled to his feet and he quickly picked it up, he held it and went to give it to the janitor when a thought popped into his head.

"The extension building!" Seungmin said, dropping the can into the trolley, before sprinting his way towards the said building.

When he reached the door to the rooftop, his chest was heaving up and down from being out of breath. He swung the door open and was about to call out his friend's name when he saw something moving in a distance. Darkness filled the place and the moonlight did not really help his sense of vision, he walked closely towards it and the sounds of squishing filled his ears. As he got nearer to the object, the sound became louder and he could finally make out that the thing were two persons. His shaking hands reached to the camera that was hung around his neck, he pulled it up and snapped a picture.

*Click*

A flash filled the empty rooftop and the lifeless body of his friend was on the cold floor, her own blood making a puddle around her. 

*Click*

His eyes shifted the person who had their back against him, who had stopped with their bloody activity and slowly stood up to face Seungmin.

A series of clicks and flashes emitted from his camera as he backed away when he saw the attacker's face. Seungmin turned his heel and prepared himself to sprint for his life when a sharp metal jerked all the way into his back, he dropped to the ground, face first, and screamed in pain as the attacker pulled out the knife. He took this chance to kick the murderer which caused them to stumble backwards.

Seungmin fumbled with his camera and before he could stand up, the assailant grabbed his leg and he fell again, hitting his nose against the floor, the tang of his own blood filled his nostrils. He turned around and the attacker immediately straddled him, with knife raised to the air, ready to strike.

"Please, stop..." Seungmin pleaded as his eyes became blurry from his own tears.

He let out a guttural chokes mixed with an agonized cry as the razor teared his skin, he could see the shiny metal disappeared inside him and the black handle pushed against his broken skin. He felt the attacker's gloved hands grab his head and banged it against the ground while they released an animalistic roar that became muffled sounds to Seungmin as his  head was being repeatedly thudded on the cold stone.  

The banging stopped and all he heard was the sound of his camera hitting the ground,and its pieces scattering all over the place. Seungmin felt his consciousness slip in and out, the last thing he heard were the sound of sirens before darkness took over him.

-------

"Two people were stabbed at the rooftop of Yellow Wood University! And one of them was our key witness!" The chief of police yelled, sat down, and rubbed his temple.

"This damn serial killer is on the loose and we still don't have a single lead!" He continued as the young cadet, Changbin, stirred the cup of coffee and laid it down on the chief's desk.

"I'm sure we'll get something soon, Chief," Changbin said, fixing his uniform.

"One of the victims had a camera with him, I already had it sent to the forensics team," a woman's voice drew the attention of the officers.

She had her dark brown hair on a tight bun that showed off her physical features well, most importantly; her striking blue eyes.

"There you are, Mica!" Changbin said, giving the woman’s huge smile.

"That's Detective Lee to you, Cadet Seo," she said while rolling her eyes at the young man.

"Well, at least there's good news, thank you, Detective," the chief said and took a sip from his coffee.

"Just doing my job, Chief Wang,"

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Changbin offered to which the detective politely declined. The YWPD became busier as the night progressed, trying to figure out who is behind of all of these manslaughter.

A person took off their bloody garments and gloves, leaving them naked and covered with blood that had become brown and dry. They put it inside a bag to which they intend to burn later, and stared at the mirror with a menacing grin etched on their face.

"It has begun."

[darkwoods-darkdreams]

Imagine you’re a thief (V)

The soft warmth of the morning was a welcome sensation. You exhaled, knowing you could probably sneak in a few more minutes of sleep. With the addition of Zireael, sleep was something you sorely missed. She was by no means a fussy child most of the time, but there were times she was inconsolable for the entire night, only soothed when she was held. In those instances, you and Gvalch would take turns. Ah, but that wasn’t his name, not really. You had decided that your real names would remain a secret to everyone else. Only he and Zireael would know the name you were given at birth.

An arm slipped around your waist beneath the blankets, gently pulling you flush against a familiar body. You smiled, “Good morning to you, too.”

“Did I wake you?” His voice was low, quiet enough that Zireael wouldn’t wake up. His lips ghosted over your shoulder, his touch wandering to your hip.

“No, I woke up just before,” You opened your eyes, seeing the crib that your daughter was sleeping in. She wriggled a bit, as if dreaming. The rise and fall of her chest brought you comfort, “She slept the whole night?”

“Yes. She was quite kind to us this time, it seems,” His fingers slipped further downward.

You cast him a teasing look, “Didn’t you lecture me yesterday about trying to keep you in bed when we could be getting work done?”

“Did I?” He tilted his head to one side, his tone playful, “I don’t recall saying such a thing. Would you like me to stop?”

“When have I ever wanted you to stop?” You replied, though your words faltered as he moved your leg and brushed against more intimate parts of you.

“This is a fair point,” He laughed softly as he sheathed himself.

You couldn’t help but sigh, adoring the feeling. When you had been under the spell, even after the first night you slept together, you had been absolutely addicted to him. Now that the effects had worn off, your mind was clearer.

“You seem distracted, Cerbin.”

“I was thinking about that potion,” You explained, “I can’t imagine how it would have worked if someone actually drank it.”

“It would have been in a much smaller dose, so a lesser influence,” He gently grabbed your chin, turning your head so he could kiss you.

“You could probably sell it as a perfume.”

“I could, but it would make my business a bit...amoral.”

You laughed, “What, you didn’t enjoy all of those times I crawled into your lap and practically begged you to sleep with me?”

He removed himself from you, pushing you onto your back. He slipped between your legs and reentered you swiftly. Your breath caught in your chest as he loomed over you with a wolfish grin, “Oh, of course I did. Who could say no to a darling little human so wanton with lust and so desperate to be filled that they would plead for it? The elven gods themselves would have been jealous of me for that night and every night afterward.”

“Perhaps I should dose you with the potion. We could call it even,” You teased, your hands smoothing over his chest and shoulders.

“Is that a roundabout way of saying you want me to bed you more often?” He countered. He pressed his hips against yours, staying there. He had filled you to the brim, your body aching for him to move again, “I thought I was keeping up with you quite nicely. Would you prefer someone so insatiable?”

“Gvalch,” You inhaled sharply, gripping the sheets beneath you. He was keeping still on purpose, pressing against a spot that made you squirm.

“I could pretend to be an elven god, if you like. I could cover the bed in furs and wait for you to be brought to me. Any god would adore a sacrifice like you. I wouldn’t waste any time. My hands would be undressing you immediately. I would bring you to euphoria for hours.”

You panted, bringing him closer to you. It sounded like a wonderful scenario that made your skin heat up at the very thought, but you shook your head, “I wouldn’t be a fit sacrifice. I would be too busy missing a certain mage. It doesn’t matter what the god would do, it wouldn’t compare.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something softer. He began moving again, slowly and gently. He never rushed. He reveled in the process more than the reward it gave the both of you. Gvalch withdrew, but kept you close to him as he righted himself. He sat on the bed with you on his lap, the blanket tangled around you. His hands wandered up your back, tracing swirls over your skin, “Good,” He whispered, as if he was still in awe of the fact that you had chosen to stay with him, “Besides, it wouldn’t matter what the gods could offer. If they wanted you, I would always refuse.”

You smiled, rolling your hips against his, “Well, even if I was in the company of a god, I would probably just steal everything I could get my hands on and run.”

He laughed a bit at that, though he was far more amused as his hand slipped down your stomach and rubbed against you. Your breath hitched, once again reminded of just how much of a tease he was. You kissed him, unable to bide your time any longer.

You stared at the potion, watching as the blood droplets sank into the water. With Gvalch’s help, you were able to mix potions on your own so long as they didn’t require magic. You fidgeted, waiting for the liquid to change. You had managed to translate the text on your own. You didn’t want to bother Gvalch when he was working so hard on a concoction for a foreign king.

The crimson faded, but the liquid gave off a faint glow. You sighed. You didn’t think that the potion would respond. What made matters worse was that you weren’t sure what the potion was searching for. Your translations were still rough. For all you knew, you could have tested your blood to see if you were human.

You grabbed the bottle, leaving the bedroom. You had to ask Gvalch. You needed to know for sure.

He was in his study, pouring over some ancient texts he had borrowed from a superior. He had been struggling recently. Zireael was fussy most nights, resulting in the both of you getting very little sleep. Exhaustion paired with the complexity of his current request was beginning to frustrate him. You had offered to sleep with Zireael in another room so he could get some sleep, but he always smiled and asked you to stay. He didn’t want to sacrifice his family for the sake of his job. If it took him a bit longer to fulfill the request, then he would accept it.

You stopped at the door to the study. Your daughter was still asleep in her crib. You exhaled shakily, wondering if you should even ask him. Maybe it would be better if you just ran away. It would hurt Gvalch and Zireael would only hear of you in passing, but it was better than staying.

You had been growing ill. You had noticed it many moons after Zireael was born. It was almost a year now. Somehow, you had managed to hide it from Gvalch. You couldn’t stand the thought of having him look after you and your daughter or compromising his morals in order to keep you alive.

Before you had the chance to turn and discard the liquid, the door to the study opened. Gvalch paused, not expecting you to be there, “Cerbin? What’s the matter?”

“I…” You couldn’t find the words. You glanced down to the bottle you were holding.

“Oh, so you’ve been tinkering on your own?” His hands brushed over yours as he took the bottle, “Is this for that princess in Toussaint? I should send her a letter of congratulations.”

You were speechless for a moment, trying to register what he said, “What?”

“The potion,” He swirled it, the soft glow growing in brightness, “I’ve made thousands of these in my career. She’s with child. I’m sure the king and queen will be thrilled.”

“That’s my blood, actually,” You sighed in relief, “I thought that the potion was to test for illness.”

“Illness?” He grew concerned, only to stop and snicker a bit, “Oh, Cerbin, forgive me. Some old Elven texts are terrible for using the same word for multiple things. Newer dialects have fixed most of the problems. Many centuries ago, illness and pregnancy had the same term in Elven.”

You covered your face with your hands, “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been sick lately and when the potion glowed I was so worried that-“ You froze, “So it’s all just because of the pregnancy?”

He pulled you close, rubbing your back, “You’re just fine, darling. You were under the influence of the aphrodisiac before, so I doubt you experienced most of the usual symptoms. I promise that you’re completely healthy.”

You looked up at him, “So it isn’t going to be the same as before?”

“Considering the way you are now, I think it’s completely natural this time,” He grinned, “Though, I think I’ll miss your lust a bit.”

You shot him an annoyed look, but it quickly changed to a smile, “And to think that I could have just walked out with that phylactery. I wouldn’t be in this mess, then.”

“Oh, how you wound me, Cerbin,’ He laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek.