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#alt gone wild
deeerbxby · 1 year
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🍃 howdy
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asfodeltide · 1 year
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lavenderjewels · 2 months
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kenjaku trying to convince sukuna to go along with their backup plan if they die:
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hollow-faery · 1 year
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What colour do you think my skirt is? New posts everyday 🎀
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dongiovannitriumphant · 2 months
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operation unfuck my life is ongoing and while not positive it is Going and i am not in a pit of despair
one would think seeing all venice content on my ig would make me extra sad but honestly aside from missing my friends who are there what ive seen so far looks for lack of better word,,, kind of lame,,,,,
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ryukisgod · 1 year
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Don’t Worry Darling pitch meeting:
Olivia Wild: what if The Stepford Wives pulled it’s punches?
New Line Cinema: here is $30 million.
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Ah, hm.
That old post i did on how to draw thicker lips is gainin traction again
Sure hope no weirdos hop on it this time
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xellandria · 1 year
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70 #8, Alliance #8, Rogue #1.  Today was Super Squirt Day (ehehehe) and before I went to bed this morning I did a couple rounds in the garrison, but someone in garrison general mentioned that it was also Super Galveston day. Squirt doesn’t give character experience for her battles anymore, but Sir Galveston at the Broken Isles Dalaran world quest does (about half of what a regular quest at the same level would, though I’m not sure if it’s affected by rested or not).  The only drawback of Galveston vs Squirt is that there isn’t a stable master right next to the fight (nor is the stable master in Dalaran free to use the way the Garrison one is), so you either have to have a lot of pet bandages, have additional downtime traveling back and forth to the stable master (and pay the 10s per heal) when your free one’s on its 8m CD, or have multiple teams that you cycle through in that 8m window.  That last is what I did; I set up five additional teams plus the one I already had from when Legion was current and cycled through them ‘til I finished off all the pets from the end of SL and the start of DF that I hadn’t leveled yet.
And then I was only 60k exp away from 70 on my rogue so, you know, I felt a little obligated to finish her off lol
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cheriladycl01 · 3 months
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Funny Gaming moments with Lando and Max (F) x QuadrantStreamer! Reader
Plot: Just funny moments where Reader is a member of Quadrant and is a big UK streamer that does everything on Twitch and YouTube.
A/N: this is only small and just for fun, better Lando stuff is coming out.
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Moment 1:
"Do you earn more than Lando Norris, chat you guys are wild ... but honestly with my individual sponsors, YouTube and streaming and any of my weird side activities I think it'd be up for debate" you giggle not actually knowing how much difference there was in what you or Lando earned.
"Not girlie casually admitting that with her side hustle she earns as much as an F1 driver, yeah guys, you gotta think I stream and upload full time. So i get paid for each YouTube video I do, I'm a twitch affiliate and you guys are so so generous. I game competitively and earn from that. I have sponsors, so ... lets just say i had no trouble buying Lando's Christmas presents" you grin, knowing the man had widely expensive taste.
"Who am i spending Christmas with, well Lando's family has asked if I'd like to join them, but I'll be spending the holidays mostly with Max and Pietra. Oh my gosh guys, did you see Instagram? I met Martin Garrix! How cool is that!" you laugh.
Moment 2:
"So I'm here today with Lando, and I'm teaching him Valorant, he knows that I'm in good but I don't think he knows I'm Immortal" you say until you unmute yourself in discord.
"Hey Lando baby" you joke but all you get from the otherside is silence which makes your chat go absolutely crazy.
You hear a few coughs that sound like choking, so you check his stream making sure not to tab out on stream, seeing him sat there in shock in his chair blushing.
"Lando?" you ask, and you watch as he rearranges himself in his chair pulling the mic closer to him.
"Hi, hello yes. Sorry you just threw me off guard" he laughs, wiping across his face with his fingers.
"What are we?" he asks, and you burst out laughing at the question which makes him laugh too. Chat on both ends starts going crazy, with the spam of Lando Norizz <<< Y/N the Rizzler and you were both dying.
Moment 3:
"Argghh fuck" you scream leaning back and fulling falling back off your chair. You were currently playing the horror game ' In Silence with Max, Lando and Ria.
"No way did Y/N just fall?" Max asks laughing at the girl whose stream he pulled up seeing her laying on the floor gripping her shoulder while her chair was now also laying in the floor.
"SHE DID" Lando laughs and you groan out in embarrassment.
Moment 4:
"What was that chat? My door reopened and closed shut while I was gone?" you ask looking back at your door. You knew you were home alone, the only people having a key to your apartment being Max and Pietra and Lando. But they were all travelling right now and were on the plane.
"Chat, stop messing with me" you scold jokingly, you start to load up the game your changing too. However a knock at your bedroom door has you stilling.
"What" you mouth looking at the camera. You go to the door, chat spamming saying how by opening the door that how all the dumb movie characters die. You here another knock making you flinch, you rip open the door, screaming when you see the scary mask, jumping and tacking the person now.
"Ow Y/N fuck" you hear and you rip the mask of, knowing that voice but not wanting to assume.
"Lando?" you ask looking at him.
"I thought it would be funny" he jokes laughing.
Moment 4:
"So Lando, Max and I thought it would be funny to play Valorant but for every kill we get we do a shot" you exclaim.
"Y/N gonna need new kidneys by the end of this? Hmmm very true, maybe we change it to every time we die we do a shot?" you ask seeing what chat's opinion would be on that.
"Then Lando and Max will be needing new kidneys? Well, I'm playing on my alt account and I'm just chilling so we'll be in gold/silver lobbies. Last time we played on my normal account, it was a struggle.
"Lets ask what they prefer! Guys? You want to do shots every time we get a kill or when we die?" you ask after unmuting yourself.
"We playing with MILF account of FnaticY/N?" Lando asks.
"MILF of course. And no comps, I'm not being called a booster" you grin and Max groans, Max was gold 2 and was asking for you to coach him, you had watched him in unrated's but refused to do comps together.
"Wait, when did you change your name...didnt it used to be Ilovetits6?" Max laughs.
"Yes, but chat started to call me mother? So i just rolled with it" you grin looking at chat and winking.
Moment 5:
"Are you and Lando Norris dating?" you ask, and then you open your phone and call Lando himself.
"Hey baby!" you smile and show the chat what Lando is saved as and the picture while he's on speakerphone.
"Hey love. I'm a little late coming back. I got stuck here with Zac and Oscar, but Max and P wanted to know if you would like to go out for dinner with them tonight" he asks and you laugh.
"Wait, Y/N are you live"
"Maybe, look you said you were ready to go public. So this is payback for what you did to Max on stream!" you laugh, knowing he wont be mad at you, as you'd talked recently about going public.
"Exposed? Yes yes i did" you grin.
Moment 6:
"Y/N your boyfriend is horny come sort him out" AngryGinge says adding you to the call forcefully mid stream.
"Mmmm that sounds like a job for you" you says seriously and you pull up his and Lando's stream to watch what was going on. Some people had come into your stream to say to get Lando to end the stream before PR has his head.
"He's been moaning on stream Y/N get your man and take him home"
"Yeah sorry let me just hop on the jet to Monaco..." you joke, knowing you definitely don't have a private jet.
"Wait, just how rich are you? Your boyfriends out here buying watches for 400k, you have a private jet. This just ain't right!" he exclaims making you laugh.
"I don't have a private jet. But... I've been in one of Max Verstappen's" you boast, you'd been introduced to him through Lando as Kelly wanted to meet you and set you up with her modelling agency.
"Huh? WHAT?" he screams and you just laugh before leaving the call. You shoot Lando a teasing message watching his eyes change as he reads it, and he lets out a groan that soon turns into a joke as Angry Ginge yelled at him to calm down again.
Moment 7:
"Salem stop" you tell your cat, which had jumped up and starting to paw in your lap where the blanket lay across before flopping down wanting fuss.
She started to meow at you not getting the wanted attention, but you were in the middle of an important rank up game, that would put you as radiant in Valorant.
As the game went on, you apologized to your teammates when you died after nearly clutching a round when Salem distracted you by pawing at your hand on your mouse.
"Salem please bub. 3 more rounds and you can have all the cuddles in the world" you whisper to the cat before she settles down, you proceed to Ace the next round and your team and you win the next two. The end of the game, with the MVP you get promoted to Radiant #497.
You celebrated by grabbing Salem your black Bombay cat and hugging her tightly, she leans into you wrapping her paws around happy for the affection she's finally getting.
"Treat?" you ask receiving a meow.
Chat:
y/nloverrr02- not y/n celebrating like she just got a podium
landonorizz- what's harder, f1 win, or reaching the top 500 valorant players
wedonttalkabouther- please, mother is mothering!
deadlocknerf- not her top fragging as an omen and their jett with a negative kda.
lockandassit- well done on the promo!
LandoNorris- Babe! Well done! I watched your win! I'm so proud
"Thank you, everybody. I think I'll leave it there for the day and I'll come back and we can try and get into the 450's!" you exclaim before cutting stream.
Taglist:
@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover
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bigfatbimbo · 2 months
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Because velvette would be shocked to her core if the object of her affection and love is unresponsive.
Because she would try to get them to go out on a date with her because everyone in hell would be right about dying to have the oportunity to connect with such an afluent sinner. Thousands of wanna-be models would probably faint if velvette even suggested them being a "perfect fit" for her work, so, why, pray tell, did this person not entertain the idea of her not only suggesting that they would be welcome to work with her, but also her wanting to be closer with them?
She's used to some demons denying her things (ahhem, other overlords exclusivelly, mind you.) but they never held out their refusal for long. After about 2 whole attempts she'd start pretending she no longer cared. Take that, you! She doesn't even want you anymore. She is so much better than you and can get so much more than you can give, just watch!
... except she's been stalking your social media accounts and put up special notifications for whenever you post. Probably got a favor off of vox to monitor you more closely by getting access to the security cameras of whatever place you lived in.
Except she made a different alt account just to be able to like your pictures and not blow the cover on her "not caring about you" scheme.
Except she has been sending anonymous little gifts of the designer bags and clothes she'd wanted to dress you in herself.
(According to her they are "little" gifts. She's a little out of touch, even though she seems not to be since she talks so much about how important she is, which, is not by any means a lie. It's all a front, really. She is absolutely shattered by the idea of someone not bowing down and kissing the ground she walks on and begging for gigs with her. The image of "velvette" she put up for the world does not allign with the velvette she has in her mind, but, since there are basically no people who can get to that deep burried part of herself, she had been able to convince herself that the fragile part of her was long since gone.
"There are basically no people who can get to that part of her". Now there is one. You. Eating away at her fabricated confidence with your (according to her own self pity, "cruel" disregard of her love for you. You broke down her walls so easily.)
In your interactions, she attempted to be as cold, distant and rude as she always was. Ah.. but the little giggles you let out whenever she delivered a particularly nasty, ridiculous insult would make her brain all fuzzy, train of thought gone and her eyes unable to pull away from your damned smile.
(It'd be especially bad if the insult was directed at you. Something about how incompetent and useless you were. The way you clearly weren't affected by her empty remarks got under her skin. She wanted to convince herself that it was intentional on your part, the suposed "teasing" against her, that is. But in reality, you just saw through her, read her like an open book with pictures for a smoother comprehension. You had her wrapped around your finger, ready to do whatever you wanted if you ever requested it.
Oh how badly she wanted you to ask something of her. Finally being useful for the person who had her legs weak and stomach doing flips for what felt like millenia for her. Your indiference cut through her like a heated knife through butter. It made her feel so small. She'd get back at you for that through making you do quite literally everything for her. You were basically her unoficial assistant. It was her way of feeling as if she had power over you, but, since you were bound by no contract and weren't getting (formally, at least.) paid, you could simply stop whenever you'd like.
If you were ever unusally late to arrive from one of her million errands she assigned you, her brain would run so wild. She'd make up a murder and torture plan for a made up attacker in the made up scenario in which someone attempted to hurt you.
She cared about you so deeply, she'd get lost in thoughts of how you would treat her in your first date toguether, would you like to stay inside or go to a fancy restaurant or something of the sorts? She had never considered spending time away from the public eye, the idea of a movie night seemed new and exciting for her. God, how would you treat her in other situations?.. she'd... hate to admit to wondering how you would treat her in bed, but it made up all of her late night fantasizing. You made her so vulnerable. Damn yo- oh shit. She might have just stabbed through the model she was fitting clothing to with a pin. God damn it, that silk was SO expensive. Maybe she should stop daydreaming at work. She can't stop.)
You slowly did warm up to her. The, however delusional impending relationship velvette made up in her brain coming closer to reality. And as a consequence, velvette finally could show you all of the built up affection stored from all of the days where she pretended you were just another desperate model begging for her attention.
Seeing you happy made her feel so good. Giving you things just to see the shocked expression eventually morph into gratitude. It made her heart beat unbearably fast, especially if you kissed her cheek after she gifted you something she thought matched you. If you two were in public, she would get a white knuckled grip on whatever she's holding, trying to look away from you in her embarrassment, she'd throw insults at whatever unfortunate worker was closest to the both of you to distract herself from how she lost her footing after you leaned in to kiss her.
It came as a shocker to her when you confessed first, but she was nothing short of over the moon. Touching the stars, even. Probably higher than heaven, at this point. Her reaction to your confession would hilariously contrast with the night in which she made up her silly plan of ignoring you. You explained that you didn't want to be with a fabricated persona of velvette trying to charm her way into your life. You wanted to be with the velvette. The real one. The velvette, who, after you said that, had grabbed onto the collar of your newly gifted, particularly well crafted top and kissed you until she couldn't bare with the lack of oxygen.
Will vomit my thoughts about fucking her at you later. If it is available, I'd like to be 🫶 anon. Love your writing‼️‼️
Oh my god I got this a while ago and i’m cleaning out my inbox and i guess I apparently forgot to post this???
and like how because it’s so good i’m OBSESSSEDDDDDD LIKE I CANT BELIEVE I DIDNT POST THIS HELP 🙏🙏
Please vomit your thoughts about fucking her I swear it’s not to late i’m begging you
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manicrouge · 3 months
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Inundate
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[𝙰𝚄: 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝
[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 05/01/24
[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Sorry is the siren whose selfishness results in carnage.
[𝙲𝚠]: gore, murder, blood, body horror, angst, character deaths (both major and minor), hurt/comfort, smut, possessive!simon, inexperienced!reader, creampie, hurt and NO COMFORT, mention of the loss of a parent.
[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 18,536
[𝙰/𝙽]: Since so many people liked the first part (ty for ur support btw i am blown away by all the love ive been getting... it's enough to make a grown woman cry) HERE'S PART TWO!!! I hope it's just as entertaining as the first part and a good continuation to the story, although if you dislike it, just pretend this part never happened. Also this took so long because between writing this I have been watching the cat in the hat (best movie of all time btw).
I had a lot of fun writing this and can't wait for more alt aus !! I think the next think i have planned has something to do with everyones favourite ghost so... keep an eye out for that :3
(Pls ignore any typos I am very tired and really wanted to get this done so if I have made any I do apologise)
Comments are always appreciated !!
If you haven't already read it, I advise you read 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙾𝚗𝚎 !!
Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!
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There is something in the water.
There's something looking at him. He can sense it, he can feel it, and the feeling of whatever it is makes his blood run cold. Words have been leaving his mouth as he stands upon the ship, his eyes blood red at the very belief that something is there.
Leaning over, he watches as the ship caves into the waves, the village in the distance growing further and further away, the sound of songs and cheers emitting from the belly of the vessel.
Perhaps he's just a little sea sick, that's his excuse for the creeping sense of dread which is climbing up his spine the further he looks into the water, searching for the same set of black eyes that had stared at him that night while he obeyed the Captains orders.
Nausea rumbles his stomach, he feels the urge to grip the side of the ship and expel his guts for he cannot escape the image of that siren. It's as though, even though she is dead and gone (somewhere no one knows), she is still there with him, under his nails, infecting him with a sickly guilt that has caused his pores to ooze, the skin on his lips to crack, and his sleepless eyes to remain bloodshot.
He is rotting from the inside out.
Despite months having gone by, his hands are still slicked with the blood of the bleeding siren. He's scrubbed and scrubbed, and still, the dark red tinge under his nails persists. His hair is wild, flecks of grey sparkling in the daylight as he brings his hands together in an attempt to quell them as they continue to shake.
They're not alone anymore.
They haven't been for a while, yet, they have been none the wiser to it until the discovery of that... thing.
Granted, he's unsure as to whether or not he is grateful for knowing what is in the depths of the sea, or if he would have preferred it to stay a secret.
There is something following the ship, he knows there is something following the ship, whether beside it or under it- it doesn't matter.
He's heard the stories, read too many books in the library to count, and even since the murder of the siren, there has been a different air in the village just as there is at sea. Something is displeased, they are displeased, he knows they are.
'Roland, are you seriously looking for one of those things again?'
A hand is placed in his movement and he jolts, yelping at the sudden contact, his hands wrapping around the beam he has been using to look over the ship. There's a scoff from the man standing behind him as he scratches his beard, looking him up and down before his hands settle on hips hip.
'For fucks sake kid,' he exclaims, shaking his head, 'you're making yourself with the thought of the fuckin' things- have you looked in the mirror recently?'
He’s choking on his words, his tongue seemingly too big for his mouth as he gargles out an incoherent mess. Quite frankly, he would have been better throwing up overboard; at least then man would get a proper response from him. His cheeks are red as he concludes he should keep his mouth shut.
'You should have stayed on land,' he sharply states, 'this is our land, they don't have a fucking leg to stand on out here, right?' asks the man, wrapping his arm around his shoulder, holding his hand out as he points towards the sea with a bright smile on his face. 'One of theirs washed up on our shore, and they didn't stand a fuckin' chance against us.'
Observing the land, he swallows hard at the sight of a small mound of rocks sitting in the distance, tensing in the grip of the man standing beside him.
'She was on land,' he chokes out, resting his forearm against the edge of the ship, resting his head against his arms. The fluid motion of the water slightly rocking the boat side to side worsens his sickness as he sits and attempts to focus on his breathing. 'And she only died 'cause Price fucked up.'
'She only lived for as long as she did because that fuckwit was acting on the orders of the Lord,' says the man beside him, smacking his hand against his back, rendering the other breathless as he heaves for a gasp of air. 'Do I need to go to the Captain and get this boat turned around,' he lowly asks, 'because you're lookin' to be more of a fuckin' burden than anything else.'
Straightening his posture, he lets go of the edge of the shift, rubbing his face with his hands, shaking his head.
Rubbing his eyes, he winces at the dull pain as he does so, 'no, no, you don't... jus' haven't been sleeping recently, that's all,' he explains, 'been worrying about this trip but... I need the money; it's been rough recently.'
'Then get your fucking act together,' snaps the man, 'can't have some stupid mer-freaks scaring you, hey? They've probably left these waters, anyway,' he shrugs, 'they're like spiders; they fear us more than we fear them, and the only thing you've got to be fearful is Donny seeing you in this state, yeah?'
'Yeah,' he nods, noting that they're growing closer and closer to the mound of rocks. 'Need the money for this job.'
'Don't we all,' laughs the man, 'I'm gonna go get a drink, you gonna join me?'
As he looks at the an, he pictures the hot room beneath the deck with one too many bodies crammed into there, all for the sake of getting their hands on some rum. His stomach is burning as bile bubbles. There is nothing worse his mind can conceive at this moment, it's simply a death wish to accept his generous offer.
'No, I'm gonna stay up here; feel a bit sick,' he confesses, 'cause of the long break of voyages.'
Placing both of his hands on his bloated belly, Mike rolls his eyes, letting out a chuckle, 'I will say, strange how trade has been quiet for the past few months, isn't it? Got a village full of hungry people here and they're expecting us to sustain ourselves? That hardly seems culpable.’
'Somethin' to do with the Lords guards. They have more power than good, they do,' snarls Roland, 'think it's okay to demand for cuts of the ships in the water, and for what?'
'To keep you safe it seems,' laughs the man, 'can't have you vomiting into the ocean and angering the big fish, right? Have the village under water in the matter of seconds if you spilled your guts overboard.'
His laughter continues while he keeps his eyes glued on the small island of rocks. Holding his breath, he narrows them as the sun glares down at hm, burning his flesh. Sweat tricks from off of his forehead, chapped lips smacking together as he begins to smile.
'Bet it has something to do with the freak with the skull mask on.... Say, Mike, you ever seen his face before?' he asks with a furrowed brow.
Reflecting for a moment, he rests his hand against his hip, tapping his foot as he looks past Roland, staring into the sea as he contemplates. Resting either elbow on the edge of the ship, he lazily slouches awaiting the answer.
'No, can't say I have, hasn't left the house with that stupid fuckin' thing since he became one of the guards... you reckon it's real?' he asks with a laugh.
'Yeah fuckin' right,' Roland laughs, 'tied to the back of his head with pieces of silk, you really think someone like that has the fuckin' balls t’ kill someone and wear their skull as a souvenir?'
Both of them pause, sharing a look with one another.
Then Mike begins to laugh, Roland not too far behind as the pair of them howl.
His sickness abandons him as the pair of them laugh together. Tilting his back, he keeps his eyes screwed shut as he lifts a leg up, unable soothe the joyous ache in his gut.
'Yeah fuckin' right,' Mike says, wiping his eyes with his chubby fingers, 'he's doin' arts and crafts at...'
His laughter quells.
Even his sharp gasps for air dissipate.
Roland continues to laugh, only, after a few moments of silence, he clears his throat, his breath clawing at the inside of his throat.
He finds the hairs on his arms stand up, the wrinkles on his sickly face appearing as his peeling lips come together while lifting his head to look at Mike.
The elder man is pale, staring blankly past him into the sea.
'What?' Roland slowly asks, staring at the man, a smile tugging at his lips.
Unmoved by his comment, he turns his head to look in the direction where the man is looking.
Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he holds his breath as his eyes scan over the area.
There's the depth of the sea, they have passed the rocks he's heard in many account from those who have survived the sirens.
There is nothing there but the sea and the sky.
'Got ya',' chuckles the man behind him, continuing to laugh in the same manner he was laughing in before, 'you really thought I was gonna say that there's a siren there, didn't you? Gotta get them off of your mind, son.'
‘I know,' Roland retorts, 'the skull faced freak really helped... like medicine he is, strange fellow, yet so good for the soul, eh?'
'Good for the soul, but not the wallet,' snorts the latter. 'Wouldn't even say he's medicine, you're givin' him too much credit by sayin' that.'
'Oh?' Roland says, 'then what do you suppose he is then?'
'A witches potion,' he answers.
'Even that seems too nice,' says the spotty man, 'a quacks remedy is more fitting I think.'
The pair of them begin to laugh again, the waves crashing either side of the boat, and with every second they grow further and further from the little pile of rocks, and he finds his aching muscles are soothed.
The bustling cheers of the sailor help to warm his heart and he begins to think that he can stomach some rum.
A drop wouldn't kill a man, that's for sure.
In fact, it'll probably work well to settle his stomach.
'I think I've had a change of heart on the invite,' he says with a smile, 'drop of rum never killed anyone, has it?' he continues on brightly as though he had not been moments away from emptying his guts all of the deck. 'Well, it hasn't yet, at least.'
'That's the spirit,' Mike grins, 'probably help you with that uneasy stomach of yours, know it helps with mine, at least,' he says so while patting his stomach, looking over his shoulder to towards the door beneath the top of the ship where the Captain stands.
The man doesn't even move to address Mike, keeping his eyes set right in front of him, his hat tilted slightly downwards to keep the sun out of his eyes.
Opening his mouth to respond, all air exudes from his lung as he feels an ice cold touch on his shoulder.
Slowly, he turns his head, looking down to the wet patch on his shirt. A short breath escapes him as he notes the webbed hand, nails as sharp as daggers digging through the fabric of his shirt.
'Gonna take more than a quacks remedy to fix your issues,' a soft voice whispers as the hand on his shoulder shifts, and with one fair slash, the skin on his throat is shred as he is pulled overboard.
A gargled scream escapes him.
Writhing against the strong hold, his eyes water as he gasps for air as his body is dragged under the current. Swallowing mouthfuls of blood and water, he chokes out babbled for them to come back, for them to stop as the ship charged through the seas.
Cruelly, the siren holding him keeps him above water as he chokes.
'Don't worry about them,' says the voice behind him, 'water's waitin' for them, a pretty song is too.'
With that, he cries out in agony as your nails are drove into his stomach, the flesh snapping as you drag your fingers through his stomach.
'You helped in her capture,' you seethe, 'you're lucky I haven't flooded the entire fucking town, but if I don't find the man who murdered her, you best believe that entire town is going to drown in the same water as you.'
'T- They'll...' he wretches out, the strength in his kicks calming as his eyes grow heavy, '...kill you,' he firmly states, gritting his teeth.
A loud laugh graces his ears as your grip on him loosens.
'Only if they can swim with a slit throat.'
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
Blood washes off easily with water.
It's the nails it's difficult to remove it from, and he struggles with all his might as he stands at the edge of the shore, scraping his nails into the sand. It doesn't help at all, though, he still insists on doing so; it's the only time the stain of red is obscured.
The beach is bitter to him these days, and even though his mouth is protected from the elements as he keeps his balaclava over his mouth, he still feels a faint tingle on his mouth as he recalls the moment he spent here with you.
You're difficult to avoid, especially whenever he's passing the beach on patrol. Price has made a point to keep him away from it, placing him next to the Lords house during his patrols. He says it's to make it easier on him, so he's not as distracted while doing an important job.
When he's near the Lords house, his ears ring with the sound of your screaming and crying, and the blood under his nails grows darker.
There's a temptation whenever he's nearing the house; one cut to the throat and he would be dealt with.
As easy as that.
Truthfully, the old man has nothing to do with the issues going on within, but he's clamouring for someone to hate, for someone to blame. The old man made the orders, they could have just let her go, but they didn't.
And then you left with her.
In the morning after Serelia's burial, when he woke to an empty bed, his lungs turned to ice. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, the feeling of utter despair as he found the pink dress he had bought for you gone along with yourself.
There was no residue of body heat on your side of the bed, he struggled to find anything to even prove you existed as he rushed around the house with wild eyes.
'Sweetheart?' he called, forcing the door to the bathroom open.
The light shined in from the window, though, there was nothing in there aside from the bloody frock he'd helped you remove the night before.
Picking it up off of the ground, he held it out in front of him looking at the drying blood in the fabric. He didn't know why he did it if anything, it only works to worsen his panic.
In the midst of public, eyes are everywhere... what if someone heard your confession to him? What if it was the same someone who hurt Serelia?
He dropped the dress promptly, his hand over his mouth as his face paled at the very thought of you being taken- of you meeting the same fate as the poor siren he'd buried. Only, in the memory, it was your face he was covering with the shabby old white sheet he found in the cabin, and it was your blood on that dress and not hers.
For the next few minutes, he spent them on his knees, gripping the edge of the toilet as he threw up what little he had in his stomach, ridding his body of the last moments he had spent with you.
After the remnants of the pastry he'd eaten before were in the toilet bowl, he suffered through a terrible burning in his throat as his face grew hot as he thought against all urges to throw up anymore. Yet, he failed, a mixture of stomach acid and spit landing in the bowl.
The smell was grotesque, yet, the taste of it was even worse.
His eyes were teary when he eventually forced himself off of the ground, rushing out of the room, quickly changing into his uniform, leaving the skull of his mask in his bedroom, tying the balaclava around his face before rushing out of the door.
People look at him with raised brows, finally able to see the top part of his face, yet, he doesn't care as he sprints through the village, his heart pounding against his chest, hoping that one of the women passing him is you.
The library is closed, you can't be there and he wants to scream as he holds the side of his head, his throat tightening up. How he longed to have the simple luxury of seeing you sat in the library again with a book on your lap. Though, as he peered through the glass of the small building, the space was simply a husk.
Heat climbed up his neck as he heaves out desperate breaths. His skin grew itchy and his blunt nails clawed at the flesh on his neck as he gulped hard attempting to chase after air, to find some form of peace to calm himself.
You left in silence, you left without a goodbye- surely you wouldn't have been so cruel to do so. You would have said something to him, left something for him to let you know that you were okay.
The missing dress is the only form of hope he had, though, the missing dress means nothing; someone could have taken that with you to make it look as though you left on your own accord and not someone else's.
The world is spinning as his breathing quickens, he can hardly make sense of anything around him and he finds himself growing more frustrated by the second. You could be anywhere, he hadn't let you out of his sight for more than a month, and the moment he sleeps with you beside him is the moment you disappear.
After the library, he checked the beach, yet it was clear, not a being in sight, nor a siren.
You were nowhere to be found.
The crashing waves and the grey sky swelled in his head rendering him speechless as he blinks back the tears, clenching his fists as he turned away from ocean, returning back to the village.
When he opened the door to the station, the first face he was greeted with was the both who Price had tasked with the mission of looking after Serelia.
The fool who was sloppy enough to leave her by herself.
'Mornin' Si', you want a tea?' Johnny asked, turning his attention away from Rhys standing beside him.
He doesn't care to respond to the man, instead, he grabbed the throat of the man beside him, slamming him against the wall with gritted teeth.
The man startled in his hold, letting out a loud gasp as Simon's fist around his neck tightens with the intent of only loosening when he felt the bone crunch in his fist.
'You fucking bastard!' he screamed.
Rhys doesn't dare move, weak wretches escaping him as he squirmed in his hold.
A hand grabs his shoulder, 'woah, woah, hey, Simon calm down!' Johnny exclaimed, 'you're gonna kill the fuckin' kid.'
'That' the whole point,' he snapped, 'you let that fuckin' siren die.'
'I- I didn't,' the man managed out.
'You left her alone and she was fucking murdered- this is your fault, Price put you up to it and you left her with no one there to protect her and she died.'
At that point, he could hear the blood in his veins, and had he not been forced off of him by Johnny and Price, he very well would have snapped the kids neck.
Rhys fell to the ground with a harsh gasp while Price stepped in front of him and Johnny kept hold his arms. When Simon stepped forward, Price placed his hand against his chest, shoving him backwards.
'Simon,' warned the man, 'bring it in, I've already got the death of that fucking siren on my case, I don't need another one to account for too.'
His eyes grew blurry as he looked at the man.
'What's wrong?' Johnny asked from behind him, 'whats happened?'
Everything folded in on itself, the cold morning, the absence of you and your dress, the bloody dress on the floor. Everything, every single thing he built with you collapsed, and he was unable to keep it all together as he ripped his arms from out of Johnny's hold.
Looking past Price, he pointed his finger in the direction of the brown-haired man on the floor, clenching his teeth, 'it's your fault she's fuckin' gone,' he seethes, 'all your fucking fault,' he mustered up before storming out the Station, blinking back tears as he returned home, knowing you weren't going to be there.
The beach is bitter now, but the memory is worse.
He doesn't know why he bothers to sit at the beach during the nighttime, perhaps it's in the hope that you'll reappear, or maybe the moon will send him a sign that you're safe somewhere her, and that the only part of you with Serelia is the skirt from the bloody frock he still has in his house.
It's peaceful at night, especially with the waves rolling in gently, and he imagines you're sitting on a rock somewhere, humming a sweet tune, causing trouble as you did so.
Anyone else would have been horrified with the confession, though, as he thinks about the damage that the people in the village have done to you, he wishes you'd flood the entire village and wipe it clean of all the scum in it.
At least then, even if he were to die in the flood, he'd die knowing that it was by your hand and no one else's.
And in his death, the man who he was held back from would also meet the same fate. That's all he's asking for.
Unsheathing the dagger in his belt, he drives it into the ground, dragging it through the grains of sand, taking his eyes from the sea to the deep line he's carved into the sand.
The throat of the Lord or Rhys would be better suited, though, he knows the fate awaiting him if he does something like that.
As he stares at the sand, the crunch of boots against the sand or the creak of a lantern behind him catching his attention though he doesn't turn his head; he knows the walking pattern well... he needs to get lighter on his feet if he's going to attempt to scare him.
'Thought I'd find ya 'ere, Lt,' says the man, walking beside him, not bothering to ask him if he can take a seat beside him. With a grunt, he lands on the ground, exhaling as he looks to the man sitting beside him. 'You've been comin' here since she left.'
'You spying on me?' Simon retorts.
'Seen you while on patrol, actually,' Johnny answers, 'difficult to miss, a big lump of coal you are,' he says with a chuckle, 'ya looked like you needed the company 'cause you've been keeping to yourself for months, and I know ye not typically a man of many words, but you've become a Ghost.'
He doesn't answer him, instead, he drivers his knife further into the sand.
'You gonna tell me what's actually going on, or are you gonna keep it a secret so no one can help you?' he asks, 'I've been thinking about the state of you the morning you nearly broke that kids neck, I've never seen you like that before.'
'You'll never see me like that again.'
'What did the death of that siren have to do with her leaving?'
His knuckles whiten around the knife.
'Kyle told us she was in a right state when Rhys got to the Station that morning. You forced him to keep everyone away from the cabin but the entire village heard her crying,' he explained, 'it was the talk of the town for days after.'
Looking at the man sitting beside him, he fights against the truth.
'The siren was what she was here for, wasn't she?' he asked.
Simon's breath gets caught in his throat.
'I've been goin' over it for weeks whenever I get a spare minute, the carry on out of her, her washing up on the shore out of the blue- not being able to remember the name of where her and her sister were goin' on that ship... none of that was true, was it?'
'No,' Simon answered, 'she told me when we found Serelia, we buried her and in the night she left... or someone took her,' he said.
'You think someone took her?'
'She was screamin' for the entire fuckin' village to hear, Johnny,' he snaps, letting go of the knife as he turns his attention back towards the ocean, 'anyone coulda heard her, including whoever killed Serelia. And I just keep goin' over it.'
He knows he'd never be able to forgive himself if such was confirmed, for what kind of protector would he be if he couldn't have stopped that monster from getting to you?
'What if she just... went back to the water?' he asks, 'that's where she belongs anyway, right? If she got a hold of the girl, she would have went back with her anyway.'
'She didn't say goodbye,' Simon utters.
'Maybe she didn't say goodbye because she knew you wouldn't be able to go,' he shrugs, 'if she woke you in the middle of the night and told you she had to go back home, would you have let her go?'
As he looks out onto the water, he contemplates his question, thinking back to the very night he lost you. He recalls the pair of you lying his bed, how you mumbled one last 'I love you' to him before leaving. Only, this time, you didn't leave without telling him. Instead, you look him dead in the eyes and tell him that you have to go.
Even debating the scenario in his head causes his heart to hurt.
'No...' he begins, his eyes narrowing as he keeps his eyes trained on the water.
It's difficult to see in the darkness, though, the light from the moon against the water highlights something bobbing closer and closer to the shore. Raising to his feet, Johnny looks up at him.
'You see that?' he asks, motioning over to the water.
The blob in the sea dips and raises with each wave rolling in, though with his mask and tired eyes, he's unsure if he's seeing something because it's there, or if his imagination is simply willing it to be sign he has been craving for the past couple of months.
'Aye,' he says, raising to his feet.
The pair stand idly staring at the bobbing blob.
'Whatever it is, it isn't alive,' says Johnny, watching as the man beside him shrugs off his cloak, untying the ribbon of his mask and pulling the balaclava off of his face, allowing it all to fall to the floor.
'Keep an eye on it for me, won't you?' Simon asks, looking over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response as he rushes into the water, heading directly towards the mysterious mass in the water.
Wading through the water, his pants grow heavier as his boots fill with water, though, he's uncaring as the water reaches his waist. The closer her gets to the body, the darker he finds the water grows.
'You know what it is yet?' calls the man on the shore.
Squinting, he reaches his hand out, placing his hand against the strange mass, pulling it over so he can see what it is.
Hollowed out eyes stare back at him, the sockets devoid of eye balls as he stares at the corpse a float in the water. It's intestines brush against his knee as though they have a life of their own.
The sight is brutal and in the darkness, he can't quite make out the feature of who the body is.
Grabbing the corpse under its armpits, he turns his head back to shore to see Johnny waiting with eager eyes to see what has been uncovered.
'It's a dead body!' Simon says with a grunt as he pulls the body through the water, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he drags it with him.
From behind him there's a slosh of water, the stammering breaths of the man appearing right beside him as he gawks at the corpse. He doesn't say anything, quite reserved for a man who is looking death in the eyes. Instead, he grabs its arm, helping Simon pull it to shore.
The heels of the corpse dig into the sand as he's pulled back to shore, the pair of them dropping him with a huff. Their clothes drip against the land as Johnny grabs the lantern he left beside Simon's masks and cloak, holding it over the body so the pair of them can grasp what it is they're dealing with.
The torso of the corpse is naked, the flesh of its stomach looking as though some sort of wild animal had gotten its hands on him. Only, its the intent of the cuts that tells him otherwise, his throat hangs open, exposing the top of his spine and vocal cords, loose flaps of skin blowing in the wind as the corpse leaks sea water and blood onto the sand.
As Simon moves his eyes up, he lets out a brittle exhale.
'This is one of the fellas who left on the ship today,' Johnny comments, looking to Simon who simply keeps his eyes glued to the chest of the man. 'Roland...' his words trail as he rips his eyes from off of the corpses face, all to see the very thing that Simon is staring at.
Johnny gulps.
'Your girl capable of doing that?' he says with a raised eyebrow.
In the bloody mess of the man, he finds exactly what he has been hoping to fine since he woke up that morning to find you were gone.
Of course, it could have been a shark attack- something other than the work of your hand, only, the confirmation of life is etched into the body as though it's a stone tablet or a tombstone.
Carved into the chest of the dead man is the word 'murderer'.
Simon smiles at the sight of the corpse, looking out onto the water.
'That's her,' he breathes, looking towards the moon, 'she's alive.'
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
The thing is, with humans at least, they're fragile when it comes to pain.
When something seems out of the ordinary, they're inclined to shit themselves and become a crying blubbering mess, begging for mercy as though it is them who are innocent when they acted with the intent of taking another's life.
Even the strongest man cowers when they're forced to encounter something unknown, and you rejoice as you blood at the bloody man on his knees before you.
The curse of the moon never truly left you, still tied to the humans upon leaving the water, and while you have a prolific distaste for you can no longer join the sirens upon the rocks, it works well when the ship is driven into rocks and one of the men manage to scramble to the shore.
He thinks he's safe until you walk from out of the water.
The tides turn and the small smirk on his face disappears as he realises you do indeed have legs and can walk right up to him. Either way, he's a fool to possess such smugness, a song from the water would have drove him right back to you anyway.
'P- Please, please, please, I- I'm sorry, what do you want? I'll give you whatever you want, you want money?' he chokes out, holding his hands out in front of him.
The blood of his friend you plucked from off of the ship mingles with the sea water as he trembles in the cool breeze.
Some dry patches even stick to him, a clump of congealed blood sticking to one of his eyebrows. Trebling hands dig into his pockets as he holds out a handful of golden coins.
You think of Simon briefly, smiling to yourself as you recall the soup you attempted to made with the golden coins he had given you. How you basked in the light of his home eating the slop in the bowl, but none of that mattered because the pair of you had each other.
And then your mind falls to the dress he gifted you.
The dress you left on the bathroom floor, the dress you ripped to leave a piece of yourself with Serelia, the dress stained with her blood.
Raising your hand, you slap the money out of his hands, the coins landing with a hollow thud onto the sand of the a small cove. 'I don't want your money,' you snap, grabbing his shirt, pulling him to you with gritted teeth. 'I want you to answer my question, and if you dance around it, I'll cut you from gut to gullet and let the sharks eat the rest of you body.'
'Of course, o- of course, anything, I'll tell you anything you want to know,' shudders the man, tears flowing freely down his wrinkled face.
Edging closer to him, your face is right in front of his, you can smell the booze on his breath as he sniffles, looking at you doe eyes.
'Who killed the siren you captured?'
He looks at you, opening his mouth as he stumbles and trips over the words leaving his mouth. All attempts to form words are lost to the panic he works himself into as he attempts to think of an answer which will satisfy you, yet keep whoever is guilty safe.
Your grip grows tighter on his hair.
'I- I don't know, I don't know, I'm sorry,' he sobs, 'please- please—'
Shoving him back onto the ground, you turn away from him, clenching your fists.
'Bull-fucking-shit.'
His sobs simmer as you look back to the water, taking a moment to contemplate his response. And, you find that you don't like what he has to say, in fact, you fucking despise it because you know for a fact he is full of shit.
Turning sharply on your heel, you look at the man, taking a breath before bringing your hand across his face. He falls with a huff, his face pressing against the sand as he lets out another pitiful cry.
'Wrong answer, try again,' you demand, leaning over, grabbing a fistful of his greasy hair, pulling his head up. Your breath ghosts his ear as you speak through clenched teeth, 'who killed the siren?'
'I- I heard whispers around the village!' he blurts, 'they said that whoever it was was smart and no one suspects them of it... b- but I know it wasn't the man you murdered.'
You let go of his hair.
The only people who knew where Serelia was were the Guards of the village and you know Simon would never have done something so brutal. Price cares too much about his duty to do something so horrible, even though to him, you're sure her death was much more of an inconvenience then it was a heartbreak.
Your mind aches as you go down to Johnny and Gaz. Why would they do something so cruel? As much as you despise their kind, you struggle to see why they would bring harm to her. It wouldn't make sense- even Gaz told you he would have freed her if their hands were
And then your heart stops.
Confirmation is the one thing you have longed for since returning to the sea, the one thing your sisters have wanted for the longest time. You looks at you with wide eyes, stammering out whispers as you release your hold on him.
The entire time you thought she was safe, she was in the hands of her murderer.
Your self indulgence and brief romance cost her her life.
Placing your hand against your forehead, you pace back and forwards in front of the man.
'The boy who Price hired to make sure she was safe,' you mumble to yourself, wiping your face with your hand. How could you have been so blind? Word never got out about her being anywhere, he never went home that night... he disappeared and Gaz couldn't find him that morning.
He was getting rid of the evidence of his crime and he succeeded.
Walking down the sand, you ignore the calls of the man as you return to the water. There's nothing around, no land, no safety, simply just a small cove a lot of soldiers don't account for until it is, fortunately, too late.
'Hey! Hey! You can't leave me here!' screams the man as you walk further into the water. 'I'm going to die out here! There's nothing around here, please, I told you what you wanted, how some mercy.'
Stopping in your tracks, you exhale, peering over your shoulder.
'This is mercy,' you briefly answer before walking into the water, disappearing out of his view for good.
Even under the water his screams travel though you don't care to show any form of kindness as you move away.
He deserves his death for his attempted lie, and you also find anger bubbling for you know what you have to do because of his confession- something you have been escaping for a while.
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
They work well on the side of the law, they stick to it as much as they can, though, when the pair of them shared a look while on the beach, they both knew what they had to do.
The breeze is gentle as the move the body further up the beach, occasionally turning their heads to look upwards in the direction for any sign of life as they do so.
Roland's intestines drag along the shore, his body leaking blood and water, leaving a gruesome trail behind the pair of them. Fortunately, the water will wash any trace of gore away and it will be as though he never existed in the first place.
'Why has she decided to pop up now?'
'First ship at sea for months,' he states, 'I'm surprised she hasn't tried to drag the entire village underwater with how torn she was.'
'What did you do with the girls body?' he asked, 'had Price choked up as he tried to explain to the Lord where the body disappeared off to, as far as he's concerned, there's no such thing as sirens cause he hasn't seen it with his own eyes.'
The old Lord is stubborn in his ways, that the pair of them know well enough not to bother questioning his reasonings. Upon his return, Simon recalls the look of upset when Price had to inform the man that they, as the guards of the village, failed at their duties. The body of the siren was nowhere to be seen, and he had to stand and watch as the Captain was subject to a brutal scolding, knowing well where the sirens body had disappeared off to.
It was unfair of him to do that, risking John's position all to keep the burial ground sacred and untouched, but he was still bruised and bleeding from the events that had taken place that night and the morning following.
All he can think about while standing in the room was the look on your face, how your bottom lip wobbled as you laid the fabric of your cherished dress upon the deceased girl, not bothering to consider your love for the item on your body, rather, the love you had for the woman lying in the ground.
Nothing was worth destroying that moment. Nothing.
'Buried it,' Simon answers, 'she's buried at the top of the cliff, just past the Lords house,' he says, setting the man down on the ground as they edge closer and closer to a small cove beneath the cliff, looking up at it.
'Lookin' over her home, ey?' Johnny asks with a small smile, 'her idea, I'm guessing.'
'It was mine, actually.'
'Didn't know y' were the sentimental type, Lt,' he comments with a smile, 'didn't know y' even had a heart.'
'I do,' Simon retorts.
'Really?'
'Yeah... a cold one.'
He doesn't miss the way the latter rolls his eyes.
'Wouldn't be sayin' that if she was here with you right now though, would ya?' he laughs, taking a breath before the pair of them continue to move the body. 'No, I can imagine y' now, all loved up. Thought of it makes me sick.'
Simon fights off the urge to scoff.
'Just say y' jealous, Johnny.'
'Oh, I am so jealous. I wish I had you to fall asleep to every night,' he whispers, his eyes moving from Simon to the body in their arms, 'cause, if that were the case, we'd be in bed right now, not carryin' a dead body, which your siren girlfriend mutilated, to hide it in a fuckin' cave,' he huffs, the darkness of the small cove swallowing the pair as they walked into it.
'These are typical activities for couples. We'd still be doin' it.'
Johnny doesn't bother to respond as the pair of them move further and further into the beast belly. 'Y' sure no kids gonna stumble across this corpse; he's gonna start to smell.'
'Tides rolling in tomorrow morning, not goin' back out until night,' Simon says, 'he'll be dragged back out to sea before anyone else gets to him.'
'Well, I hope y' right; if not, your girlfriends gonna be in a lot of trouble when the people in the village find out about this,' he says, finally relieving himself of the duty when he feels Simons hands slipping off of the body.
It lands in the wet sand of the cove with a wet splat, and the pair of them stare through the darkness, Johnny lifting his foot to find where exactly they placed the body.
'You think she's gonna come back?'
'Didn't dig her nails into him to for fun, Lt,' he answers, 'I reckon she'll show her face soon.'
Whether it is a few days, or even weeks, he doesn't care.
'I hope so.'
As long as you find your way back to him, the knowledge of you living is enough to soothe his weary eyes.
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
The sisters of a siren are fierce and loyal, even when your tongue burns as you speak to them of the events which had happened during your time on land.
You suffered similar hardships to Serelia, at least, they're convinced you did.
So, as you address the group with blown eyes drawn to the surface, explaining your reasoning as to why you should tread the land, to go back into that village, you're hardly surprised when their looks change as they address you.
Motive is of importance and you wish to solve the case, to bring justice to the woman buried on the cliff edge.
But, selfishly, you're also wishing to bring justice to a man who you wronged.
'Return to land?' a voice barks, 'you will do no such thing; the last time one of us went on Land, her life was taken from her cruelly, I'm not allowing that to happen to you, not at all,' she continues.
You stare at her, looking around at the other disapproving faces which surround you. There's still a void where she would have sat and you feel your lips pulling down into a frown as you stare blankly at the space beside the woman who holds her pointer finger up at you.
'It's irresponsible, you'll get yourself killed if you do that.'
'I finally have confirmation of which human killed Serelia, Raithe,' you respond, rubbing your face as you turn your eyes from the empty space to the angered siren. 'I can kill him, I will kill him, but I need to be on land in order to do so.'
There's a brief silence between yourself and the ground and you feel your chest tightening as you observe all their faces. While stoic, you feel as though the sea is pressing all its weight down onto you in an unlawful attempt to drown you.
Though, in the eyes of unhappiness, you find that you would be thankful if the sea had such a mercy on you.
'I don't understand why we never lead the entire village into the sea,' another siren says, batting her blonde eyelashes as she looks at you, 'would've have gotten this over in a second. We kept our silence up in the first place because they never got as far as killing one of our own, but they captured her and held her as a prisoner- they held you as a prisoner too,' she continues, 'why are you showing them mercy? They deserve to drown for their crimes.'
You pale at the thought of committing such an act against the village.
'Because...' your words trail as you take a harsh breath, sinking further into the current, 'there are children in the village- that's not who we are.'
All of them raise their eyebrows in your direction and you feel small as they do so. Your shoulders touch the lobes of your ears as your entire body tenses.
'That not who you are, not anymore at least,' Raithe scoffs, narrowing her black eyes. 'You've gone soft.'
'No I haven't,' you refute, 'I- I just—'
'She's in love she is,' another speaks, pushing through the water, moving behind you to grab your shoulders. Pushing you closer to the group, her grip tightenings as she forces your neck to the side, the base of her nose ghosting your flesh as inhales your scent.
You freeze as she does so, the only saving thought being the fact that you haven't been held by Simon in months.
Her sharp nails press against the flesh on your stomach, her eyes narrowing as grabs your face, forcing you to look at her.
'Tainted, you are,' she says, 'look in her eyes, look how she moves, you're protecting the very humans that killed our sister,' she accuses, the looks on the others faces hardening in your direction.
'You don't want to go on land for revenge, you want to go and see whoever you were with during the time you were supposed to be searching for Serelia,' Raithe exclaims, 'you are just as much of a monster as those humans are, you wicked little witch!'
'No, no I'm not,' you quickly blurt.
'Then we flood the village; they're all guilty of murder because they helped take her in the first place,' answers the black-haired woman simply.
With beady eyes you look at her, and when a tight-lipped smile appears on her face, you feel the sudden urge to vomit.
You sense betrayal burning in their beings and have an overwhelming desperation to be away from them despite the ties of blood that keep you bound as sisters.
You're released from the hold of the siren behind you all for your face to be caught with the hand of Raithe. Keeping her webbed hand against your face, her grip tightens on you, nails digging into your cheeks as she grits her dagger-like teeth at you.
You squirm in an attempt to escape her hold, yet the only thing you achieve as you do such is forcing her nails deeper.
'You chose your side even before this meeting,' Raithe seethes, 'you chose it when you let Serelia die, you chose it when you lied to us because you are in love, Amalise is right,' she laughs, shaking her head. 'You love a human, how can you be so sure they wouldn't do what they did to you what their kind did to Serelia?'
'B- Because he isn't like that,' you cry, 'he isn't like that, he took care of me, he did everything he could to make me happy and he helped me bury Serelia.'
Your eyes grow wide as you realise the confession that accidentally slipped past your lips.
You don't miss the collective gasp, nor do you miss the feeling of Raithe's hold on you loosening, pulling away from you completely.
'You buried her?' Amalise asks, 'you buried her on land?' her tone raises as she clenches your fist.
'I couldn't have—'
You're struck with a razor sharp hand.
Her claws tear the flesh of your face as you're thrown through the current.
For a moment, you're much too dazed to realise what has happened until your grabbed by the throat.
'How fucking dare you!' Raithe screams, 'you lied to us a- and you buried her on land away from us so we cannot visit her? You are no siren, you are just as monstrous as those humans.'
Her fist tightens around your throat, specks of darkness appearing in your eyes as you attempt to pull her hand off of you. Your nails dig into her flesh, but she doesn't budge.
'You wish to be a human so bad, right? That's what you want, you're burdened by being one of us because if they knew, they would kill you because that's who they are.'
'N- No,' you choke out.
She edges closer to you.
'I don't believe you,' she utters, looking over her shoulder, 'I say she returns to the land, let her human have her,' she suggests, addressing the other sirens.
Much to your horror, they nod in agreement.
Raithe turns back to you, cocking her head to the side as she narrows her black eyes. 'You can be there to witness his death when we lead him to the sea,' she firmly says as you weakly writhe, blood pouring from the slash on your face, a tingling washing your entire body as your hands on her wrists falter and the world begins to grow dark.
'See if he still loves you with a ruined face.'
A final wretch escapes you before you're forced into darkness, leaving the world behind with the disapproving look of Raithe being the very last thing you see.
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
Patrol around the village these is quiet, and while he enjoys the silence most of the time, he can't help but hate the silence he's plagued with as he's walking around the dark streets.
No matter where he walks he can never escape the sound of the crashing waves. Typically, he enjoys the sound of the water, of the gulls squawking as he passes by the beach, only, ever since uncovering the body of that sailor, he's found the sound only takes him back to the leaking body parts and hollow eyes.
In his time he has seen a lot, yet, that truly takes the cake.
It's for a good cause, Simon knows the implications of the siren attacks and if word got out to the village folk, it will sure be difficult to fix. Their silence has been in their favour as he hardly hears mentions of Serelia in the village anymore, yet, he knows the fear is still there for a lot of people.
Like a criminal, while on patrol, he cannot help but return to the scene of the crime, watchful eyes looking over the shore in search for blots of blood.
It's difficult to know why he is doing so; as far as he's concerned, no one knows what the pair of them did, and truthfully, if someone does stumble across the body, he is fine.
No one suspects a guard, the protector of all.
Sea foam coats the bottom of his boots as he mindlessly wanders further down the beach, his tired eyes looking up towards the moon sitting in the sky. Despite the clouds blocking any stars from his view, the moon makes sure to make her presence known.
If he weren't so tired, maybe he'd acknowledge the red tinge marking her surface.
'Hey you,' a voice hisses.
He stops, snapping his head to look around, his forehead wrinkling as he spies a woman a few meters away from him sitting in the water.
Upon first glance, he straightens his posture, preparing to scold the woman for being so careless, walking out into the water alone in the dead of the night.
Then, the water around her shifts as she lifts her tail up from out of the wind, the moonlight catching the green tinge of her scales.
'Bloody hell,' he blurts out under his breath.
Before him lies a woman with thick, long black hair.
She kicks her tail up, resting her arms around the ground as she stares up at him with wide, black eyes, offering him the best smile she can muster. Her teeth are as sharp as knives and she trails her tongue over the points of them as she grins.
'Come closer,' she requests.
'Ye gonna kill me, lassie,' he responds, 'I know ave got a fun haircut, but am not that stupid.'
The woman scoffs.
'I'm asking you nicely,' she sharply states, 'walk away and you'll be right back in the water with the sound of a song, so I advise you do what I'm asking of you and come closer.'
She grows as cold as the wind as she stares at him, her brows furrowing as she looks in his direction.
Goosebumps form on his skin, and while his head is telling him to do anything else, he relents to her demands, slowly moving closer to her.
The water touches his boots as she sighs, pushing herself off of her stomach, rolling the water with a bright grin, lifting her head to look at the man with a giggle.
'Oh, you listen so well, who would have thought a human would be obedient,' she chuckles, allowing her webbed hands to fall above her head, merely missing the edge of his boots. 'I've got something for you,' she claims.
'A death sentence, perhaps?'
'There was a girl in this village a while back... few months ago now, looked as you did, with your legs and your gill-less necks, but she wasn't true to you, nor your people for she was a siren.'
His eyebrows raise upon her words, and she laughs harder.
'Oh so now I've got your interest now... I don't suppose you're the lover she had while she was on land, are you?'
'Nae.'
'Do you know of the man who she loved?'
'Aye, he's my friend,' he says with a nod, 'you know where she is?'
'I have her with me, some of my friends are keeping hold of her,' she explains, 'but... we've been having a talk, you see, and she no longer views the ocean as her home, nor does she view us as her sisters; she has been tainted by your kind.'
Her face contorts in a horrific manner as she pokes at the tips of his boots. Though, he doesn't move, knowing better than to sacrifice the happiness of Simon for the sake of his own safety.
The man needs this- he needs you back.
'I'm a woman of morality and I am not going to force her to stay where she doesn't want to be, and quite frankly, she is no longer one of our own- rather a traitor to her own kind,' she says, sitting up from off of the ground, looking out at the sea, 'so, you can have her, let her seek out the man who she loves.'
Everything she's saying seems too good to be true.
As he looks away from the woman, two more heads appear above the water, though they are that of shadows as they move forward. As the move closer and closer, the black-haired woman reaches out with greedy hands, and from out of the water, she plucks you, pulling you up the shore with a grunt.
In the moonlight, he catches the brutal gash on your face, how you tale shimmers in the moonlight before it melts into the sand, dissipating in a crude shimmer as you're pushed to him.
'What have y' done to her?' he asks, rushing towards your unconscious form, shrugging his jacket from off of his shoulders, using it to cover you.
'She isn't dead,' answers the black-haired woman, 'that would have been too kind,' she barks out a laugh, watching as Johnny takes you into his arms, staggering backwards from her. 'No need to fear us,' she gently coos, 'at least, not yet.'
He doesn't care to listen a second longer as he looks down to the deep wound across your face, rushing across the beach towards the steps which lead back into the village, the cackle of the siren booming.
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
Nighttime is quiet now.
Whenever he isn't working, he's only plagued with violent desires and ideas, tossing and turning on the sofa, curtains drawn so the moon cannot see him.
His feet hang off of the sofa, a dull ache in his spine as he lies in darkness, unable to sleep.
Tonight is particularly difficult as his heartbeat thumps against his chest and he finds himself tossing and turning at the very fact that, the night before, he got the confirmation he has been longing for for months.
You're alive.
Only, after a while of joy, he finds sadness lurks beneath the realisation as Johnny's point of you returning to the water very well may be true, meaning you left him willingly.
Your absence is cruel in that sense.
He's staring at his skull mask, slowly dozing off as the pounding sound of fists against his door tear him from his dazed state. They're eager, quick and desperate. If they knock any harder, they very well might knock the door down.
With a snarl on his face, he pulls back the thin sheet drawn over his body, marching up to the door. From beyond it, he hears pants for air, not missing a thick accent uttering, 'c'mon bonnie, you're fine, yeah?'
Immediately, he grabs the handle of the door, forcing it open with a hard pull.
The knocking stops as Johnny looks up at him with wild eyes, shoving past him with a body in his arms, rushing into the living room. For a moment, Simon keeps his eyes trained on the now empty spot where he was just standing, a short breath escaping him as he recalls the familiar colour of the hair.
Slowly, he closes the door, listening to the ragged breaths of the man, turning to him with his stomach in knots. He watches as you're placed down onto the couch, air escaping him as he notes the red stain in the mans white shirt as he turns his attention to him.
'It's her, Si',' he says.
Simon doesn't move.
'Some siren was sittin' on the beach, she gave her to me, said she'd betrayed her kind- that she's no better than us,' he explains, moving away from the sofa to the bookshelf, his hand patting along the wood in hopes of uncovering the box of matches he's spied a few times.
Moving over to the sofa, Simon reaches his hand out to you, resting it down on your shoulder. You're cold to the touch, the scent of sea water filling his nose as he hears the scrape of a match and the crackle of a wick.
An orange light is cast over your being as Johnny stands beside him with a candle in his hand.
From out of the darkness appears a crude claw-like mark on your cheek, blood dripping from the harsh gash down onto your bruised neck.
'What the fuck did they do to her?' he asks through gritted teeth, tearing at the fabric of his own shirt, kneeling down beside you, pressing the fabric against the cut on your face.
A noise escapes you when he does so, and he feels a heat bubbling in his stomach.
'You're okay, sweetheart,' he utters gently, keeping a firm pressure on the wound.
'I don't know,' Johnny answers, 'pulled her out of the water and gave 'er to me... said they don't want her anymore.'
Blood soaks into the fabric of his shirt as you stir.
A moan escapes your mouth, and as your eyes slowly open, you're aware of the agonising pain emitting from your cheek. Then follows the feeling of a familiar sofa, the sound of familiar voices and the warmth of a familiar hold.
Opening your eyes, you're greeted with the sight of Simon in the candle light.
Despite the bags under his eyes and the addition of a few pink scars on his face, he still looks as glorious as he did the night you left him.
'Simon?' you choke out at the sight of him.
You catch a shift in his eyes as he looks at you.
'I'm here, love,' he gently says, 'you're safe; I've got you.'
You can be there to witness his death when we lead him to the sea.
You hear her voice, her cruel tone, and the coldness of her words flood through your veins, fighting off any ounce of warmness from Simon's reassurances.
I shouldn't be here.
In the blink of an eye, you're sitting up and his hold is removed from off of your face as you scramble to the other side of the couch, wincing as a harsh dizziness floods your senses and the desire to vomit springs upon you.
'N- no, no, no,' you quickly say, lifting your head with narrow eyes, pulling the fabric of Johnny's coat against your bare body as you look at the two men with teary eyes. 'How... why, why am I here? How did you get me here?' you ask in a panicked tone.
Simon looks to Johnny and Johnny looks at you.
'There was a siren on the beach—'
'Who?' you snap, 'what colour was her hair?'
'Black... bonnie, are you okay? What happened?'
'I can't be here,' you ramble, 'they're gonna do something bad, they're gonna do it all because of me and- and I—'
You begin to cry.
'I can't be here, you've got to let me go,' you beg, attempting to raise to your feet, all for the dizziness to keep you down. 'Please, please!'
You feel as though the world is ending.
Unable to escape the horror of the words expressed, you fight against yourself and the urge to spill your guts all over the floor of the living room, your tears seeping into the wound on your face.
Simon moves closer to you, placing his hand against your knee, looking up at you with teary eyes.
Reaching out your hand, you rest it against his cheek as more tears flow freely, letting out a hiccup upon being graced with the warmth of his face.
'I'm sorry,' you cry.
Placing his hand over your own, he shushes you, 'we'll talk about it once you've told us what's happened, alright sweetheart?' he asks gently, 'what happened?'
His calmness in the face of horror is unnerving, and as you look in his eyes, you spy a darkness in his eyes. You wish to be in his arms, but your temper keeps you from fulfilling the urge as you press your trembling lips together, wincing as you swallow.
'They know,' you say, looking at Simon, 'they know about you,' you choke out, 't- they think I'm a traitor and they want you dead- they want to put the entire village to death for what happened to Serelia.'
His hold tightens on your hand.
'Why didn't you want the same as them?' Johnny asks, 'very well could have put the entire village under water if y' willed it.'
'Because there are people here who don't deserve to die,' you sniffle, 'there are innocent people here a- and it isn't fair to punish them for the violence of someone else's hand,' you explain, 'they're blinded by their rage, and if I were without experience, I would be too.'
You curse the part of you which still sympathises with the people who cast you out, though, you know enough to understand who the true villain is. Not the sirens, not the humans, rather, the ignorance of both sides refusing to see the perspective of the others.
And here you are, attempting to piece together a bridge.
The pair before you don't speak and you feel your heart beating quicker as you look into the eyes of the lover you abandoned many moons ago. You spy betrayal in his gaze, though his anger is not directed towards you.
'They're gonna lead the entire village underwater,' you breath, 'I don't know when they're going to do it and I don't know how to stop them when they finally do decide they want to do it,' you say, your eyes welling with tears.
'Oh love,' Simon exhales gently.
'We won't let anythin' happen, lass, y' have my word,' Johnny reassures.
You suppose he wants you to find comfort in his words, yet, his enthusiasm only works to bruise you further; you know there's nothing either of them can do, not against the call of a siren.
'I offered to go back on land,' you whisper, 'I told them I could do it; we finally got the name if the man who killed Serelia.'
'This have somethin' to do with the man y' massacred?' Johnny asks.
'I was following the ship because I recognised him,' you answer, recalling the tone he carried while talking about the man in front of you.
Even if he hadn't been responsible for helping in her capture, you still would have been taken from off of the boat.
'He was one of the people who carried Serelia off of the beach. He deserved what became of him.'
To regret would be to forgive, and you will never forgive a man who did something so terrible.
'We crashed the boat, all but one died, and I asked him if he knew who did it. He told me he didn't know who, but he had an idea of who did it; people around here know that whoever it was is close to the guard.'
Both Johnny and Simon share a look.
'Y' not saying you think it's one of us, are you?' Simon asks, to which you quickly shake your head.
'No, no, I know neither of you would do that- not even Kyle or Price would stoop that low... it's the one who was supposed to look after her, Si'. It was the one who told us she was dead that morning.'
The silence in the room is deafening.
Simon's hand moves away from yours as he slowly begins to stand up, his eyes falling back to the staircase. 'Rhys?' Johnny says, his eyes blown, 'he said he liked her.'
Your eyes stay on Simon's as he clenches his fists, the mellow look which has been on his face since he saw you melting off. Trailing his tongue across the inside of his mouth, you gulp thickly viewing his anger.
'I'm gonna fuckin' kill him,' he coldly says.
It's not a threat, rather, a promise.
Neither you or Johnny say anything, instead, the pair of you share a look before your eyes fall back to Simon who is already making his way out of the living room towards the staircase.
If you speak now, you fear the repercussions of stopping him from doing what he's set his mind on doing; while you never saw anything during your first time on land, you're not unknown to the truth of who he truly is.
'Simon,' you blurt out, unable to fight against your thoughts as you look up the stairs.
He stops in his tracks, heaving out a heavy breath before turning to you. You can hardly make him out in the dim light as he moves, devoid of all the light which makes his so ethereal.
Still, in the light or darkness, he's still the man who holds you heart.
'D- Don't act on that anger now,' you quietly say, 'the only way of saving the village from them is to give them what they want... if they want Rhys, they'll want him alive, and if they don't want me, then I'll stay here,' you say through a laboured breath.
Your heartaches at the thought of leaving your home, leaving the grave of your mother abandoned for all the others to swarm. But, if they so willingly cast you out, then, you suppose they were never truly family in the first place.
'Just... stay with me tonight, yeah?' you ask, 'don't want you to do something harsh when you're not thinking straight; he'll get what he deserves, just not tonight.'
You hear him shift as Johnny sets the lit candle down onto the stand beside the sofa. 'She's right, Lt, can't be doin' something that will keep you away from your bonnie; been away from each other long enough, hey?'
He moves away from the darkness, coming back into the light. You offer him a smile as he places his hand against your shoulder with a short nod. Placing your hand over his, you melt into his hold. Johnny looks at the pair of you with a smile on his face.
'We'll sort out a plan in the morning about what we'll do,' Simon says, 'figure out how we're gonna get him to the sirens, and if they agree with the deal, then we'll offer him up and forget this entire thing ever happened.'
'Aye,' Johnny says with a firm nod, approaching the door, 'make sure y' get her cleaned up, I'll meet the pair of you at the bakery tomorrow,' he continues, pulling the door open, looking over his shoulder at the pair of you.
Simon nods his head. 'Affirmative.'
As the man disappears into the night, the door closes with a click, and for the first time in months, you're finally alone with the man. You don't miss the breath that escapes him, in fact, you grow cold at the sound as his hand leaves your shoulder.
'Si'—'
'Need to get you cleaned up,' he abruptly says, 'we can talk about everything once I know you're okay, yeah? You need to get cleaned up before anything, c'mon.'
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you fight against the urge to defy his request. Though, recalling the grey bags under his eyes, you find you're raising from where you're sitting. As he said, you can talk about it later, and for now, you find yourself thankful that he simply wants to enjoy your company.
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
'I'm sorry,' you whisper as soon as your head hits the pillow. Oddly, as you watch the man move in the moonlight, it's difficult to even process the fact that you have been gone for so long.
Your hair is slightly damp your bath, and while the wound on your face feels as though it has its own heartbeat, the dressing covering it keeps it from weeping freely.
'I just didn't know what to do, and- and I was so angry with myself and I didn't trust—'
'Your hand was forced, love,' Simon utters, laying on is side to look at you. 'I just wish you would have woke me up or left me a note- something to let me know that you were okay.'
Your heart drops at the thought of the months of misery he has suffered through by your hand.
Even though to you it seemed necessary, you know better than to impose your own views onto the man who was left wandering where you had disappeared off to for months on end.
Your absence was necessary yet cruel.
'I know, I know I should have and I'm sorry for not saying something to you,' you respond, reaching your hand out to grab his much larger one. He grabs your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours with a sigh. 'I wish I never left.'
'You did what you thought was right in the moment an' I'd be a prick for telling you you were in the wrong for doin' it,' mumbles the man, 'y' had to figure stuff out. All that matters now is that you're back.'
'I won't be goin' anywhere anytime soon if you're planning on staying with me,' you say, 'could kick me to the streets for everything I've put you through; I wouldn't blame you for doing it.'
'Wouldn't ever dream about it, sweetheart,' he says.
You watch as he scoffs before moving towards you, letting go of your hand to grasp your waist, pulling you towards him.
Shuffling closer, you smile as you press your lips against you, a flurry of butterflies swirling in your stomach a you feel his hand on your waist tighten.
All the months of pain melt in the matter of moments as the pair of you hold each other. It's as though the pair of you have been apart for multiple lives, plagued with the memory of each other, until eventually meeting again in this life.
Tears pool in your eyes, your hand pressing against the side of his face, snaking around to tug at his hair as he bites down on your bottom lip.
A muffled moan escapes you, trailing off into a whine when he pulls away from you. A trail of saliva keeps the pair of you connected as your eyes flicker from his mouth back to his eyes.
'I've missed you so much,' you confess, blinking back the tears as he smiles at you. 'So fucking much- there hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you.'
His hand against your waist loosens as he moves his hand under the white shirt he dressed you in, moving between your thighs.
'Missed you too,' he confesses, his index finger brushing over your clothes cunt with a sigh. 'Wanna show you how much I've missed you,' he utters, pressing the tip of his finger into against your clit.
You comply with a kiss, a small giggle escaping you as he pulls you on top of him. Hands sliding down your waist, you begin to undress, all for one of his hands to catch your wrist. 'Keep it on, sweetheart,' he rasps, 'like seein' you in my clothes.'
Colour rushes to your cheeks as you nod your head, hands gripping the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down.
There's no need for anything, the desire to feel him inside you after so many months obscuring any other sense of yours.
You need him and he needs you.
Tugging down his underwear, goosebumps form on your skin when you hear him grunt as you pull them further down his thighs, freeing his cock from his boxers. You sit for a moment, jumping when you feel his hands squeeze your hips.
'Spit in your hand, love,' he instructs.
You feel his eyes on you as you scrunch your nose up at the request.
'What?'
'Listen to me and I'll help you, yeah?' he asks, 'now spit in your hand.'
Your entire face is warm as you hold your hand out in front of your, spitting into it. 'Good girl,' he breaths, 'now wrap your hand around my cock.'
Listening to him, you reach out, wrapping your hand around him. He hisses as you do so, and you pause upon seeing his reaction, fearful that you've done something wrong. 'That's right,' he utters, as precum pools at the top of your fist as you feel him twitch in your hold, 'no more your hand up and down f'r me, love, get me ready for that pretty little cunt of yours.'
A sinful sound emits as you begin to move your hand up and down his cock, your slick hand moving up and down with ease. You feel his thighs tense below you as you move a hand between your legs, your mouth turning dry from the wetness pooling in your underwear.
'That's desperate, princess?' Simon grunts with a smile on his face. You feel the urge to wipe it off of his face, though, you nod your head in agreement, knowing better than to deny something you so desperately want. 'Pull your panties to the side,' he instructs, 'not touchin' that pussy of yours; you're gonna come from my cock an' nothin' else,' he gruffly says.
Letting go of his cock, you do at he asks of you, a small yelp escaping you as he pulls your forward, his cock pressing against you folds as he sighs.
There's a temperament, a desire lingering to keep you on top, though, as he looks at you with your swollen lips and red face, he relents, moving you so you're lying on your bak with him over you.
'Got plenty of time for all that,' he utters, pressing his tip against your hole.
You clench around nothing, shifting beneath him as he presses his lips against yours.
It's different from the last time, you see something different in his eyes as he pushes into you, the delightful sting from many moons ago returning. Arching your back off of the bed, your whimper against his mouth.
'That's it,' he whispers, 'oh fuck.'
Your legs tighten around his waist, a few stray tears escaping from your eyes. It's a mixture of pain, pleasure, and joy. To be back in his arms after so much time a part is a gift in itself, for him to want you back is another. Your mind is racing as you sniffle, pressing another kiss against his mouth.
'Y' okay, yeah, princess? So good f'r me,' he grunts, slowly pulling out of you. More tears fall down your face as you nod your head, your eyes screwed shut as he thrusts back into you. Clicking his tongue, he pushes into you with another grunt, 'eyes on me, sweet girl,' he huffs, 'haven't waited months for you and your pretty little cunt for you to not look at me, have I?'
You open your eyes.
'That's it, there's my pretty girl.'
You clench around him upon hearing his words, legs trembling as he quickens the pace of his thrusts. The head of his cock presses against your cervix and your arms home to his back, nails digging into the flesh of his back.
'I- I've missed you,' you choke out, unable to account for any other emotion as he fucks into you.
You're crying at this point, the tears on the right side of your face soaking into the dressing as he continues to his all the right spots, stretching you out perfectly.
He's ruined you for anyone else, though it doesn't matter; you know you'll never need anyone else when you have him.
'Missed you too, love,' he states through clenched to teeth , 'missed waking up to you and seeing you, but you're not gonna go anywhere now, you're mine.'
'I am, I am,' you dumbly cry, 'no one else's, all yours forever and ever.' 'm sorry for ever leaving you.'
Keeping himself steady with one hand, he brings his other hand to grab your forearm, pulling one of your arms away from his back, taking it into his hold. Your legs tighten around his waist as a crude squelch sounds in the room, h
'Fuck,' you gasp, your hole tightening around him.
'That’s right, love,' he groans, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, his words were low and sickeningly needy, 'you’re so fucking tight,' he moans, resulting in a hiccuped moan escaping you.
Both of you greedily take whatever pleasure came from your messy movements, sweat dropping down your forehead as you tighten you hold on his hand, writhing below him as he continues to hit the spot which has you seeing stars.
'Gonna make sure I'm always here,' you whisper letting out another breathy moan.
Simon maintains a pleasurable pace, a crude slapping sounding in his bedroom, though neither of you care, and through stinging eyes and aching muscles, you admire him in the light of the moon, taking into account all the flaws on his face, the remnants of mistreatment and burdens, swearing to yourself you will never left another pale scar appear on his body for as long as the pair of you live.
'Not gonna let you leave me now, sweetheart,' he begins, staring down at you, his fringe wet with sweat, stray strands sticking to his forehead. 'Gonna keep you safe, fuck,' he schemes, a subconscious smile forming on your face, listening to him speak. 'Make sure y' never want for anything, only me.'
He growls such words with intent and possessiveness, and in the heat of the moment, you're convinced you need no one but him.
And as the tension in your stomach grows tighter, the brunet hit a spot which almost makes you scream, you drag your hand down his back, leaving lines of red behind as you do so. 'And you'll let me do all of that f'r you,' he chuckles.
'I would,' you whimper, 'fuck, I'm close, please,' you beg, as your thighs begin to tremble, you grip on his hand tightening as you press your head back against the pillow.
'Go on, sweetheart,' he says, 'cum for me.'
He winces slightly as he feels your nails press crescents into his skin, his pace growing messy and sporadic as he chases after his own release.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a brittle sob as an orgasm rips through your body.
'Fuck, that's it, sweetheart' he moans, 'I love you,' he grunts out, pressing into your, your cunt against his pubic bone as his hands tremble.
You barely compute the words passing his lips, and in the daze of your release, you continue to cry as he fucks you despite you being overstimulated, a dark groan escaping from the back of his throat as you feel strings of cum paint your insides.
'I- I love you too, so much,' you sniffle, your head falling against the pillow in exhaustion, finding joy in his hold of you and the pleasure which has washed over your body, rendering all your sense his.
Little worries find you in the aftermath, the pair of you much too tired to discuss what can wait for you in the morning, and the only thing that matters to you in the wake of your orgasm is his body being pressed against yours as you slowly drift off knowing that, even if it is just for tonight, you're secure in his hold.
Here, you find a single moment is comparable to an eternity of touches.
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
In the morning, you find yourself sitting outside of the bakery with the ugly green dress you grew to despise during your first time out of the shore, and as you sit beside Simon tugging at the skirt, you startle when he firmly tugs it down, placing his hand down on your thigh, over the skirt to keep in place.
He does so without even turning his attention to you, and even when you turn to offer him a brief look, he doesn't move, keeping his eyes trained on Johnny as he sips from his mug of tea.
'Kyle said he saw another one,' says the man with the mohawk, 'seems they're waiting near the shore for something to happen, or, they're planning on making their move a lot soon than we thought.'
Your face aches as you chew, gulping your pastry down before speaking. 'They wouldn't act so quickly,' you say, 'they want me to get a taste of this before they take it away; when Raithe is angry, she's unforgiving.'
'That's the lass I saw on the beach, right?' Johnny asks, 'the one with the black hair an' teeth as sharp as daggers.'
'Yeah, she's the one who did this to me,' you say, pointing towards the fingerprints around your neck and the clean dressing stuck to your face. Taking a bite out of your pastry, Simon leans further into the table, keeping his hand pressed firmly against your thigh.
'I've put him on patrol tonight,' he says quietly, 'we'll get him alone, call for them to have him and then that will be the end of it.'
'Y' really think it's gonna be that easy?' Johnny asks, 'they seem pretty pissed, don't think they'd really leave us alone that easily.'
'There's nothing else we can do,' you say, 'unless you wanna go into the water and pull them all out one by one and put a knife through their heads, that is.'
Simon's grip on your thigh tightens.
'Cut their tongue out and throw them back into the water if they try anythin',' he cooly states, 'can't sing then, become nothin' but a fish with claws, hardly a threat. They can suffer for all I care.'
Something stirs in your gut as he says so, and while you feel as though you need to keep the women you devoted your life to, you find yourself torn with the desire of seeing the man being so lethal- of seeing how far he would go to keep you safe.
'Sounds like a plan, Lt,' Johnny responds, 'this stayin' between us?'
'Affirmative,' Simon confirms, 'Gaz an' Price don't need to know about it 'cause it'll only cause more trouble if the Captain finds out about it; he won't let us do it.'
'Then we do it tonight, get rid of him and wipe our hands of him,' you say with a grin, 'about time that son of a bitch got what he deserves.'
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
In the midst of the night, you travel down the steps of the shore alone keeping your eyes peeled as you tread down the shore towards the sand. Your hands tremble in the breeze as you feet grace the sand, te rolling of the tide whispering for your return.
You stay unmoved by the moon and her red glow as you push forward towards the sea, holding your hand against your face as it aches.
All the smiling proved to be particularly poor for the placement of the mark on your face, though you push through the pain, you lips drawn together as you peer onto the surface of the water.
'I thought you'd return,' a voice calls.
You freeze.
As a wave washes up shore, the webbed hands of a woman appear, dragging her body out of the water. Her claws dig into the surface, her pointed ears twitching upon seeing you.
'You not bring your boyfriend with you?' she pouts, tilting her head to the side, 'would have been nice, y'know, meeting the family and stuff.'
'I'm not here to make small talk,' you sharply respond.
Raithe looks at you, raising her eyebrows as she looks at you.
'Oh?' she laughs, 'then please enlighten me.'
'I'm here to make a deal with you,' you breath, bringing your trembling hands together.
One shot or you've fucked it.
The woman's laughter booms along the sea as she rolls around on the ground, clapping her hands. 'Oh, you wanna make a deal with me now? It's a real shame what's become of you, y'know? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that boyfriend of yours has some explaining to do.'
Her comments cause your blood to boil, yet, you remain calm, looking her in the eyes. 'We have the boy who killed Serelia,' you say, clenching your fists, keeping your arms firmly placed against your side as the woman hums. 'We'll give you him and you can do what you please, forbid me the pleasure of getting to rip him to shreds for what he did to her and leave this village alone.'
'A generous offer you pose my lovely,' Raithe hums, pressing her finger against her plush bottom lip. 'You got anything else to sweeten the deal or is that it?'
'I'll never return to the ocean,' you say. 'I'll stay away, stay here on land. You can do what you please as long as it remains in the ocean and not beyond it; you know nature did not give us such a gift to act in the manner you intend to act concerning the people in this village.'
You step back from the shore, keeping the water from touching your feet.
'How is that fair?' Raithe asks, furrowing her eyebrows. 'You get to stay here and live out your life with the human you have foolishly devoted your life to while we're kept from Serelia because you buried her on land.'
'By staying here you are keeping me from the grave of my mother, Raithe,' you spit, "I know you're upset, but I have been punished enough. I'm giving you what you want- you want to kill the person who killed Serelia, don't you?'
Raithe's grin disappears from her face.
'You've been scheming so long you forget who the true murderer is. If I wanted to kill the person who killed Serelia, I would have slit your fucking throat,' she snaps, 'a human dealt the final blow but you are just as guilty for permitting it.'
'I was looking for her,' you blurt.
'If you were so committed to finding her, she would be here beside me right now, but she isn't; she's buried on the land, away from her home.'
'Simon helped me bury her on the clifftop!' you yell, chest raising and falling rapidly. 'She overlooking our home and it was him who came up with the idea in the first place- there are good humans—'
'Simon,' she repeats, 'slips off the tongue that name does.'
Your heart is pounding in your chest as you look at the wicked woman in the water. Her mocking grin renders you small, fragile, and you realise your mistake in mentioning the name of the man.
'I must see the man you speak of, see if he's a good match for you or if you could do better. Perhaps he would be a good friend for the water, hm?' she teased, bowing her head as another chuckle escapes her.
The crunch of sand alerts the pair of you, and as you look over your shoulder, you catch both Simon and Johnny walking along the shore, Rhys in the middle of them as he fights against their hold with his hands tied in front of him.
A delighted squeal escapes the woman lying in the sand as she catches sight of the tall man in the skull mask. 'Oh, I've seen you!' she exclaims, 'sitting on the beach a lot, hey? One might say you belong in the water with the amount of time you've spent here.'
'Shut it,' you snap, turning your attention to the three men standing behind you.
When your eyes meet with Rhys' you find you heart urges you to disobey the terms of your own deal, ripping him from the arms of the men, all to have the satisfaction of watching him crying and fight as he drowns in an inch of water.
Yet, even that isn't fitting for him.
His cries are muffled behind the gag in his mouth and Johnny does you the favour of pulling it out of his mouth. As he opens his mouth, he looks at you with wide eyes. 'I- I fuckin' knew it!" he exclaims, 'I knew I wasn't dreaming when I saw you run into the sea that night.'
'You killed Serelia,' you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.
'Didn't think it was that difficult to figure out,' he says, 'no one else knew where she was... well, not until you had your screaming and crying fit outside the cabin; that was a—'
He's stopped as Simon shoves him to the ground. He lands with a thud, all the air escaping his lung as he moans out in pain. Placing his boot on top of the mans head, his face is pressed into the wet sand as he turns to address the woman in the water.
'We got y' the one you want,' he sharply says, 'you take him and you leave.'
'Or?' the woman asks,.
'I cut your tongue out and feed it to the dogs in the village,' he snaps.
Rhys' cries are muffled as Raithe looks Simon in the eyes. Your eye twitches at the prolonged silence, though, when she whistles you find your nerves escaping you.
'A few months ago, you would have had his head for speaking to one of your own like that,' Raithe sneers looking at you, 'but love has your mind warped, my sweet urchin, yes it does,' she scoffs, her eyes narrowing as she turns her attention down towards the water. 'You have yourself a deal, Simon,' she says with a smile.
Relieving his boot from the head of the sobbing man on the ground, Rhys picks his head up, fat tears rolling down his face as he writhes on the ground, attempting to push himself up off of the ground. 'P- Please, I'm sorry,' he sobs, snot trailing down his upper lip as more heads appear from out of the water.
You're far from envious of his position when his shoulders are grabbed. Though, you long to be in the water for what is about to happen.
His screams are hoarse and rough as he's ripped from his home, and as you walk back to stand beside Johnny and Simon. Rhys claws and fights to stay on land as Raithe pulls him further and further towards the water.
Other webbed hands appear and the shrill shriek the man lets out is cut off by a hand covering his mouth as he's dragged into the water.
Upon his disappearance, you allow a breath to escape your mouth as you lean against Simon, rubbing your tired eyes. For months you have dreamt of this very moment, the moment the man who caused so much trouble is finally met with the punishment he deserves, and when his hand breaks the surface of the water again, you grin at the sight of the sea turning red, chunks of his clothing surfacing.
As savage as sharks are the sirens.
'It's done,' you mumble, turning away from the scene.
Simon looks down at you, 'you wanna go home?' he asks.
You nod your head, as the three of you begin to walk up the beach, your blood running cold as a familiar cackle catches your attention, though, you do not turn to address the woman. Instead, you catch Simon's hand in yours pushing further up the beach as Raithe calls out to the three of you.
'Lovely meeting ya, Simon! Hope to see you again some other time!'
His hold on your hand tightens just as it had done during the night before as you walk away from the sea with him by your side, never intending to let go of him ever again.
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
It's as though you never left him, and every waking moment you spend with him is a blessing. How a human can be a home is a strange concept to you, though, its an oddity that you're fond of.
'Are you gonna eat your dinner or are you going to keep staring at me, sweetheart?' asks the man with a laugh.
Dropping your head, you look down at the plate of food you helped him prepare, your cheeks flushing with colour.
The wound left by your absence is but a wilting scab at this point, the skin beneath unmarked by the actions of your past for the pair of you have an understanding of you where your loyalties lie, and as you pick your head back up to look at him, you understand that your loyalties lie with one another.
'I don't know,' you mumble, 'difficult to take my eyes off of you.'
He grunts at your words, picking his fork up from the side of his plate. 'Your foods going to get cold,' he warns.
You pick your fork up, rolling your eyes, 'you're no fun.'
He lets out a short laugh, 'of course not, love. Got a job to stick to after all.'
'Not while you're with me you don't,' you say.
'Once a siren, always a siren,' he comments.
Setting your fork down, you grab a boiled potato off of your plate, throwing it at him. Unfortunately, he's aware of your plot and manages to duck of of the way before it hits him.
A small laugh escapes you as you're quick to push your chair out, raising to your feet as he does the same. A squeal escapes you are you rush out of the kitchen into the living room with him hot on your trail.
Sprinting up the steps to his bedroom, you shriek as he grabs you and pulls you against his chest. 'Let me gooooo,' you whine, writhing in his hold, 'it was an accident, it slipped out of my hand I was literally about to eat it!'
You land on the bed with a thud, continuing to laugh as he looms over you, his forehead pressed against yours as you look up at him with a bright smile on your face.
'You've got to believe me.'
'You picked it up and you threw it at me,' he answers back, 'I know y' clumsy, sweetheart, but fuck me, are you really that bad?' he asks, pressing his forehead against yours.
Bringing your hands up, you hold either side of his face, looking into his eyes with a sigh. 'I love you,' you say, abandoning the joke the pair of you were tangled in. His stoic expression shatters as he smiles down at you, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.
'I love you too,' he utters, before placing his lips back on yours.
In the safety of his arms and his home, you live in high spirits as you know, even when the four walls and the roof are not there to shelter you from a storm, the man with his lips against yours and a hand under your skirt will always be there for you whenever you need him.
Selfishly, you hope he's there forever and ever all for you and only you as you cherish every single part of him.
The regrets from your actions in the past remain on you in the form of the scar on your cheek, though, he sees you no different as he watches your naked body dripping with sweat in the confines of your bedroom, even when you're simply sitting in the library reading a book.
All the time his eyes are on you as though you're the only girl in the world and in return, he knows that you're eyes remain on him and only him.
'You're gonna be the death of me,' he breathes, as you shift, feeling his fingers pressed against your hole.
A smirk appears on your lips.
'Only if it's by your hand I die and no one else's.'
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
'Simon.'
In the dead of night he wakes to the faint sound of a whisper.
It's something calling for him, a song which shakes the very vibrations of his home, and as he opens his eyes, he captures you sleeping soundly beside him, though, he doesn't care for you as he pushes himself up and out of bed.
His headaches and he wobbles as he climbs from out of his bed. It's as though his body is on autopilot, permitting whatever strange force is pushing him to proceed with his usual routine as he gets up from out of bed.
He walks as though he's a monster, devoid of all consciousness, his limps sluggish and flimsy as he pulls on his clothes for work. You don't move and inwardly, he's unsure why he's doing so; the moon is out, full and round as she peers through the open window, and he knows it's still going to be a while before he has to leave for work.
Still, the urge pushes him to get ready for the day, and he reaches for the skull mask settled against the table near the window of his bedroom, tying it around his head.
You remain sleeping in bed as he moves downstairs, determined to find the noise which causes his head to pound. It feels as though someone is pressing their fingers into his head all to see which part of the brain bleeds the most.
The answer is all of it, though the voice continues to pick away at his skull with such persistence he's rendered aggravated as he walks through the door.
His entire body is on fire as he treads the streets he was walked so many times, though his feet drag against the roads of the silent village, arms firmly pressed against his sides as he presses on with tired eyes and a dry mouth.
The voice changes its tune, no longer calling his name, istead, speaking words.
'Foolish mortal men.'
In a conscious state he would be questioning the words addressed to him in such a manner, he would be questioning why he walks with the intent of making it to the water, and he would be returning back to his home with an ache in his chest for ever thinking of leaving you alone.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he drags his feet with determination coursing through his veins.
To the ocean he must go; the voice is calling him and he cannot fight against the words bouncing off of the streets of the village.
'Sinking into the watery depths of the...'
It grows tired as he edges closer to the water, the crashing of the water flooding his ears, coaxing his burning mind with a brief cure. t's not enough, however, his mouth is dry and his tongue burns, eyes longing for the fiery thirst to subside.
His entire body feels as though it's on fire, and the sea stares back at him, water washing up the shore as the arms of a human would when offering a friend a hug.
Something else is staring too.
'Sirens den.'
The voice is oh so soft, almost a whisper as he makes it onto the beach. The village seems so puny in comparison to the greatness of the vast ocean and he wonders why he ever bothered living on land when the ocean i right her at his fingertips.
Shrugging his cloak from off of his shoulders, he releases himself from the burden of the confines of that stupid cloak, the balaclava from around his mouth falling to the ground after.
It all feels so freeing, to fall under the command of the great sea, to see the beauty in the very thing he has despised for so long. Such an outlook is a blessing, he finds.
It's necessary. It's constant.
He is nothing in comparison of the ocean and her greatness.
No one is anything but flesh and bone existing in one place at one time while she is there, her arms wrapped around the entirety of the planet.
How foolish he has been.
'For a woman in the sea,'
He thinks of you and all you have done for him, how you have freed him, though he finds you and your existence pale in existence of te water which invites him in with open arms.
At first, you were difficult to deal with, untrusting.
But she isn't, she guides him and she's leading him to safety- to the place he belongs. Such a blessing she presents him with and everything you have done for him is nothing as she cools his burning flesh.
It's better than any orgasm he has reached while in bed with you, so inviting that he proceeds to walk into the water deeper. Nothing is enough, her presence is too little. He needs more of her to settle the dull ache in his head and he wades through the water with the intent of finding such.
'is never just a friend.'
The tune stops.
Suddenly, the sea is no longer in his favour and he's turned away with a cold rush of water covering him.
A sharp gasp escapes him as he looks around him, the water up to his waist, waves crashing against his bulky frame as he looks around with stinging eyes. His blood runs cold as he turns his attention back to the village. Then his eyes fall back onto the water.
He knows better than to trust the situation, wasting no time to turn away from the distant abyss of the water, pushing himself through the water all to make it back to land.
To make it back to you.
The depth of the water is relieved, sinking from his waist to mid thigh.
A grunt escapes him as a surge of agony hits him with the fierce intent of keeping him from getting home and he lands with a splash into the water as razor sharp nails are pulled from out of his his thigh.
'Unfaithful scum,' utters a voice as hands from all angles poke from out the water, grabbing him as he attempts to fight his way from out of their hold.
They're merciless as the hold him and keep him to the water while his heart and mind long to be back in bed beside you. He fights and fights, though in his drowsy state he's far too out of it to do anything.
'She's better off without you, Simon.'
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
You awake in bed alone, a banging at the door ruining your brain. However, you don't let it distract you as you spend a moment looking at the empty spot in the bed with a frown.
It's miserable to wake without him in the morning as you have grown fond of spending time with him, lying in bed, drawing patterns on his bare chest, listening to his many stories, or simply just basking in the heat of him.
The bed is cold without him and you shiver as you push yourself up, scoffing at the manic knocks against the door. It's persistent, nearly urgent. You pick up the pace, wrapping Simon's shirt around you as you rush down the stairs to the front door.
Grabbing the handle you pull it open, 'about fuckin' time, Si', you're—'
'What?' you blurt out, looking at Johnny and Gaz standing at the door, 'he's at the station, isn't he?'
The pair of them look at each other before looking at you.
'Nae, lass,' Johnny says, his mouth falling as he looks at you. 'We've been looking for him.'
Your blood runs cold.
He's probably with the Lord or something, it wouldn't be the first time he's be asked for a favour by him.
'Where have you checked?' you ask, quickly slipping on your sandals.
'We've been up and down all the streets to his usual spots, we've even checked the Lords house and he hasn't seen him either... this isn't like him,' Kyle explains, 'he's committed to his job, he wouldn't just not show up and—'
'Have you checked the beach?' you blurt.
Both of them shake their heads and with that, you're running out of the house, rushing to towards the beach.
A wave of panic washes over you, and as you rush down the main street of the village with teary eyes, you feel as though you're rushing to Serelia all over again, only, this time, Simon isn't behind you to comfort you.
People blurt out curses as you push yourself through the crowds, bounding towards the beach just as you did when you returned all those months ago.
Your chest burns by the time you make it to the steps, and as you run down, you stop at the sight of a black mound on the shore. Gulping thickly, you rush towards the pile of fabric, reaching down to retrieve it with a trembling hand.
It's his cloak.
Tearing your eyes away from it, you look down the rest of the beach, dropping the fabric as you follow a scattered trail of belongings. You pass by his balaclava which has been covered in sand.
The wind beats against you, pushing your hair back as you fight for your breath. There are pieces of him covering the beach, just as Serelia's scales covered the floor in the room of that dingy little cabin.
All hope is crushed as, right beside the water you spy a small chunk of bone sitting in the sand. You don't wait as you rush towards the water, spying the shape of his skull mask sitting right before the mercy of the water.
It's as though you're in a nightmare you cannot wake from.
You can't breathe.
As the realisation hits you and the skull mask sitting on the shore stares back at you, you fall to your knees, your wide as you look out at the murky sea, falling onto your stomach at your fingertips ghost the skull sitting against the shore.
A jagged breath escapes you as you pull your hand away, unable to catch your breath as you fall backwards onto you bottom, hands pressed against the sand. Rushed steps appear behind you, though you don't budge, nor do you flinch as a firm hand is placed on your shoulder.
Johnny appears in front of you, his mouths muffled as a tear slips from your twitching eye, staring out into the water all to see Raithe staring at you in the distance, a wicked from forming on her face as she pulls a skull mask from out of the water, holding it up by the silk string he used to tie it around his head with.
Your eyes fall back to the skull sitting on the surface, you breathing quickening at you turn your head to the side, heaving as a cold numbness floods your sense. Your tremble as you force out a sob, your throat tightening.
The skull meters away from you is not his mask.
It's him.
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𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝
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TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old @phantomreadsandreblogs @iizx7y
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ozarkthedog · 5 months
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summary: while having a private moment with your boss, the ceo unexpectedly drops by… or so you think.
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pairings: Boss!Layla El-Faouly x afab intern!reader x CEO!Marc Spector.
warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Alt Universe. slight dubcon but reader is willing. power imbalance. free use. f/f -> f/m. established relationship (layla x reader). oral sex (fem receiving). fingering. sex in a private office. dirty talk. praise kink. cum feeding. cream pie.
word count: 3.8k 😅
author’s note: if a fic could come to life, i'd choose this one. thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta'ing and the mental support. i haven't written a fic this long in a while. hope you enjoy. 💙
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲
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“I have the paperwork all ready for you to sign, Ms. El-Faouly.”
Your boss, Layla, peers up at you with her deep brown eyes from behind her monitor. “Hey, one second. I’ve got to finish this email real quick.” She sends you a soft smile in return before nodding to the right towards a big stack of papers sitting messily on her desk.
Layla had one of the corner offices and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t your favorite spot in the entire building. It floods with sunlight all day long and it’s got a great view of the city. Layla was also another reason why it was your favorite.
“How was your day?” She asks, typing as you place the paperwork on top of the stack.
She’s wearing that dark gray, silk blouse and skirt combo you helped her pick out last week during a night out on the town. You told her it made her look powerful and inviting as you got down on your knees for her later that same evening. 
“It’s going alright.” You sigh, drawing imaginary patterns on the corner of her desk.
Layla clicks send on the email and turns her attention to you. She leans her elbows on the edge of her desk with a pensive brow. You can see her brain working on ways to fix your problems before you even tell her. “What’s wrong?”
You can’t help but laugh. “Nothing is wrong, I swear.” You raise your hands, shaking your head while the gorgeous woman looks you over quizzically.
Stretching your arms over her desk, you grasp her hands, giving them a squeeze. “Honestly, I’m fine. I just..”
 “What is it?” she asks, tucking a few strands of her wild curls behind her ear. She leads you around her desk by your clenched hands and pins your chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Tell me.”
Your eyes dance around the room, landing everywhere but on her. She gives your chin a slight shake and forces your eyes back to hers.
You take a deep breath. “Am I doing a good job?” 
Layla’s heart sinks. “Of course you are. Why on earth-”
“It’s just, it’s so much work.” You cut her off, spilling your worries now that the dam has been broken. “I hate not being able to get everything to you on time. Not to mention there’s so much paperwork. No one ever says thank you but they’ll definitely yell when you’ve done something wrong. I don’t know if I’m doing things right-”
“C’mere, baby.” She ceases your ramble and pulls you down into her lap and into a searing kiss that makes your head swirl.
Tender, yet fierce lips encompass your own, stealing your gasps with fond affection as she winds her arms around your waist and maneuvers you into the position she wants. 
You settle into the pose, kneeling over her lap with your legs on the outsides of her thighs, the cushion of her expensive chair a grateful soft bedding as she forms you to her body. 
“Should we really be doing this?” You ask between broken, breathless kisses. It was after 5pm, so it was less likely anyone would walk in on you and her. Still, hesitation nestled in your belly.  
“Everyone is gone for the night.” She confirms before lewdly dragging her tongue along the seam of your lips. “There’s no need to worry about them.”
Layla presses her forehead against yours sensing your apprehension. She searches your timid eyes for a moment trying to find the right words to express her gratitude.
“You’re doing a wonderful job. I’ve gotten no complaints from anyone. So if they have an issue, they haven’t told anyone,” she says, holding your gaze. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you more about how lucky I am to have you. My life has been so much better since you started working here.”
She holds your face, rubbing her thumb along the apple of your cheek. “In more ways than one.” She winks, playfully.
“Layla!” You gasp, lightly swatting her on the chest.
She sends you a look you know all too well. The raised eyebrow and slightly parted lips mean trouble is coming. In a good way.
“Oh, baby, you don’t know what you started.” Her hands tickle your ribs in a flash making your eyes bug as you try to keep your giggles at bay. You squirm incessantly in her lap, wishing you could break free but she had a strong hold around your waist.
Your skirt slid up your thighs in the process of all your wriggling, no longer hiding your want for her as your panties are noticeably soaked through.
“Oh, baby, you really are desperate for me.” She coos, eyes growing soft as she feigns a pout. “Poor baby.”
She skillfully undoes the pearly buttons on your white, flower-patterned blouse, sliding the thin material off your shoulders and onto the floor. Soft, warm hands palm your breasts, feeling your heartbeat beneath your skin before she makes you gasp by wickedly pinching your sensitive nipples.
She teases her fingers down further then and along the soaked cloth of your panties, drawing light circles over your throbbing, hidden clit. You whimper into her chocolate curls, a soft pathetic mewl, begging her for more as you perch wearily in her lap. 
“What do you say?” she asks with a sharp tongue and pointed stare. 
She weaves her arm around your hips, smoothing a palm over the curve of your ass and dragging your panties down in the process before seeking out your aching warmth once more. A well-manicured finger teases down the slick, puffy seam of you from behind, teasing and torturing you until she’s satisfied. She loves breaking you into little pieces and putting you back together. 
“Please-” You gasp as your hips buck on their own accord, chasing her fingers for relief. “Please, Layla.”
The older woman’s painted lips tug into a sly smile, “That’s my good girl.”
Your world is consumed. Her brunette curls smell of lavender and spice. They tickle your cheek and senses as she plays your body like a well tuned piano. Her hold on you is immense. There’s never any doubt that she doesn’t adore you.
“Look at me, sweetheart.” Layla coos, grasping the back of your neck with her free hand as her other cups your searing mound. You jolt from the touch but do as she says, meeting her soft yet stoic expression with watery eyes.
She pins you with a firm stare as she slowly presses two fingers into your soaked core. You know better than to turn your gaze from her but your eyes flutter as she finally grants you the sweet relief you’ve been begging for.
“That’s my good girl,” Layla praises as she fills you to the hilt, knuckles grazing your puckered hole and claiming every inch of your cunt.
Deft fingers glide with prowess as a steady, toe curling rhythm is set. Your body trembles as a  foggy bliss rolls into your mind. Your knees shake, desperately meeting her thrusts, wanting nothing more than to come around her fingers.
“You take what I give you, sweet girl.” Layla coos, nudging her nose against your cheek. She doesn’t like it when you get greedy. “You know that.”
One of your hands clutches the back of her chair while the other has her blouse in a death grip. A scolding is in your future but you could care less as you rock back onto her fingers chasing the pleasure she’s finally allowing.  
Something heavy in your gut twists. The knot Layla began tying when she first got you onto her lap starts tightening. Your muscles ache, ready to collapse under the pressure when she gives you the word.
Just then, a quick succession of knocks rap on her door.
Your head whips up as Layla’s fingers go still. Ice courses through your veins freezing the searing wildfire that burns in your abdomen. You knew it was stupid to try anything at work. Besides the occasionally secretive kiss, you both kept things to a dull roar. No one knew about your relationship and you wanted it to stay that way.
“Shh. Be still.” Layla whispers, unfazed, as she cups her free hand along your jaw. “You trust me. Right?”
You nod in her tender hold, hips pressing just a bit harder into her palm. “Good girl.”
“Who is it?” Layla calls out. Your body jolts as her fingers begin moving again and you send her a bewildered look.
“Marc,” a gruff voice sounds from the other side of the door. 
Shit — it was the CEO. 
Marc Spector built this company from the ground up. He and Layla had been working together since almost the beginning. They explicitly trusted and respected one another even when they didn’t meet eye to eye. 
You’d met Marc only once. It was a brief interaction as one of your coworkers showed you around on your first day. He was personable and made you feel welcome even though you were a lowly intern.
You thought he was handsome and could kill someone with his smile. His jet black quiff would curl on humid days when he forgot to gel it. It made you admire him even more for some reason. 
“Come in.” She answers while holding your worried gaze with her own unwavering one. 
Your heart jumps into your throat. “Layla, what’re doin-” you hiss, squirming to get free from her arms again.
“Remember your safe word.” she says, quickly just before Marc walks in.
“Layla, I was wonderin-” Marc starts as he steps into the office and instantly cuts himself off at the lewd display. 
You can’t breathe. Shame and embarrassment flood your system. If the floor could open up, you’d gladly jump in. 
Marc stands in awe. You couldn’t turn to face him but you spy his reflection in the darkened window and that’s more than enough. You don't know how you could ever look him in the eye after this.
“What’s this now?” He ponders, intrigue shaping his words as he steps closer, tapping his knuckles on Layla’s oversized desk.
“I was just rewarding her for doing such a good job,” Layla responds like she doesn’t have you propped in her lap with her fingers buried deep inside your cunt. 
You see Marc nod in the reflection and take another step closer. Your body burns like red hot coals as you feel his eyes on your body mainly where Layla’s fingers slowly thrust into your shiny, slick opening.
“That right?” Marc questions with a curious tone as he rubs a hand along his rough five o’clock shadow.  
“She’s so attentive and such a hard worker.” Layla praises, finally looking in your direction. “I had to show how much I appreciate her.”
Marc chuckles. It’s a deep huff of laughter that rumbles from his chest and it makes your insides melt. “Is she any good at helping relieve some stress?” he asks pensively while looking at your holes like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“She most certainly is,” Layla smirks, raising a sculpted brow before sliding a finger under your chin, tipping your face in toward her. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Your heart drops into your stomach. 
You’d been with Layla since the first day you started working, shared any and all free time together along with the inner workings of your bedroom. Explored each other’s bodies freely and with such passion. Falling to Layla’s feet came naturally to you and she made you feel complete; loved even.
You trusted her to push your limits whenever the time came but you didn’t think you’d ever be in this situation.
“Why don’t you show him how much you love being employed here, baby.” She dubiously insists, slowly nodding her head for you to comply.
You finally gather the courage to look over your shoulder. 
Butterflies flutter wildly in your belly as you take in the devilishly handsome man. His hair is mused, like he’d been running a hand through it all day and his button up shirt is loose at the collar, exposing a column of tan skin with two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up exposing his muscular forearms. “Hey there, sweetheart.”
A nervous chortle bubbles up your throat at the nickname. Your insides turn to jelly; and your brain to mush. Your core can’t help but clench as the older man takes you in with a ravenous gaze.
“Oh, she likes that.” Layla quips upon feeling your pussy clamp down on her fingers. 
“Does she now?” Marc croons, stepping up right behind you. He smooths his hands along the shape of you. His warmth feels good against your skin and you can’t help but moan when Layla curls her fingers along that spongy spot that makes you feel lightheaded.
“Damn, that’s a pretty pussy.” He drawls, crouching down behind your bent form. With your ass in the air, you already felt so exposed and now the owner of the company was getting a front row view of the most private parts of you. 
Sticky, wet noises fill the room as Layla splays her fingers deep inside your velvet channel. You bite your lip to keep your moans at bay. So overstimulated and heated, you’re not sure how much more you can take.
“Want a taste?’ Layla asks, jogging you from your stupor. 
Marc grunts in response. You look back in time to watch Layla feeding him her shiny, cream coated fingers. The debauched noise he makes while he licks and sucks her fingers clean has your heart falling into your lower half. 
You meet his lust filled gaze as he stands. Layla’s fingers leave his lips with a pop, and he palms his hard length through his dark slacks. “You gonna show me how good you are at serving your superiors?”
A nervous whimper escapes from your throat at his question.
His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, lapping at some of your fallen cream as he pulls his cock out and gives it a languid tug. You watch dumbstruck as he pumps his length, from the obscenely thick base that’s littered with dark wiry hairs to a bulbous, desert blush tip that weeps in his hand after every twist.
“Is that a yes, sweetheart?” he questions. 
A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth at your stupefied gaze. Marc raises a hand and grasps the back of your neck, moving your head in a crude up-down motion. “This is how you say, yes.” 
Another deep chuckle burrows into your brain and makes you go even more dumb.
Fire ignites in your belly and races up your body, making your face burn. Your mouth bobs open and closed like a fish, wanting to answer him but you can’t even form the simplest word. 
“She tends to go a bit brain dead when she gets overwhelmed.” Layla thankfully answers for you. 
She thumbs your cheek. “But that pretty pussy of hers makes up for it.”
“You don’t say…” Marc quips before tapping his tip on your soaked folds. Your slick drips down your inner thighs showing that you would indeed make up for your lack of communication.
He notches the thick head past your dripping opening before slowly sinking into your cunt. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out, pressing his full length all the way and grinding the cut of his hips against your ass. 
“God damn.” Marc grits, hissing through his teeth at the way you squeeze him.
You whimper from the immense stretch. It feels like his cock is burrowing a new space inside your body. “Layla. Too much–” You gasp, having never felt so full before. “So. Big.”
She cups her hands around your face, hushing your cries. “I know, baby. I know.” 
Marc’s hips never falter. He plunges into your heat with an unyielding, merciless pace, pushing slick and cream from between your folds, making your belly twist in pleasurable pain.
His strong hands knead your fleshy hips, pulling you back on every brute shove, forcing you to take every inch he gives. “Such a good girl. Doin’ just what we say.” 
Your core clenches that much tighter knowing you’re making them happy. “You love it don’t you, pretty girl?” His heavy balls slap against your exposed clit making you mewl and writhe in the combined hold they had on you.
Sticky, sweet bliss drowns your senses. You’re a wanton mess. A plaything between two beautiful gods as they have their fun..
You whine when Marc slows his rhythm, canting his hips so his cock stays buried deep. “I thought you were one of the best.” Marc sighs with a shake of his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. “But it seems you’re not as attentive as I thought.”
Your brow furrows as you look at him over your shoulder.
“I think it’s time to show your Boss how much you appreciate her.”
Marc moves quickly, dragging you out of Layla’s arms and down onto your knees in front of her spread legs. Layla quirks a brow at him.
“What? I wanted to see how attentive she really was.” Marc says, talking about you like you weren’t speared open on his heavy cock.
Layla pulls her dress up over her legs and spreads her thighs. Her panties looked much like your own, wet, sticky, and just begging to be removed.
“Go on. Show her how much you love being on your knees for her.” Marc commands. With a snap of his hips, he jolts your bones and forces your head between Layla’s thighs. “Eat your boss’s cunt.”
Heat flames your face at his words when a familiar hand curves around your jaw. Layla pulls her panties to the side and leads you gently, well as gently as she can while you’re being plowed from behind, to her slick folds. 
She sighs as your tongue licks a long stripe from her weeping opening to her clit. You flick the tiny nub, drawing tight circles for a brief moment before sliding down her folds. You lap hungrily at her slit, freely licking into her tight hole and sliding your tongue in and out from her heat.
“There you go.” Layla coos down at you with a smile. She scratches her nails along your scalp making you purr against her clit. She grinds her cunt against your mouth, chasing her pleasure. Nothing made you happier than making Layla feel good. Your core throbs when she gasps and fucks her mound onto your tongue.
A rough, grating moan crawls from Marc’s chest as your cunt quivers and milks his length. “Such a good girl letting us use you like this.” He grits, slamming his hips harder into your ass and knocking your face steadily into Layla’s cunt. “Like you were made for it.”
Your core spasms at his words. You did love being on your knees for them. At their beck and call, wanting to be of service however they needed.
Marc lays his body along your spine, pressing his clothed chest against your bare back, and nuzzles his curved nose along your cheek. A large hand slinks around your hip and notches nimble fingers against your clit, swirling tight circles around the throbbing nub. “Wanna know all the pretty noises you make when you come.”
“Oh, they’re just the sweetest.” Layla moans, breathlessly as your lips lock around her clit. You suckle the tiny nub until 
she’s digging her fingers into your hair, writhing and gasping. 
Marc groans at the sight of his business partner unfurling with pleasure. His breath is hot in your ear and he crowds you even more, leaving no chance of escape.
“Come on, girl. Be good and come for us.” Marc commands, shifting his hips until his throbbing tip grazes that hidden spot behind your clit.
With Layla humping your face and Marc sheathing his cock further inside you with every shove, you’re pushed to the edge before you can even think. Your cream coated lips fall open with a feverish wail as your body locks tight. 
Your muscles shake uncontrollably as you careen off the edge. Your soaked core clenches like a fist, forcing Marc’s pace to stutter and drag him along with you. He lets loose a dark roar when his balls draw up and he fucks your trembling core to the brim with his thick seed.
His cock twitches between your folds, pumping you full with every last drop. “God damn, you weren’t kidding. She more than made up for going all dumb eariler.” He slowly eases from your core with a hiss and tucks his half hard length back into his slacks.
Your head is still reeling from the powerful orgasm and Marc’s compliment makes you just that much more lightheaded. Thank goodness you were already on the ground. 
“Oh you’re making such a mess.” Layla gasps when she sees the thick river of white that runs down your thighs. Your knees ache from being on the hard carpet for so long but the pain is forgotten as the pair crowds over you.
You whine as Layla and Marc drag their fingers through the hot stickiness and press them into your mouth. 
You gag heavily around the two sets of fingers, tears pricking your eyes as they cover your tongue in the combined spend. “Good girl. Clean up the mess you made.” Marc nods slowly, heavy lidded with a deep moan of satisfaction as you choke and sputter while Layla proudly smiles down at you. “Did so well for me; for us.”
She shares a curious look with Marc before turning her gaze back to you and thumbs the last bit of white into your mouth.
“Might need to borrow her again sometime soon.” Marc comments as they help you onto your feet. “You know how stressed I can get.”
Your legs are shaky, like a newborn doe, as Layla brushes down your crumpled skirt while Marc helps you back into your blouse, securely buttoning you up. 
“We’ll see about that.” Layla responds as she gathers you into her arms and sits back down on her chair, tucking your sleepy head under her chin. 
“I’ll see you ‘round the office, sweetheart.” He raises a hand and tenderly grazes your dewy temple with his knuckles. 
As he sees himself out, he winks at Layla and she smirks before he shuts the door leaving the two of you in peaceful silence. 
As you relax in Layla’s arms, burrowing yourself into her safe warmth, you notice through sleepy eyes that her monitor is still on. The email she was typing when you dropped off the paperwork lights up the screen.
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𝚃𝙾: 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 (𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌)
𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 - 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏
𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
𝙻𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚊 𝙴𝚕-𝙵𝚊𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚢
𝙲𝙵𝙾 𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌
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*evil laughter* they were in cahoots the entire time!
feel free to scream at me -> 💌
follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!
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hh0320 · 1 year
Text
໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I
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pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)
genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.
warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.
word count. 6.2k
a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx
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‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.
The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’
New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.
The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.
Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.
He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.
He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.
“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”
Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?
I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.
“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”
The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”
“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”
“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”
The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”
Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.
And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.
A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco. 
One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.
How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.
Until when?
Your light was on. 
He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.
His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.
He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.
He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.
“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”
How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.
It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.
Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.
Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.
Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.
“Hello?”
“Chris. It’s me.”
A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—
“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”
He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”
“Good.”
“I’m in Australia.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.
Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.
His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.
She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.
What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.
“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”
The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”
“She’s not dying.”
“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”
Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”
Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.
Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.
“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”
Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.
It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.
No other car was in your driveway.
God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?
He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.
He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.
Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?
The door opens. He’s holding his breath.
You gape. Then blink.
Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!
“(Y/N).”
You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.
It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.
“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.
He doesn’t expect you to.
“On your doorstep? An hour.”
You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.
“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.
You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.
You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.
He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.
“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you. 
It was you, for fuck’s sake.
And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.
“Are you okay?”
You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.
They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.
He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.
Instead—
“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”
The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.
His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.
“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.
He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.
They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.
It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.
Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.
“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.
You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.
There’s a question in your eyes now.
“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”
It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.
“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.
“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”
He nods. Struggles to swallow.
Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.
He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.
“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.
He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.
“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”
“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”
He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”
The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—
“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”
Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.
You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.
“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”
Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle. 
“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”
Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—
The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you. 
First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.
He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.
His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.
They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.
No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.
Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.
“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.
He thinks he might even have an answer for you.
“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.
“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”
You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.
“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”
He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.
“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”
Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”
“I did.”
“That hurt me. All of us.”
Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”
“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”
There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.
His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.
“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”
“Thank you.”
You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.
“You sold your own name.”
Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.
“And I pay for that every day.”
“You’re not happy.”
He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.
“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”
It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.
“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”
“And get lost, too?” you snap back.
He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”
“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.
“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”
He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.
The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.
“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.
Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—
Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.
They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.
But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.
Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone. 
He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.
Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.
“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.
You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world. 
His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.
“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”
“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”
“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”
His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.
“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”
“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”
“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”
He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—
“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”
“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”
Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.
He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.
And no end if you don’t come with him.
“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”
You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.
That he’s sure of.
But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.
“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”
Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.
You’re breathing it all back to him.
“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”
He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.
“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”
tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.
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beansprean · 1 year
Text
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Queening the Pawn Act 2 Part 7
👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
Act 1
Act 2: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10
(ID in alt and under cut)
ID: 1a. Close up on Nandor, resigned and uncomfortable, as he diverts his gaze off to the side. Offscreen, Guillermo speaks aloud almost to himself: “I changed your mind. You were going to turn me because-“ Nandor interrupts: “It was impulsive.” Guillermo continues, “-you wanted forever with me.” 1b. Nandor tenses further, shoulders lifting to his ears, eyes closed, mouth shaped into a performative snarl. He snaps, speech bubble overlapping with the next panel, “I wanted forever with someone. You are acting very presumptuous! You are not a vampire and now may never be, so you cannot possibly understand-“ 1c. Close up of the side of Guillermo’s face, still turned away to face the wall, as he angrily sets his jaw. The background is a deep red and spattered with blood. 1d. Low shot from behind Guillermo’s knee as he suddenly turns, braces his hand on his knee, and stands with an authoritative “No.” Nandor immediately flinches back, gripping his armrests with both hands, wide eyes focusing up on Guillermo’s face offscreen. 1e. Close up on Guillermo from Nandor’s POV, standing squared and glaring downwards. The brown background is now interspersed with vertical lights and colors. Guillermo says, “You could have just wiped me. When it didn’t work. You could have just erased the last four years and taken your chance with the next familiar!”
2a. Close up on Nandor as he looks away again, anxious and cagey like a cornered animal, leaning as far back in his seat as he can. He stutters out, “Wh- I….I…” Guillermo continues from offscreen: “I would have gone back to Panera with a bloody hickey and been none the wiser!” 2b. Extreme closeup on Guillermo in profile on a blood spattered background, eyes wide and a little wild as he puts the pieces together. He’s thinking out loud. He says, “You kept me around. You wanted to try again.” The panel splits to show a matching closeup of Nandor in profile, appearing back to back with Guillermo’s panel. He stares at the ground, panicking, spitting out “Stop saying things I have done!” 2c. Shot of Guillermo’s hand as he steps closer to Nandor’s chair and leans in, planting it on his armrest. Nandor quickly whips his own arm back, fingers curling up in a fist to avoid being touched. Guillermo continues, “You we’re as devastated as I was when I didn’t turn. You didn’t tell me because you wanted me to stay.” Nandor shakily breathes out a warning, “Guillermo…” 2d. Wide shot of the two in profile, Guillermo standing with both hands gripping Nandor’s armrests and leaning in close to his face with a determined expression. Nandor has squashed himself against the back of the chair, elbows tight to his sides as he is forced to meet Guillermo’s gaze with naked fear on his face. Guillermo states definitively, “You wanted forever with me.” /end ID
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just-wanna-be-good · 1 month
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What would you look for in a porn/house sister?
Tryna help manifest your twin for you after you've put this idea in my head
Omfg ILY 😭
I've been dreaming about another alt girl to be sisters with for a while now 😭 Having a girlfriend who's doing the same thing as me would be amazingggg 😭😭
We could motivate each other. Brainstorm ideas. Cheer eachother on to be more and more slutty. Hang out together and just work on back end stuff while we listen to music. Make content together which will be soo much more fun than making it alone in so many ways.
Also like... Cam together??? I tried doing that by myself but it's just too fucking boring. Together that would just be... Hilarious. Imagine sexy slumberparty gone wild shit??? Drink/smoke weed and get gross on cam together??? See how big I can stretch her asshole??? Take turns fucking each other with a strap???
Just.... Ugh... Everything would just be soo much more fun 😭
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a-reader-and-a-writer · 5 months
Text
Remember....
AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 6. Mind Control, 23. Begging, 24. Hunted Down, 25. Nightmares, Alt. 11. Suffocation, Alt. 29. Prison Fandom: Marvel, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, f!reader Summary: When reactivated while infiltrating a HYDRA base, the Winter Soldier is now on the hunt for the two people Bucky cares most for in this world. Word Count: 2171 TW: Character Death (or is it...?), Nightmares, Mind Control, Choking, Hunted Down, Chased Notes: A huge thank you to @musings-of-a-rose for the ask that inspired this! 🥰 Also thank you so much @loverhymeswith for beta reading for me! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event
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The snow had just begun to fall once more as The Asset entered the woods. Around him, the wild underbrush jutted out through blankets of undisturbed frost, and the bare trees stood like shadows against the moonlight. Anyone else may have paused to take in this haunting beauty, and yet, he stalked forward without the slightest hesitation. Beauty and nature meant nothing to him, especially on a night like tonight. Because tonight, the Winter Soldier was on a mission.
He continued deeper into the woods, his steady stride never wavering as he tracked his prey. Two SHIELD agents had infiltrated the base he had been guarding and, as they fled into the woods, his handlers ordered him to terminate them. For just a second, there was the slightest hitch in his march as a thought tickled at the back of his mind: He couldn’t remember anything before the order. It was as if time hadn’t existed until that moment.
But the thought disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and his steadfast pursuit continued. It didn’t matter anyway. He was made to follow commands and nothing else held any importance to him. So, even if this one order was the only memory he had, that was enough.
The Asset reached a small clearing in the trees and paused, listening intently to the silent landscape around him as his eyes scanned the area for any indication of where his prey had gone.
To his left, there was a set of heavy boot tracks imprinted into the snow and the underbrush had been haphazardly pushed aside leading in a clear path. Small splatters of blood stood out against the pure white canvas further illuminating the trail. It was all so blatantly obvious that even someone with absolutely no training would be able to spot it. It was the sort of trail left by either an amateur or someone deliberately attempting to draw his attention. 
To his right, however, the snow had barely been disturbed to the point he had to kneel in order to truly see anything in the pale moonlight. And even then, only the faintest of markings could be made out in the densely packed snow, boot prints that could have only been made with the gentlest of care. 
Most hunters would take one look at the first trail and charge after the prey in that direction. Whatever had gone that way was apparently hurt, possibly to the point of not being able to mask their escape route. However, the Winter Soldier was no ordinary hunter and he instantly recognized the trails for what they were. The pair of agents had split up and they were trying to draw him towards the stronger of the two. 
He stood and resumed his hunt—taking the path to the right.
Though they had escaped before he was able to get more than a glance at them, The Asset had identified the agents as a man and a woman. The man was taller, broader, and most assuredly stronger than his companion. In fact, he may even pose a challenge to The Asset in hand-to-hand combat, something that he had rarely encountered. 
However, everyone had a weakness. And by the way the man had shielded the woman and aided in her escape into the woods, it was clear that she could very well be that weakness. By tracking her down, The Asset would not only be able to take out the easier target first, but if he captured her, he would have leverage over the man. A leverage he could use to take out the man as well.
Suddenly, The Asset picked up the faint sound of panting up ahead and he lengthened his stride. Within a few moments, he caught a glimpse of the woman through the trees as she hurried as quickly as she could while still creating those faintest of footprints. However, she must have caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye because her head whirled in his direction and their eyes locked across the snowy woodland.
They both froze in place as they held one another’s gaze. And slowly, her wide-eyed panicked expression softened and, inexplicably, she gave him a cautious smile as her eyes sparkled with a hopeful gleam. She mouthed something he couldn’t understand but it ultimately didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know what she had said in order to complete his mission.
But as he took a step towards her, the terror instantly returned to her face and she bolted, no longer concerned about masking her tracks. She fled into the trees as fast as her legs would carry her but it was going to be a futile effort. She was no match for the power of the Winter Soldier. 
He took off after her, weaving in and out of the trees with ease. As he began to close the distance between them, the woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at him. There was a momentary hesitation….then the sound of the gun shattered the quiet of the night. 
The Asset easily blocked the bullet with his left arm and continued running. The woman let off a few more shots but he continued to either avoid or deflect them. Possibly because she wasn’t able to aim as she fired while still running, but he found it strange none of the shots were targeting his head or chest. Even if he slipped up and a bullet did manage to hit him, with their trajectory, they would only cause minimal damage. They would definitely slow him down but they would not do enough to stop him for good. 
As he closed the distance, he heard the recognizable click of the trigger being pulled on an empty gun and the woman swore. Tossing the gun to the side, she reached for a second weapon, but it was too late. He had caught up to her. 
Reaching out, The Asset grabbed the back of her tact vest and hurled her into the side of the nearest tree. She slammed into it with a sickening thump and the sound of breaking bones followed. Curled at the base of the tree, the woman screamed as she grabbed her left shoulder, her arm jutting out at an unnatural angle. But that didn’t stop her from trying to escape him.
As he stalked towards her, she used her feet to push herself back a few feet until she bumped up against a tree. Looking up at him, tears streaming down her face, she begged as he approached, “Bucky, stop! Don’t do this, please! Baby, this isn’t you, not anymore. The Winter Soldier is gone. You’re James Buchanan Barnes—you’re Bucky—and you don’t have to do this. Just try to remember. Please, baby, please come back to me. I love you! Just remember!”
But her words meant nothing to him.
The Asset’s metal fingers closed around her throat and he lifted her off the ground. Her legs began to thrash frantically in the air as her fingers on her right hand clawed at his own. It was an instinctual act, her body attempting to free her windpipe despite the obvious uselessness of her nails on Vibranium. She tried to choke out more pleas for her life, but all she could manage were a few raspy hisses. Her eyes were bulging in her head and The Asset watched as her blood vessels broke and clouds of crimson leached into the whites of her eyes.
Soon however, her clawing and writing slowed to little more than a twitch as her body began to shut down from lack of oxygen. And just as he felt one last desperate gasp building in her throat, he tightened his grip. He felt the bones and cartilage in her neck give way with a loud crunch and her body instantly went limp in his grasp.
The Asset heard someone calling out a name from behind him and the sound of something large crashing through the trees. He turned just as the other agent he had been sent to track down burst into the clearing. The man staggered to a stop as he saw his companion still dangling from The Asset’s hand.
As The Asset opened his fist, the woman dropped in a lifeless heap at his feet. In a mock imitation of her fall, the man dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. As he stared up at The Asset—not in fear or in defiance, but in agony—he whispered, “Bucky…. What did you do?”
The Asset reached into his belt, pulled out his gun, and aimed it directly between the man’s eyes as he said, “Who the hell is—”
Bucky bolted up from his resting place on the floor, chest heaving as he gasped for air, a cold layer of sweat coating his body. Looking around frantically, his breathing slowed slightly as he took in the sterile room around him and he remembered where he was. He had been sleeping. It had been a dream.
Collapsing back down with a sigh, Bucky stared up at the ceiling. He scrubbed his hand over his face as he attempted to wipe the vision of your lifeless body from his mind, but it didn’t work. No matter how hard he tried or what else he focused on, you were still there, hanging limply in his grasp as he heard the crunch—
Sick to his stomach and struggling to get his heart to stop racing, Bucky climbed unsteadily to his feet. However, he had barely taken two uneasy steps before he reached the wall and was forced to turn, take a few steps, and turn again. For the most part, he had become accustomed to his tiny room—after all, it was still a vast improvement over the cryostasis chamber he had spent the majority of the last fifty years in. However, at night he wished he had some way to work off his adrenaline-fueled energy. Not that he really wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep meant dreaming, and dreaming meant repeating this cycle all over again with the same agonizing scene playing in his head. 
Because it wasn't just a dream…it was a memory.
Six months ago, a HYDRA agent had gotten ahold of his trigger words and reactivated the Winter Soldier when Bucky tracked him down along with you and Steve. Trapped once more within his programming, The Asset had been ordered to find and eliminate both of the SHIELD agents that posed a threat to HYDRA. Steve was able to bring Bucky back just before he could complete his mission, and he re-emerged from the conditioning to find you lying at his feet—your throat crushed and tears still staining your face. 
You who had never given up on him no matter what. You who had never looked at him with fear or pity, only kindness and understanding. You who constantly reassured him that he would never hurt you. You who he loved more than life itself. 
You who he had murdered in cold blood.
Once he had been reexamined and deemed no longer a threat, SHIELD had agreed to let Bucky go and chalk your murder up to “collateral mission damage” but he had refused. He was a danger to every person he was around, especially the few remaining people he still had whom he cared about. The fact it took your death for him to finally accept that fact was devastating but he was never going to let it happen again. That was why he voluntarily offered himself over to SHIELD’s custody so he could pay for all of his previous crimes. SHIELD was more than happy to oblige him and they immediately confiscated his Vibranium arm and threw him in The Raft. Bucky just hoped they never let him out.
Steve hadn’t agreed with his decision—he still didn’t—and had tried everything he could to talk Bucky out of it. He pleaded for him to reconsider, that it had been the Winter Soldier who had ended your life, not Bucky himself. But Steve didn’t understand. No one did.
It didn’t matter where he spent the remainder of his life. From the moment your life ended, he had been given a life sentence of endless torment. Bucky might not have been in control that night, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember what happened. That he didn’t hear your voice sobbing as you begged him to remember you, remember that you loved him. That he didn’t feel your fingernails snapping as they tried to dig into his metal hand in a futile attempt to pry it away from your throat. That he didn’t watch the last beautiful spark in your eyes flare once before fading into oblivion as he crushed your neck. 
No. His mind had already become his prison before he was placed behind bars. And this time, there were no magic words anyone could say to bring him back and allow him to escape from it.
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