#and has now developed shark teeth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zyafics · 5 months ago

Text

PLAY FAKE | part twelve

MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, asshole, and has mood swings.

You had no choice. Newly orphaned with two acquired guardianship, on the brink of homelessness, you caved into desperation. You started to steal; pick-pocketing unsuspecting tourons and swiping valuables at island parties.

The latter is how you came across Aaron. He saw you stole from one of his clients and struck up a conversation. You thought you would be arrested, or done worse as retribution, but he gave you his number to contact. Said you could call him if you were strapped for some cash. When you learned more about him through JJ—and how Luke owed him money once, leading to a bad dispute that ended in the loss of his job and a black eye—you realized you were dealing with a bad guy.

The consensus was to stay away from Aaron because of his shady conduction of business and excessive use of violence. But you were in a deadlock. No one would offer you a loan because of your bad credit and you were on the cusp of losing your family's legacy. So, you did it.

Now, it's back to bite you in the ass. The reason why loan sharks are dangerous is their exorbitantly high interest rates and lack of regard for the law. If you're unable to pay them back within strict deadlines, they will double the initial amount you owe and go to extreme lengths to threaten friends and family for payback. It's a tactic that works best because you can't turn to the police.

When you finish your anecdote, the atmosphere falls into an eerily silence. You can hear the sound of a pin drop or the soft laughter of your sisters three doors down. You're perched on the end of Rafe's bed while he's leaning against his desk, back pressed against the counter, digesting your words.

Your throat feels dry. It wasn't even a long explanation but something about the way Rafe's watching you, his eyes never straying, and the lack of response afterward. You feel like you're burning under his gaze.

This must be how he felt when you were silent.

"Say something," you urge, voice smaller than intended. His eyes shift and observes the look on your face with an indiscernible expression.

"How much did you borrow?"

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth before answering. "30K."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters under his breath, exhaling sharply. Guilt gnaws at your stomach and your eyes pinch with a wave of sodden emotions. This is one of the reasons why you hesitate to tell him; you don't want him to take your burden as his.

You sigh tightly. "I told you it's bad."

"Does this mean you owe him sixty grand now?"

"No." You shake your head. "I paid back ten."

The numbers still aren't optimal. "So forty then?"

"No," You blurt out, before retracting. "I think. I–I don't know. He hasn't contacted me..." You trail off, not wanting to imagine your debt doubled. If you had paid the required amount, as scripted in your contract, within the due date, you would've been fine. Now, you're in an ambiguous grey zone with no clear direction on where to go next.

"But when he does?"

You look up from your crestfallen gaze to find Rafe's jaw set, his eyes searching your face. Frustration rolls off his strong demeanor, and you take it as a sign of his irritation—at your negligence—that you can't help but feel obligated to alleviate the feeling. "It's fine." You say evenly. "I'll figure it out."

"It's not that." He declares roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose, and exhaling another deep breath. Recognizing his own turbulent emotions are flaring, he doesn't want to take it out on you. "I offered you money. We could've avoided this. At the start of our deal, I offered you—"

You cut him off. "I know."

His expression is sharp. "Then why didn't you take it?"

"I—" You draw in shaky breath, fingers grabbing at the sheets beneath you and tightening them into fists. "I had a plan."

"You had a plan?" Rafe repeats, his voice dripping with disbelief. While he's trying to be patient with you, he can't gauge how your mind works. How it's so set on an independent mode that now—even now—you seem to want to do it all alone. "Does it look like your plan is working?"

This time, it came harsher than he intended, and he wanted to take it back immediately but it was too late. His words were laced with a certain venom that spewed onto you.

But instead of being upset, your own anger erupts.

"Were you going to drop 20K for a couple of fake dates?" You snap, standing from your own seat. You knew what you had done was moronic and you can't take it back but you did have a plan. When Rafe doesn't give you a proper answer, you take his silence as complicity. "Exactly. It would've been stupid on your end and I would've never agreed to such a ridiculous deal. I've already made that mistake once."

He knows you just called him stupid, but Rafe can't stop the rising smile on his lips. In your scorn, you're almost back to your old self.

"Why are you smiling?" You cross your arms, attempting to maintain your level of authority, but his grin broadens. "Stop it."

"I miss you."

Your heart stutters and all your momentum drops. Rafe uses the opportunity to cross the small distance and capture your face in his palm and you lean into his touch, shoulders sagging. You can't believe you're reduced to putty in his hands.

Trying to regain some sense of control, you avert your gaze from his face, and both your palms flatten against his chest. "You're mean, Rafe."

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs, running the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. "What was your plan?"

Part of you didn't want to tell him, to withhold the information, but when he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, the earnest look behind them shatters that desire. With your heart leaping in your throat, you explain slowly. "When you get Cameron Development, the plan was that I was gonna get a steady income as your regular caterer. Therefore, when payments were due, I would have a reliable source of income."

His breath hitches at the implication behind your words. Rafe's expression hardens. "That's dependent on me getting the company."

You keep his gaze. "I know."

"You based your entire plan on me?"

You can't exactly decipher the tone behind his sentence, and you feel the need to lower your gaze to his chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt. You mumble, "You make it sound like it's stupid."

"It's not—" He grabs your chin again, forcing your gaze up to his. Your eyes are soft and big, while his darkened one scans your face, trying to read your intent. He asks lowly, "You believe in me that much?"

Your voice is gentle when you answer. "Of course."

His heart sings. Rafe can't believe what he's hearing, or rather what he's not. It's the same subtle underlying language he's used to translating; the unspoken. Your entire plan is contingent on his success. That means your trust in him started since the beginning of our arrangement.

He never had someone who had that much faith in him that they would bet it all. It's an indescribable feeling, that's first met with doubt, before transforming into something else. To know someone is always in his corner, always rooting for his success, always believing in him.

Fuck.

He's in love with you.

His eyes stray to your lips and the urge to kiss you overwhelms him. His actions have always been better at demonstrating his emotions than his words ever can. But he resists with a couple of measured breaths. Then, he nods once. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

You're in a dazed state. "We?"

He doesn't want you to think you have to do this all alone. You have him now. "Yeah, but later. I can't focus right now."

Before you can seek clarification, his other hand cradles your cheek and Rafe slams his lips onto yours.

It catches you by surprise and a small moan slips out that Rafe swallows. He wants you. Mind, body, and soul. All of it—the taste of you, the feeling of your skin on his, your words against the column of his throat. He wants to feel you writhing beneath him with pleasure, to save all your best memories for him, and to know that you're completely and unequivocally his.

Rafe parts, just a breath of distance, and whispers against your swollen lips. "God, I miss you."

Your fingers thread through his hair. "I've been here."

His eyes are hungry. "Not what I meant."

He silences any reaction by resuming the kiss, forcing you backward against the bed, and your back lands on the mattress with a soft thump. Rafe hovers over you, his weight pressed comfortably against your body while he kisses you like a starved man.

Even if you don't say it, you missed him too. The feeling of him against you, your heart meeting his at precise beats. When Rafe moves to plant kisses along the curve of your neck, a small whine escapes you. You want to feel his lips on yours, to feel his warmth on your tongue, but he wants to satisfy every inch of you.

His hand starts to caress the hem of your shirt—his shirt—pushing up the fabric to reveal more of your exposed stomach to your bare breasts. With little words spoken, like a coordinated dance, you move enough for Rafe to pull the material completely off of you.

"Shit," he swears, taking a moment to take you in, "I'm never going to get used to this." Then, he descends to your nipples and captures one between his teeth.

You let out another moan, feeling his tongue swirl around your sensitive bud, clashing with the metal barbell. Your legs spread wider, allowing Rafe to slot between your thighs. The boxers he let you borrow are thin, and you feel his hardened erection rocking against your heated core.

Your fingers find the button of his jeans. "Rafe," you whisper, aching with desire. "I need this off."

"Need, huh?" He teases, his hot breath fans against the valley of your breasts and you shiver. "Tell me how much you need me, baby."

He wants to hear it all. Even if it's fake, even if it's just dirty talk spoken during sex. For a brief, fleeting moment, he wants to pretend you need him as much as he needs you.

You draw your hands up to cup either side of his face, forcing him off your tits and tilting his gaze to yours. "Rafe Cameron, I need you inside me. Badly."

Hearing the desperation behind your voice—and his name rolling off your tongue, Rafe removes his clothes and helps you out of yours. Before you have the chance to say anything else, Rafe's fingers are between your folds, spreading them apart, and a sound of satisfaction is heard from the back of his throat. "God, you're wet."

You are. Your arousal coats his digits, and with a slow stroke of his hand, your hips buck into his palm that rest against your clit.

"Rafe," you whine, knowing he's toying with you. His fingers stroke your pussy, but not enough pressure to give rise to your climax. "Inside, please. I'll be so good."

He grins and retracts his hand. When he lines his swollen cock against your entrance, he pauses for a moment. Rafe's eyes connect with yours. "Did you take your pill?"

When Rafe went out this early morning, with your sisters, he went to the pharmacy to pick up some birth control for you. It currently sits on his desk, opened and with one missing tablet. "I did."

"Good, I need to feel all of you."

Without another word, he thrusts into you, causing your back to arch off the mattress.

Rafe doesn't go hard and fast like normal but instead bends forward to capture your lips against his teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest regardless, the feeling of your walls wrapped around him, the way he fills you—like a puzzle finding its missing piece—makes your head spin.

"Feel so fucking good," he whispers against your heated skin, his hand reaching out to take yours, intertwining with your fingers. "Can't believe I almost lost this."

You can't believe it either, but you couldn't say it. Rafe angles himself where his cock hits right against your cervix, causing your head to tip back and dig into the sheets, moaning wildly at the pleasure. Rafe easily kisses you to swallow the noise of your open mouth, reminding you that your sisters are just a couple of doors over.

You should care. You really should. But you don't. You need him. Closer. Harder. Faster. Your legs wrap around his torso, trapping him. "Need you," you whimper, as each thrust grows more choppy. "Need you so fucking bad, Rafe."

He can't control himself. Removing his constraint of trying to keep it sentimental, to keep it sweet. He loves how desperate you need him. How rough you want it. His pace quickens with the rut of his hips, and you feel the familiar white-hot pleasure searing through your body, climaxing.

"More," you beg, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers clawing against his back muscles. You're removing all the space between him and you, until there's nothing but skin-on-skin. "Please, more."

"Baby, I'll give you everything," he grunts breathily, scraping his teeth against the curve of your neck, hitting a sensitive spot that leaves you whining. "Everything and more if you'd let me."

Something about his words twists inside you and you come hard. Rafe feels you clenching around him, so tight, that it causes him to slow his thrust but the pleasure is unbearable. Easily, he follows after, coming inside you with the familiar hot cum filling you up.

Rafe lands on top of you, careful not to crush you under his weight. You welcome it, nonetheless, liking the way he presses against you. Both your breaths are heavy, clambering to catch up on missing air, and Rafe's still inside you. You like that too.

Your hands are still intertwined, and you're the first to retract from the hold to place your warm palm against the side of his profile, causing his head to lift to meet your gaze. He's settled between the valley of your breasts, his stubble tickling your skin, and you take the moment to lean forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

It feels sentimental. Vulnerable. Almost too real.

"Okay, now get off," you say jokingly, undercutting the tension in the room. Rafe scoffs but listens, rolling off, slipping out of you. The loss of him makes you frown, but you quickly wipe away the expression as you turn on your side, facing him.

Rafe studies you. This time, the sex felt different. More. He'll never say it, in fear of it scaring you away, but he truly never felt as vulnerable as he did moments ago when he was inside you. The memories flooding through him could easily get him hard again, but he tries to distract himself, taking a strand of your hair between his fingers.

You smile softly, noting how mesmerized he is with your hair. Of the color and the texture. It draws you into your thoughts, and you're suddenly reminded of a question that's been stuck in your head for the past twenty-four hours.

You say his name, causing him to stop and look at you. "Why were you with Leila the other night?"

"She called me." He answers truthfully, and before you can question him further, he adds. "I was coming over anyways."

This surprises you. "You were?"

"Couldn't leave you like that."

"You didn't stop me."

"I know, I fucked that up," Rafe admits, eyes scanning over your face, trying to express his sincerity.

You study him, recognizing his truth, but you still have some doubts. Another question about your relationship hangs in the air, and as your lips part, Rafe recognizes the question before you even have the chance to ask.

"We're not broken up."

A sense of relief fills you, but there's also the remnant of heartache.

Your voice is soft. "I said a break."

"We're not doing that either."

You don't know if you can separate from him. You don't know if you want to. But you wanted this extra layer of protection, just in case. "If you were worried, I was still committed to doing all the things you needed with Ward—"

"I don't care." He sharply cuts you off. "If someone asks you who you're with, don't answer that it's complicated. It's not. You're with me, got it?"

He's addressing the moment when Kelce asked if you were in a relationship with Rafe and you answered vaguely. It must've been stuck in his mind. Rafe never set perimeters on who knows the truth behind your little farce, only that his father remains oblivious, but you guess it also extends to the rest of the Kook public.

You don't answer him, not wanting to taint the aftermath of good sex with discussions about logistics and labels. You want to enjoy the fleeting moment, even if it's all you get.

Rafe sees your silence and softens his voice. His hand cups the side of your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "You're mine, you know that?"

You do, but you don't think it's in the way Rafe realizes. The lines are so blurred, you don't know what's real or fake anymore. You don't know if this is a sentiment shared during intimacy or a parade with the public, or if he does want you. Asking for clarification has burned you twice and you'd rather not put yourself in that situation again.

You're silently asking Rafe to tell you more. To give you more words. To speak. If he reveals that he has feelings for you, telling you he wants you—truly wants you—beyond this arrangement, you would be his. All his.

But Rafe's never been the one to willingly talk and reveal things. You have to break an arm and a leg for him to consider giving you the time of day. You rather not break your heart too.

A banging on the locked bedroom door absolutes you from answering him. "Rafey!" Amara screams from the hallway, "You promised you'd see my dress!"

"Dress?" You turn away from the door. "What dress?"

Rafe says nothing, but the small smirk on his face reveals everything. "Rafe. What did you get them?"

You didn't go with your sisters on their early morning excursion with Rafe. You were too tired and were catching up on sleep. When you woke up, they were already back and had been gleefully locked away in the guest bedroom the entire afternoon.

"Don't worry about it."

Rafe slips off the bed and gets redressed while you watch. You admire the planes and ridges of his chest, and when he finishes, he picks your clothes off the floor and throws them at you, telling you to get up too.

You do, and after you're no longer bared and exposed on his king-sized bed, Rafe unlocks the door to reveal an impatient Amara standing behind the door. She's carrying a foreign doll between your arms; something handmade and name-branded, something she definitely didn't have before.

"Rafe..." You warn lowly, but it lacks the critical threat behind its tone. He just grins at your attempt, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of his bedroom. Amara leads you to the living room, where the registration of how much Rafe bought your sisters comes to light.

Scatters of large shopping bags, of various shops and boutiques you never heard the name of, litter across the floor. Leilani is sitting on one of the couches, messing with something in her hands. A phone. Amara’s ruffling through one of the bags, trying to find her dress.

You turn back to Rafe. "You got to be kidding."

"Just because you won't let me buy you nice things doesn't mean you should deprive your sisters of that opportunity," Rafe shrugs, taking a seat on the closest couch, and tugging you along. There's plenty of room on the cushioned chair, but Rafe decides to pull you onto his lap.

You don't even mind; you like your spot on his lap. His arm lazily wraps around your waist while your legs dangle off the side. While Amara recruited Leila along to search for their dresses—because they have that much stuff—Rafe playfully bites your exposed shoulder.

Finally finding their princess gowns and diamond tiaras, Amara grabs Leilani's hand and drags her off to the nearest bathroom. They're giggling while they skip away, bouncing on their feet, behaving the exact opposite of what you expected them to be after a traumatic experience.

"They're happy."

"Of course they are." He scoffs, "We spent the entire morning ransacking every store downtown, buying everything they set their eyes on."

You chuckle softly, and gratitude passes through you. "You didn't have to do that."

"Nah, I had to," Rafe slides you closer. "Got to stay on their good side, you know?"

You shake your head, hiding a smile. The sound of a door opening is heard and you turn to the source of the sound, expecting to see your sisters return with their costumes, but instead find the sudden appearance of Sarah Cameron standing in the middle of the foyer.

"Sarah." Rafe stiffens under you, surprise evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my house, Rafe," She says with the roll of her eyes.

"It hasn't been your house since you ran away three months ago," he snaps, a hardness to his words. "Where's your Pogue boyfriend now?"

She ignores her brother, shifting her attention to you. "Who are you?"

You feel like you're caught in the crossfire of their rivalry. Before you get the chance to answer, Rafe cuts in for you.

"She's my girlfriend," Rafe sneers, his arm tightening around your waist. "Which is none of your business."

"Gee, Rafe, really a great welcome home party," Sarah says sarcastically, adjusting the large bag over her shoulders, which you presumed is stuffed with her things. She looks back at you. "You're the Pogue my dad mentioned, right? The one who owns the bar near the docks?"

Something about the Cameron siblings minimizing you to a social class. Nonetheless, you nod. "Cool. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry you have to deal with that one," she points to her brother, who's shooting daggers at his little sister. She ignores the look. "Well, I hope you had a good... shopping trip. I'm going to go unpack."

Before you have a chance to correct her, she walks away, and Rafe shouts after her. "Don't unload too much, just in case you wanna run away again," he reminds, to which Sarah responds with a flip of her middle finger, turning onto the stairwell and disappearing.

You don't know how to deal with a Rafe post-Sarah, especially because you've heard of his long-winded rambles about the golden child. You don't even want to step into it, because what Rafe feels for his younger sister is none of your business. It's his complicated family. You can't fix that.

Instead, you pull him back to Earth, turning his head away and tilting his gaze back onto you. His heated eyes, darkened and full of resentment and anger, soften upon meeting yours, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Leaning into him, the both of you say nothing, doing nothing, until Amara and Leilani emerge from the dressing room with glamorous princess gowns and a crown over their head. Then, they did a little show for you.

The moments spent with you make him forget about his issue with his sister. With her return and what it means to the company. Who earns in favor with their father.

She’ll be a problem for another day.

Not realizing how true those words will be.

★ part thirteen ★

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

taglists: @uraesthete / @maybankslover / @trshngyn / @irides-solstice / @groovycass / @emmalandry / @rivaiken / @outlawedmando / @ditzyzombiesblog / @mattyskies / @sunshinepanic / @too-deviant / @rafesgiirl / @vvvhack / @rafestaurusgf / @cami-is-reading / @peachesmilk / @whore4fictionalman / @artemiswinnick / @janediazwindsor / @pandora-rosier1 / @solanathascientst / @itshellie / @grace-sully / @loveyouok / @tayrcse / @mysteris-things / @ella131989 / @starrkissezz / @sanriobuny / @chopshopcheesecake / @fentyxmalik / @fleets-world / @supernaturalwriter / @taylorsmissamericanna / @hehelollmao / @lac0nically / @elysiasshit / @kravitzwhore / @tommysaxes / @ma-yang / @carolinaxvz / @bandsbooks / @sourjoonie / @rafemotherfuckingcameron / @mintforadollar / @ihe4rttwd

781 notes · View notes

sluttyten · 2 months ago

Text

Siren's Call

Kinktober Day 4 | Renjun Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: y/n is a siren, fingering, dry humping, spanking, stuck in a wall, actually a lot softer than I originally meant it to be because I'm just soft for (and missing) Renjun

length: 5366

You’d always thought of yourself as an independent, self-reliant woman. You don’t need a man for shit.

Being a siren helped with that. Something about the ability to sing men to their deaths at sea just gave you a powerful, feminist perspective on the world. Your voice has power even when it sometimes feels like you’re just being reduced to the small voice of a woman in a man’s world.

Your mother, grandmother, aunts, and older sisters all helped you in the belief that you could do anything that you set your mind to.

Which, to be fair, was true most of the time.

Yet right now all of your determination was wasted.

You were stuck.

And your only hope of being free was a man.

A morning swim in the ocean was a typical part of your morning routine – it gave you the chance to stretch out your fins, to get the daily saltwater intake that you require as a siren. Usually you would follow the swim with nude sunbathing on the rocks behind your family’s home, sometimes accompanied by other women in your family, but usually alone.

Today you’d swum farther than you typically would, around the bend of the island, closer to the resort. Tourists were always there, covering the beaches and filling the water with so much sound as they jetskied, boated, paddle boarded, and played their loud music. Generally, you avoided the resort when you were in your siren form, but this morning you had a reason to swim a little closer.

You were hoping to catch a glimpse of a man.

Yesterday you’d been at work, wiping down tables in the resort’s lounge, when you spotted the prettiest man you’d ever seen. He was stretched out in a lounge chair, shaded by an umbrella. He’d been laughing at something his group of friends said, a vibrant drink topped with a pineapple slice and a little umbrella in hand, and a pair of yellow swim trunks sat low on his hips, his chest exposed between the open flaps of his palm tree patterned shirt.

He’d been so lovely. All fine features and a pretty voice, a sweet smile when you’d volunteered to be the one to run fresh drinks out to him and his friends. You’d overheard them talking about a morning paddleboard session to watch the sunrise.

“Aren’t you scared?” One of the guys asked.

“Why would we be scared?” The pretty boy you’re watching responded.

The scared one sits his drink down. “Didn’t you hear about the local legends? There’s more than just sharks in those waters that would take a bite out of us. They say there are sirens swimming in these waters, that they drown men and eat us. Remember when we were looking into coming here and there were all those reports of unexplained deaths and missing persons cases?”

Okay, so sometimes your family overindulges, but the locals are wise enough to steer clear of your hunting grounds. The money-hungry developers however couldn’t care less about the fact that they built an all-inclusive resort like a ready made all-you-can-eat buffet for you all.

The pretty one scoffed at his superstitious friend. “That’s because people are drunk and stupid. They drown, they don’t keep away from sharks, or they just have accidents.” His gaze flicks up to you as you offer him his new drink. “Thank you. Can I ask you something?”

You’d startled, but nodded.

“Have you ever seen a siren? Are they dangerous?” The way he asks the question tells you that he doesn’t believe.

You smile in return, your lips stretching wide over your teeth as you tell him, “Oh, yes, I’ve seen sirens. But they’re not dangerous, not really. Only if you provoke them. They’re more likely to seduce you than eat you.”

One of his other friends addresses you, and you reluctantly pull your gaze away from where his pretty eyes are watching your lips. His friend says, “I heard a rumor that if you capture a siren, she grants you a wish.”

The pretty one snorts with laughter. “You’re thinking of a genie.”

“Renjun, I’m serious! I swear, the local girl at the bar last night said that her uncle captured a siren once.” The other man sweeps his black fringe across his forehead, his eyes wide with sincerity. “She said the siren granted her uncle one wish, and that wish was to have sex with her. She claims her cousins are part-siren.”

The pretty one, whose name must be Renjun, rolls his eyes. “Sure. And what do you think?” He’s looking at you again.

You shrug. “Maybe if a siren is feeling generous or particularly inclined she might grant a wish. Guess you’ll have to see what you can find out there.” You wave a hand out towards the crystalline waters of the sea down the beach.

Renjun smiles and nods.

“I’m not going out there.” The scared friend states, folding his arms across his chest. “Not at that time. Dawn is when sharks are out hunting, so sirens probably are too.”

Which isn’t true at all. Sirens hunt at any time of day, anywhere. Including in broad daylight at the resort lounge.

Your uniform is a short, tight dress, and with your natural-born siren powers of seduction, it’s quite easy for you to work your magic. Pretty boy Renjun is wrapped around your finger. He sits aside his drink shortly after you walk away, and you can feel his gaze following you around as you deliver other drinks to other resort guests, as you move around cleaning off tables, as you dance along with one of your coworkers to a song playing. He watches the sway of your hips and the short hem of your dress.

You’re not surprised when he approaches you a little while later, when he starts flirting, when he lets you bring him around behind the storage area for the lounge chairs and umbrellas, when Renjun presses you up against the flaking paint and kisses you.

You’re the one that grabs his hand, encouraging him to slip it beneath your dress. He kisses across your collarbones, strokes your pussy over your panties. It’s only when you drop your hand to his ass and start groping a little that Renjun takes a little more liberty – he pulls your panties to the side, finally actually touching you as he grinds against your hip, his lips returning to yours for a feverish kiss.

Renjun cums with your sucking on his tongue, his cock twitching inside his pants against your hip, and just that simple fact that you made him cum without you really touching him takes you to your climax. His fingers are still pumping inside you, his thumb dancing against your clit, and when you drop your head back against the wall behind you, Renjun kisses down your throat, down to the curve of your breasts beneath your dress.

You would’ve done more, gone further, happily let him take you back to his resort room, but you were still technically on the clock. And just as Renjun’s tugging the neckline of your dress down so he can get to your tits, you hear your manager calling your name.

“Oh, shit, stop.” You push at Renjun’s shoulders, and he backs off. His hands fall away from your body, his swollen lips pouting as he watches you pull your dress back into proper order. “I’m so sorry, but I have to get back to work.”

“Can I see you again?” Renjun asks, reaching for your hand as you step around him. “Can we pick up where we left off?”

You’d like that. You really, really would. Even if Renjun doesn’t believe in who you are – the way he’d scoffed at the idea of sirens being real had stung a little, you can’t deny that – you’re incredibly attracted to him.

“I’ll be here again tomorrow afternoon.” But you intend to see him again before then. “See you around.”

So that’s why the following morning you’re on the hunt. Not for a meal – you ate a normal human breakfast before you walked out the back door – but for a bit of fun at the expense of Renjun and his friends.

The sun is breaking over the horizon when you spot them. Four boards sit high above you in the water. One of them boldly dangles his legs and arms in the water, making him a perfect target for a shark to mistake him as prey. You swim up towards them, veering a bit behind them so when you surface they won’t be likely to see you.

The water is so still this morning, making the sunrise stretch across the surface like a painting.

The voices of the men carry back across the water to you, and you hear pretty Renjun talking about how someone named Jisung should have come out here. “He was so scared of sirens, but all there are are little fish nibbling my toes.”

One of the others laughs loudly.

Maybe it’s stupid, but you just want to scare them a little bit. You sink below the surface again, and you quickly swim towards them. You let the water ripple above you enough that they notice, that they’re somewhat on alert, but you’re already diving down out of their sight in the dark water. You hear the murmur of their voices, Renjun’s laughter at the sound of alarm in one of the other guy’s voices.

He’s still so doubting, so quick to tease his friends about believing in sirens.

You rise up quickly, cutting so close by that you let your tail brush Renjun’s foot.

Even underwater, you hear the yelp and the swearing he lets out, and you look back up as you dive back down. His paddleboard nearly capsizes, his wobbling form just visible through the surface. He stabilizes himself on the board, his voice loud but you can’t make out his words.

Shortly after that, the sun is risen, and they begin paddling back toward shore. You follow at a distance, trying to stay deep enough that you remain out of sight as the waters lighten around you. But you swim away before they reach shore, heading back around the bend of the island towards your favorite rocky outcropping about halfway between the resort and your family’s home.

You pull yourself out of the water, hauling yourself up the rocks, and you stretch out on your back, letting the rising sun warm your bare skin and your scales. It takes time for your tail to separate into legs and for your scales to transform into human skin, and you just lie here to wait. You listen to the crashing of the waves against the rocks, the whistling of the breeze as it blows through the trees and through the cracks in the cliff that cuts down to this stretch of sheared away rock.

You shiver when your legs begin to split. It’s an itch, like when a cut is healing into a scab, and just like that, you long to itch it away, to dig your fingers into the growing crack between your legs, but if you rush it then your legs come out looking a little weird, as if you’d pulled a caterpillar out of its cocoon before it has finished its transformation into a butterfly.

Your fin disintegrates into sea mist, and you stretch your toes, roll your ankles. The transformation is almost done; you can feel your leg muscles, can shift your legs apart although you still feel the layer of scales tight against your skin. Just a little longer and you’ll rub your legs against the rocky surface like a snake shedding its skin.

“That’s incredible,” a voice says from several feet away.

You jolt upright, eyes flying open, heart racing as you look to see who has spoken.

Renjun stands there in those bright yellow swim trunks. You can see his paddle board beached on the rocks, the paddle jammed down into a crack in the rocky surface. His eyes are on your feet, on your developing legs, running along the iridescent shimmer until he reaches the point where your scales become human skin, and still his gaze roves higher to your breasts, your hair loose around your shoulders.

“I followed you here,” he says, taking a tentative step closer. “You startled me when you brushed against my foot, I’ll admit. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked down and saw your tail, your fin, and then I caught a glimpse of your face when you looked back up.” Renjun gestures back out at the water, saying, “I had to see for myself whether you just dressed up to scare my friends and I after you heard what we were saying yesterday, or if this was real. No one’s going to believe me that you’re real. I barely believe it.”

You tilt your chin, holding his gaze. “I told you I’ve seen sirens. You didn’t believe me then?”

Renjun smiles. “I’m more of a seeing is believing type of man. I need to experience things firsthand. I don’t buy into rumors until I’ve tested things myself.” He takes another small step forward. “So, is it true that if I capture you, you have to grant me a wish?”

Now you recognize that gleam in his eye – a man after a prize.

The last of your scales fall away as you bolt to your feet. Your legs tingle a little as the blood really gets flowing, but you’re running across the rocks, aiming for the cliff face, for the narrow passageway you know that cuts through the rock and will drop you right back to the sea, far away.

“Hey!” Renjun shouts behind you, and you dare a glance backwards. He’s running after you, and you put on a burst of speed.

It’s been a while since you used the shortcut. Years, actually. The last time was when you were playing hide and seek with your cousins when you were, like, thirteen. They were halfies (yes, one was almost definitely the girl that Renjun’s friend had spoken to at the resort’s bar), which meant that they couldn’t transform as fully as you, so you’d run from them much like you were now because you knew that they wouldn’t have been able to follow you into the waters on the other side of this shortcut.

All you had to do was squeeze through the window that wind erosion has made in the face of the rock entrance to the passage, and then you’d have just a dozen yards before you could slip back into the sea.

You run a little faster, wanting to put more distance between you and Renjun, but his legs are far more awake and weight-bearing than your newly redeveloped legs are. He’s gaining on you, and you know that your only hope is to slip through the shortcut before him.

And there it is.

The hole in the cliff opens up before you, at about waist-height, looking just as tight as you remember.

“Hey! Listen, I–!” Renjun is shouting, his voice just feet behind you.

You dive for the hole into the passageway, your hands grasping at the rocky edges, you pull yourself through, and you can see the other end of the passage, where it drops off again into the ocean.

But then something isn’t right.

One thing you’ve forgotten in your quick escape attempt is a simple fact. The last time you used this path you were years younger. You were thirteen, on the cusp of puberty, and your body hadn’t developed as much as it has in the years since. When you were thirteen you didn’t have the hips of a woman, but now you do. And your hips are too big to fit through the fucking window worn into the cliff.

You curse loudly, trying to back out, thinking maybe you’ll still be able to slip away before Renjun captures you. No, it’s not a law of nature that a siren has to grant a wish to her captor, but it’s also just not historically been a great thing for a siren to find herself caught.

You wiggle your hips in an attempt to back up, but it’s no use. The edge of the passage’s entrance digs into your hips and belly. A bit of it crumbles away, but not enough for you to be able to slip backwards.

And then you feel a hand. You hear Renjun’s voice, “Oh, shit, are you stuck?”

You squirm, attempting to kick backwards.

You make contact with something, and Renjun swears.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” You kick around, and you just scream when you feel his hands attempting to stop your flailing legs.

“Please!” Renjun cries out from the other side of the wall. “Stop kicking! Stop screaming!”

You wail a little louder, putting a bit of your power into the sound.

“Hush, now!” Renjun shouts, and he slaps his hand lightly against your thigh. “I’m trying to help you! Stop fighting me!”

You can’t see anything behind you due to the wall, and that’s stressing you out. Squirm and wiggle as much as you might, but it does no good. More of the edge of the hole keeps crumbling away, but not enough for you to be able to free yourself one way or the other.

“Can you just hold still?!” Renjun shouts loud enough to be heard over your cries. You feel his hands rest on your waist. “I’m going to help you! I was joking when I said I was going to capture you. God, will you please hold still, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

You do fall still, mostly because all the moving around is really beginning to hurt your hips and waist and belly.

“How are you going to help?” You ask.

Now that you’re done struggling and crying, it’s quiet enough that you can actually hear Renjun sigh on the other side of the wall. You imagine him standing there, hands on his hips, a little furrow between his eyebrows as he stares at the back half of you protruding from this hole in the cliff.

“I’m not really sure,” Renjun admits after a moment. “I could push maybe? Or should I try to pull you back out?”

You groan, trying hard not to feel embarrassed the longer you’re stuck like this. You keep imagining what you must look like right now from his point of view, and all you can visualize is your ass and pussy hanging out in the open, in full broad daylight. Just last night he’d had you pressed up against the storage area wall, making out with you and fingering you, cumming in his pants because he wanted you so much, and now he’s looking at you from a totally unflattering angle.

“Why don’t I try pulling you back out this way?” Renjun suggests, and you feel the suggestion of his hands on your hips, not quite touching but you’re sure his fingers are hovering just centimeters above your skin. “If you’re alright with me touching you right now?”

You nod before you remember that he can’t see you doing that. “Yes, that’s fine. Just watch where you’re touching, okay?”

His hands fit more firmly on your hips. His leg brushes yours, a foot pushes between both of yours as he braces his foot against the wall. Renjun pulls, and you yell out as the rocks dig in against your waist. He pushes you forward a little, then tries pulling you back again as if that little bit of momentum will have helped.

It doesn’t.

Renjun mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear through the wall. Then he pushes again, braces himself against you, and pulls back. He picks up this rocking motion that has you whining at the friction of the rocky edge against your skin, but you can feel the edge giving just a little more, so you don’t complain too much.

But then you realize that while Renjun is doing this, as he’s bracing himself against the back half of you –

“God, Renjun,” you groan and shout, “are you really getting hard right now?”

“No!” He denies even though you can feel the evidence against your ass right now.

“I’m stuck in the wall, and you’re getting hard?” You squirm around, but still it does nothing for you except to rub back against Renjun. “I bet you want to fuck me like this, don’t you? Like I’m just some warm hole that you stumbled upon.”

Renjun’s hand comes down against your ass, a sharp sting that takes you by surprise. “Listen, I happen to like you, not just all of this.” Again, his hand caresses your ass. You try to suppress the shiver that runs through you, the arousal that begins to pool hotly in your belly. “Sure, I’d like to have sex with you, but I would kinda prefer that you weren’t stuck in a wall for it. I really liked being able to see your face last night when you came on my fingers.”

“Yeah, well, I liked seeing your face when you came from humping my hip.” You wiggle again. “Just keep pulling like you’ve been doing, I think this might work.”

Again, he mumbles something.

“What?” You ask, and when he just presses himself right back against you, his hard cock lined up against your pussy, you kick your legs, trying to get him.

“Hey!” Renjun again, spanks a hand down on your ass. “I told you to stop kicking.”

You do it again just because you can. Another slap on your ass.

By this point, there’s no denying that you’re starting to get aroused. If he keeps spanking your ass, if he keeps grinding against you, you’re bound to get a little turned on.

Again, there’s his erection rubbing just there against you, and this time you press back into it as much as you can. You just need a little friction – this time, the good kind.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Renjun asks, and he pinches your ass cheek.

“Maybe.” Your heart races as Renjun rolls his hips forward, and then with his hands on your hips, he yanks you back against him. Again, a few pebbles of the wall crumble away from around your waist, but it’s still nowhere near enough to set you free. “What are you going to do about it if I am doing it on purpose?”

Renjun’s response is unfortunately that he steps back, leaving your ass and pussy bared to the elements once again. “You’re just being bad. And you want me to help you out of this wall? Bad girls don’t get help. They get punished.” And then his hand comes down flat against your right ass cheek.

The moan that leaves you is loud enough that it echoes around the passageway in front of you.

“Did you like that?” Renjun asks, rubbing his hand soothingly over the burning imprint of his hand. “I think you must’ve, judging by that moan. And you’re so wet.” His thumb brushes along your ass, dangerously close to your pussy. He swings his other hand flat against the left side of your ass once and then again.

You whine, squirming around, feeling the burning heat of his handprint migrating to join the pool of arousal in between your thighs. God, if he spanks you again, you’re going to start dripping.

And then he does, once more to your right side ass cheek, and then quickly followed by a little slap directly between your legs.

“Renjun!” You cry out. If the wall wasn’t supporting you, you’d have collapsed to your hands and knees. Your legs tremble, and Renjun’s fingers quickly soothe the residual tingle left by the spank to your pussy. “Renjun, I’ll be good. Don’t stop.”

Perhaps that’s a confusing message, but at the moment, you don’t care. All you can think of is how much you want him to spank you again, to feel his hands on your ass and your pussy, you want him to keep touching you, you want him to loosen the front of his swimtrunks, get his cock out and fuck you even though you’re stuck in this stupid wall. You’re so wet and hot and desperate that you just need him inside you.

But if you’re being good, like you’ve just told him you’ll be, then what reason does he have to spank you some more?

“Tell me what it is you want, my siren. Sing me a sweet song, tell me what you want me to do to you.” Renjun’s fingers stroke between your legs. You feel the warm brush of his lips over the imprint of his hand on your ass. “Should we pick up where we left off last night?”

“Yes!” You gasp. “I want you to touch me, Renjun. I need you, need you inside me.”

As if that’s all that he was waiting for, Renjun slides both hands again to your hips, and he presses forward against you, sliding his bare cock right against your pussy, then thrusts into you.

It’s rough being stuck in this wall, getting fucked by the pretty boy that you just want to stare at. Your nails scrabble against the wall, just wanting something to hold onto as Renjun pushes you forward then pulls you back, rocking into you. He snaps a hand down against your ass again, and you jolt with a moan.

“You like that? Let me hear you, beautiful.” Renjun pinches, smacks, gropes you ass, rolling his hips forward to keep going with the push and pull. You keep moaning for him, your voice rising and echoing through the passageway. You’re sliding back and forth through the hole in the cliff face, with the rapid movements, with each time Renjun crashes into you and your combined lower halves collide with the edge of the entrance to the passageway, a little bit more of it crumbles.

The edge gives.

Just a little. Just enough.

The next time Renjun drags you back onto his cock by your hips, you keep pushing backwards, keep your upper half sliding back through the hole until you’re free.

You and Renjun tumble backwards, still connected when you land, and Renjun rolls you beneath him.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his hands racing over you, from your scratched and aching hips to your waist, up your chest to examine your perfectly alright tits, and then he’s cupping your face between his palms, turning your face from side to side.

“I’m fine.” You push at his wrist. “Renjun, I’m fine. Let’s just….”

He sinks down over you, covering your mouth, silencing you with a kiss.

Your hands settle on his waist, squeezing when Renjun starts moving again, smooth and steady thrusts, kissing you feverishly, like he just can’t get enough of you, like he’s drowning in the feeling of being with you. You don’t even care about the pebbles digging into your back and hips and ass. All that matters is Renjun’s body above you, his lips on yours, his cock hitting repeatedly against your G-spot, his thighs against yours, his breath mixing with yours as he breaks the kiss to pant, his gaze and yours connect and hold.

You feel a surge of your power course through you, and that’s it.

Renjun bucks forward a few more times, pressing in, trying to get deeper, and then he’s pumping his hips, burying his cock in deep as he cums.

“I’ve got you,” he sighs even as he collapses against you. He can’t even really support himself, but he slips one of his hands down between your bodies to your clit, and his hips twitch forward, grinding into you while he circles your clit, working endlessly to get you to cum for him too.

And you’re not sure what powers Renjun possesses, but surely he must have some because your orgasm swells rapidly, bursting through you and wiping you out.

Renjun moans your name as you cum around his cock, as you wrap your arms and legs around him. You press your cheek to his, moaning in his ear while you ride out the throes of ecstasy while he’s still touching you, still rolling his hips forward.

Even when Renjun’s movements slow and then cease altogether, when you’re both just lying pressed together on the rocks with the sounds of the crashing waves in the distance, you just hold him. Your hearts beat together, your breaths almost syncing.

“I hate that you’re a resort tourist,” you confess quietly after quite some time. “You’re exactly my type, you’ve just given me a great orgasm, and you already know I’m a siren. I don’t want you to leave.”

Renjun laughs, brushing a kiss to your ear. “You’re a siren, why don’t you just drag me into the ocean so I never leave you. Isn’t that part of the origin of the myths about sirens?”

“There are lots of myths about sirens. Most of them aren’t really true.” You brush your fingers through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck.

“And the captive siren granting a wish, is that one true or false? Because I think, technically, I caught you.” Renjun lifts his head up so he can look down at you, smiling. “Do I get a wish?”

You don’t answer, instead raising your head to kiss him again.

The distraction works for a handful of moments, but then Renjun’s moving away, peeling his body away from yours. “Can I at least tell you my wish?” He asks, “In case you’re feeling generous or particularly inclined towards granting one?”

He pulls out of you, kneeling up while straddling your legs. You raise yourself up on your elbows, just looking at him, waiting.

“Ask me to stay,” Renjun says. “That’s my wish. Just ask me to stay a little longer, to extend my trip. I’m not saying that this has to be forever because that would be pretty bold to think that after we’ve known each other for such a short time, but just a little bit longer. You’re exactly my type too, I mean, minus the siren thing – but that’s only because I’d never considered that before. It's up to you, though, it's your call. Ask me to stay,” Renjun repeats, “and I’ll stay.”

You curl your hand around the back of his neck, bringing him down so his forehead rests against yours. “Renjun, will you stay with me?”

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

But you don’t stay there, naked on the rocks together.

He has his friends to get back to, and you have work in the afternoon, so you can’t stay there as much as you might want to. Renjun eventually climbs off of you, and he pulls his swim trunks back on, though you lie there admiring him while he does. And then you walk back down to the edge of the rocks where he’s left his paddleboard. Renjun kisses you again at the edge of the rocks, and then he paddles back around the bend to the resort.

But Renjun stays.

You see him each day for the rest of the week, and when the week is up and his friends take the boat back to the mainland to fly home, Renjun stays. He meets your family, and he spends his days out in the water with you, swimming with you and teasing you about your tail, making love to you on a paddleboard which you capsize after things get a little too wild. You take him to a moonlit cove on the far side of the island, camp on the beach and stare at the stars.

Renjun falls in love with you, but he falls in love with your island too.

Maybe that’s the true magic of the sirens, you think some nights when you’re curled in your bed beside him. It’s not seducing men into drowning, but seducing men away from their busy lives, tempting them into staying and falling as much in love with you as you are with him.

a/n: I would have had this posted earlier, but I accidentally fell asleep oops. Anyway, here's siren Y/N with Renjun, like I said at the top of the post, this actually turned out a bit softer than I originally intended, but I'm in a constant state of missing Renjun hours since he's been on hiatus forever, so here we are.

Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

#renjun #renjun smut #nct #nct smut #nct dream #nct dream smut

290 notes · View notes

levshany · 11 months ago

Text

how do I put this. Even those who actually track our blogs and are interested in our Aus can get a little confused about what's going on here. but I'll try to explain anyway

we already mentioned the crossover between Anarchists and Tandem and even DRAWED them once, back when Tandem was in development (and by the way, this crossover is canonical for both AUs). Now this story has been continued >:D

Here's some context: It so happened that the Colibri wanted to see what alternative timelines looked like and ran into the king and the jester. Phil was delighted with Colibri and wanted to flirt with them. Jester Collie was categorically against it. so he immediately possessed Phill and tried to fight Tandem. he didn’t succeed because his fusion with Phil is extremely unstable. and here we are

Initially, @angstyhikka and I just drew these three pages, but then @lasymit supported the idea and made a drabble which she allowed me to add to the post :3

------------------------------------

"Let go, bitch! I'm not done with you yet!"

The savage creature desperately squirmed in Philip’s hands. It grabbed onto him, trying to either break free or, on the contrary, rush closer, glaring furiously and baring its shark teeth.

He held the clumsy, collapsing fusion at arm's length and looked at it with slight disgust. His tandem with the Collector was a strange but harmonious union. And what was writhing in front of them right now was the direct antipode of the word harmony.

“Well, I am,” he said distantly.

And with his other hand he grabbed the one sitting inside the demon’s body. Under the flesh soaked in titan blood, he felt a soft essence, like rubber or hot wax. The Collector from this universe felt completely different to the touch.

He stretched them, pulling them away from each other, disentangling them from each other. Paradoxically, bodies that should repel each other by the nature of their forces, like unipolar magnets, clung to each other very stubbornly. But Philip was still stronger with the power of the Collector in his hands, power which he clearly used better than the local... king of demons...

“Ouuuuch ouuuuch,” a boy in the robes of a jester, painted in red and black, shrank on the ground, wrapping his arms around his own chest.

He was not at all like his Collector. Philip had never seen his friend's material body before. But he knew he looked different. For some reason he knew this for sure.

"Who pulls a guy out like that!? Fuck!!", the now-green demon yelled nearby. And he clutched his head painfully.

What Idiots. They vomited three times while chasing him. Philip did them a favor by stopping this outrage.

Now these two were lying helplessly at his feet, groaning and gasping, trying to catch their breath and come to their senses. Now they are separated.

"What were you trying to achieve?" His question was almost rhetorical.

"It wasn’t me, it was all him!" like a child, pointing a sharp, protruding finger towards the Collector, the demon yelled. "I didn’t want to fight at all!"—here he gazed up at Philip with some strange look and batted his eyelashes expressively—"I wanted something else– something more interesting."

"Ohh fuck off, Maggie! You traitor!" came the shout from the red Collector. Philip silently decided to call him the Jester and the demon, by analogy, the King. Philip had already guessed his name. But he couldn’t bring himself to call this savage by that name. Not even in his mind.

He ignored the King's vague attempts to take a tempting pose while still lying on the ground and grinding his teeth from the headache. He turned to the Jester.

"So you're in charge?"

Judging by King's behavior, it would indeed be reckless to put him in charge. But, having always been the decision-maker when paired with the Collector, by right of being the adult, Philip is accustomed to his friend almost never taking the leading role unless circumstances require it. Like a couple of years ago...

“Nuh-uh,” the Jester raised himself up on his elbow and rubbed his chest, inhaling deeply, greedily. "We're bros! Equal rights and stuff."

And he twirled his funny yellow gloved hand in the air.

Something in the Jester’s words pricked Philip. He didn't fully understand what exactly.. Until the King said, in a dramatic whisper:

"I no longer have a brother. You’re dead to me!"

And Philip stood there, trying to remember that the air was not hard, dense lumps, that it did not clog in the throat and did not press in the chest with a dull phantom pain. Meanwhile these two idiots, after a couple moments of aggressive looks, laughed out loud.

“Yes, I would strangle such a brother,” the King squeezed out, wheezing and squinting through laughter, “with my own-"

And he bent over, swallowing the end of the sentence with a cough as the toe of a boot hit him in the stomach.

"Philip! Philip... They've had enough... He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Philip's cheek twitched.

"Ouch... bro, save me!" the King squeaked hoarsely.

And this completely infuriated Philip. He swung his foot again, this time at the face. But he was met by an elastic wall. And the ground under Colibri’s feet, along with all the space, suddenly curved.

If it weren't for years with the Collector in his head, he wouldn't have realized what happened. But now he clearly saw how a couple of dimensions were distorted, folding space into a loop. He suddenly found himself not between the King and the Jester, but at a considerable distance. And these two were already close together. The boy helped his “brother” get up from the ground; King was now leaning on Jester’s shoulders, clutching his stomach. Perhaps Philip miscalculated his strength a little. This happens sometimes... Especially when it comes to emotions.

“Hey! Hitting people who are down is against the rules,” the Jester frowned. "Give us a timeout!"

Philip felt his jaw tighten. How the nodules rolled across his face. But the flaring rage, as it often happened to him, went away as easily as it filled the air in his chest, leaving reddish streaks before his eyes and pulsating power in his fingertips.

“Get out of the way,” he let his hands glow slightly.

"Ohhhh, what about a last kiss, star boy?" the King whined, clinging to the Jester and trying to straighten up next to him, as if hoping to reach Philip from a distance of ten steps and still get the coveted—

A kiss? Seriously, what the hell? Philip directed a confused, irritated look that bore all these unspoken questions at the Jester. He awkwardly shrugged his sharp shoulders, caught in the King’s grip.

"Don’t be mad... Philip, right? Don't be mad at him, Philip. His Majesty has a reason to be an idiot. And he didn’t mean it out of malice about the ‘brother’ thing.”

Philip looked at the Jester more carefully. The collector in his head was silent. But Philip sensed something from him. Philip also noticed the King’s uncomprehending expression.

“What’s wrong with ‘brother’?” The King sounded surprised.

And then Philip understood. And his face froze.

Yes... yes, what need is there to remember such things? He himself tried to forget for a long time... If he succeeded, would he be the same now as the king in front of him?

Looking at this wretched shell of a “King” who’d forgotten everything important about himself and the loyal “Jester” still standing steadily at his side, the Collector in Philip’s head began to sob. They both, it seems, had the same thought. It’s scary to look at the reflection of a future that never happened.

The jester smiled at him guiltily- at both of them. And then he confidently and widely showed about fifty teeth to his King.

"People don’t like such familiarity, you fool! You can’t just kiss someone the first time you meet."

"But it's okay to fight them when you first meet?" Philip was indignant...

Yes, it's Philip. He cannot refuse to call this man by his own name. Philip himself could one day become such a “king.”

------------------------------------

also @kenku97 helped us with translation and added this comment, I gotta show it to you ;v;

"I thought “The collector in his head sobbed” needed more context for people who aren’t as tightly wrapped up in these AUs as we all are. To understand why Collie’s crying, you need to point out how Tandem Collie sees himself in the Jester. They’re both caring for a Philip who is forgetting himself and the people closest to him. Jester is living out Tandem Collie’s worst fear: what will happen when Philip can’t remember anything anymore? What will become of their friendship? And it’s bittersweet because the King and the Jester are still friends, even though the Jester basically had to start over from the beginning. Jester Collie is quietly carrying all of those memories inside his heart of a friend who has basically disappeared while still learning about and loving the brand new person his friend has become. It’s so sweet and so sad.😭"

that's pretty much all for now It’s hard to return to drawing after the holidays. and this is not even a new art you see, but last year’s. therefore this comic cannot be considered the first work of this year sadly

#Hikka said anarchist fusion looks like Jasper from SU and now I'm thinking about that one ep where Alexandrite and Malachite were fighting #“you to should spent some time apart” ehehehehehee #I love this possession thing #this concept is so fun to play with #tandem au #toh tandem au #anarchist au #toh anarchist au #the king and the jester #phill the demon king #collie the jester #phillip wittebane #toh phillip #toh collector #toh colibri #toh tandem #my art #my comic

433 notes · View notes

fictionalwh0ree · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! May I please make a Billie request where Billie realizes she has a crush on her best friend and starts acting nervous and shy around her, and Billie decides to go live one day and fans are asking about reader since she's usually always around and Bil's like "guys she makes me nervous cause I think she's super pretty" and basically admits her crush? Thank you 🥹🤗

cocktail night- billie eilish

summary: you and billie became fast friends, but the celebrity lifestyle sometimes interferes with your plans. you two finally have a free night and decide to have a cocktail night. with alcohol flowing through her veins, billie can't help but confess her crush on you to the world.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: alcohol/drinking, mild swearing

billie eilish was easily your favourite person in the world. despite having met only eight months ago, you guys had developed a bond unlike any other, spending any free time either of you had with each other. you knew you could spend every waking moment with her, and if you could, you definitely would. however, the celebrity lifestyles often clashed and while there were weeks were you could spend every day with each other, there were times where weeks would go by and you wouldn’t see each other. now was one of those dry spells where you hadn’t seen each other in about two weeks. you planned a little cocktail night together when you were both free. the idea had been your suggestion as the last couple of times you had seen your best friend, she had been acting strange. she was flustered and more quiet than usual. you blew it off as some weird way of coping with the stress and work that goes into writing and producing a new album, but thought that a couple cocktails might help loosen her up a little bit.

finally, the night arrived. you unlocked her door with the spare key she had given you and were immediately greeted by shark, who barked excitedly at seeing you. you bent down to pet him as billie ran down the stairs to meet you. with almost as much excitement as her puppy, she wrapped her arms around you in a hug while a large smile adorned her face. once she pulled away, you followed her to the kitchen.

“soooo, whats new?” she asked you.

“billie, we were on call just before i left the house,” you laughed before stuffing a couple chips in your mouth.

“but actually, this guy cut me off when i was driving and the guy behind me honked at me. i was so annoyed. the only thing that got me through the drive was reminding myself i would be drinking soon,” you vented.

“the thought of seeing me wasn’t enough to get you through the drive?” she joked, placing her hands over her heart dramatically.

“nope,” you smiled.

she kissed her teeth and looked away in fake annoyance, but the large smile on her face gave it away. she looked back over at you, your eyes locking, but only for a moment before hers dropped to the ground.

“i did miss you though, for real,” you affirmed.

“i missed you too,” she said.

“stop being so busy all the time,” billie joked.

“says you,” you laughed.

“you know, i think it would save you a lot of time if you had a muse to write about,” you joked, snagging a couple more chips.

“oh really? and who should my muse be?” she said, raising her eyebrow.

“me, duh,” you smiled.

“you’re already my muse,” she said, sending an exaggerated wink your way.

“aww, shut the fuck up,” you said, shoving her playfully.

“okay, come on lets get to drinking,” billie said, switching the subject.

you nodded in accordance and the two of you worked together, gathering everything you would need. as you prepared your cocktails, you downed a couple of shots each, leaving your prepared drinks, which were supposed to be somewhat aesthetic, a very ugly and delicious hot mess. you took your drinks into the living room and billie put on a movie. the two of you were already tipsy before having even taken a sip of your cocktail, and the movie had become background noise amongst your lively conversation.

before long, the two of you decided it was time to change into something more comfortable. thankfully, you had come prepared with matching christmas pj pants which you had bought earlier in the day. you told her to stay in her place, and she waited eagerly for you as you retrieved your bag. you pulled them out with a ‘ta da.’ she matched your energy, shrieking in excitement. she ran upstairs to get changed and as did you. once you were ready, you met her back in the living room, about to sit on the couch before the alcohol finally got to your bladder.

“i’m gonna go use the washroom quickly,” you told her.

she nodded, fidgeting with her phone. little did you know, she was going on live. the alcohol in her system making it seem like a good way to share your matching pyjama pants. she turned it on and within seconds, hundreds of thousands of people had joined. her live had just barely caught the end of your sentence, leading her fans to question where you were. the comments became flooded with comments along the lines of “is that y/n?” and “where’s y/n?”.

“yes guys, it is y/n,” billie smiled, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks as she slurred her words slightly.

“i came on here to show you guys our matching pj pants but she went to the washroom,” she continued.

her fans quickly picked up on the fact that she had been drinking and they had noticed the blush that got stronger with your mention.

“ouuuu she’s blushing,” one comment said.

“her cheeks r so red rn,” another one read.

“guyssss,” billie whined.

“who’s got you blushing like that 👀 👀” someone commented.

billie read it, mumbling the words slightly, before giggling.

“guys if i tell you this you can’t tell anyone okay?” she smiled, multiple fans agreeing and promising.

“y/n makes me nervous cause i think she's super pretty,” she confessed, giggling like a schoolgirl and throwing her phone. she shrieked into a nearby pillow, not fully recognizing what she had done. she picked up her phone hastily when she heard the bathroom door open. the comments were flooded with excitement and support from her fans, and of course, a lot of teasing as well.

“shhhhh, she’s coming back. remember the promise,�� she said, turning back to see you a couple feet from the couch.

“what’re you up to?” you said skeptically.

“nothing,” she said innocently, widening her eyes at the camera to remind them to stay quiet.

“uh huh,” you laughed.

“i went on live to show everyone our matching pyjamas,” she said.

“well show them then,” you said.

she set her phone down against her empty cocktail glass and got up, standing next to you.

the two of you backed up until the camera captured you two fully donning your matching pants and white tank tops. she ran back to her phone and sat on the couch.

“why are you acting funny?” you smiled at her, tilting your head.

“i’m not,” she laughed.

“okay billie,” you laughed back.

you sat down next to her, setting your head down on her shoulder, causing her to blush again.

“my parents 😫😫😫,” someone commented.

“this is too cute,” another one read.

“billie u need to tell her,” one said.

“what’s up with your comments?” you asked billie, looking up at her.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, looking away.

you shook your head and looked back at the screen.

“billie said you made her nervous because she thinks you’re REALLY pretty,” a comment read.

you barely caught it as billie pulled the phone up above your face.

“you guys are snitches byeee” she said, ending the live hastily.

you sat up straight, looking at her in the eyes.

“i caught that, y’know?” you said.

“they weren’t supposed to say anything,” billie mumbled, a shy smile playing on her lips as her eyes locked on the couch cushion below her.

you laughed softly.

“so whats this about?” you asked gently, trying to coax her attention back to you.

“you read the comment,” she said, voice just above a whisper.

“say it,” you said, lifting her chin with your fingers, “tell me.”

she took a moment to meet your eyes, your faces now only inches apart as you leaned forward.

“i think you’re really pretty,” she whispered, “and i think i might like you, in more than a friend way.”

you finally leaned forward, linking your lips in a tender kiss. she leaned towards you and you leaned back until you were barely upright against the armrest. she pulled away for a moment, looking at you with a cheesy smile.

“you’re so stupid, y’know that?”

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x you #wlw

621 notes · View notes

calamaroo · 29 days ago

Text

PROFESSOR NEMO THEODORE INKLING REDESIGN 🐙🌊📚

Design Elements :

Straight, but soft features

Skintone less vibrant, more gray

Look the most uncanny (or at least I tried)

Hair isn't actually hair --- it's long, fleshy tentacles (8 of them)

^ Tentacles and pink patch in brow can change colors to camouflage and/or show strong emotions (face turns red when angry, blue when sad, etc)

Eyes meant to appear colorless

Very squishable, soft skin

Some Personal Lore & Headcanons ! :

Used to live in the Mariana Trench, but moved to Sea Mound to have better access to the land, where he went to school and such.

He has two rows of teeth, one row of frontal white shark-esque teeth, and a row of sharp black teeth closer to his throat. Meant to look like the beak of an octopus (irl dumbo octopuses don't have beaks or squirt ink, but I do it for the rule of cool).

Can glow (again, irl dumbos can't do that, but it's for the cool), and similarly to his cousin, the colossal squid, he has a glowing ring of dots around his eyes.

He has so many siblings that he's lost count (irl dumbos can lay up to 200,000 eggs at one time)

Being a shifter from so deep in the sea (which is a rarity in my AU universe), he's prized by Shifter Hunters ( a concept developed with the help of one super dope @mildy-vibing ). One time in his youth (way before the Octonauts), he was captured by Hunters but was able to escape, but he now has a fear of going on land (where he was caught). He will go on land if he feels safe enough and/or has to, but prefers to with company, or just not at all. None of the Octonauts know about this, or much of his past at all, only Min. (Who I see as both his best friend and lover)

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

That's how you know I like a character, I make them creepy and give them trauma 👍✨️✨️

I love Inkling so much, I'm not normal about him, and I will admit it <3 🤭

#octonauts #octonauts fanart #octonauts au #calamaroo's art #calamaroo's au #octonauts inkling #professor inkling #he's my special interest character fr fr i love him so much <333

71 notes · View notes

arminreindl · 8 months ago

Text

Pachycetinae: The Thick Whales

Oh look I'm way behind not only on my work with wikipedia but also in regards to summarizing it on tumblr. Good thing, three of the pages I've worked on these past few months can just be summed up in one post because they are all one family.

So Pachycetinae, at the most basic level, are basilosaurid archaeocetes, the group that famously includes Basilosaurus and Dorudon. Reason I've picked up the articles in addition to my usual croc work, basically a friend and I noticed how lacklustre many pages are and stupidly decided to start revising all of Cetacea (pray for me).

Currently theres two genera within the group. Pachycetus aka Platyosphys aka Basilotritus, which is a whole mess I will get into at the end for those interested, and Antaecetus, which I'll just call "the good one" for now. Among those are three species. Pachycetus paulsonii (or Basilotritus uheni) from continental Europe (Germany and Ukraine mostly), Pachycetus wardii (Eastern United Staates) and Antaecetus aithai (Morocco and Egypt)

Picture: Pachycetus and Antaecetus by Connor Ashbridge

So the hallmark of Pachycetines, as the name would suggest, is the fact that their skeletons are notably denser than that of other basilosaurids. The vertebrae, the most abundant material of these whales, are described as pachyostatic and osteosclerotic. The former effecitvely means that the dense cortical bone forms thickened layers, while the latter means that the cortical bone, already forming thickened layers, is furthermore denser than in other basilosaurids with less porosities. The densitiy is increased further by how the ribs attack to the vertebrae not through sinovial articulation but through cartilage, so adding even more weight to them. Overall this is at times compared to manatees, famous for their dense skeletons.

Pictured below, the currently best preserved pachycetine fossil, an individual of the genus Antaecetus from Morocco.

Now there are some interesting anatomical features to mention that either differ between species or just can't be compared. For example the American species of Pachycetus, P. wardii, shows a well developed innominate bone, basically the fused pelvic bones. This is curious as one would think of it as a more basal feature, with derived whales gradually reducing them. The skull is best preserved in Antaecetus and has a very narrow snout. One way to differentiate the two is by the teeth. Pachycetus has larger, more robust teeth while that of Antaecetus are way more gracile and is thought to have had a proportionally smaller skull (in addition to being smaller than Pachycetus in general).

All of this has some interesting implications for their ecology. For instance, why the hell are they so dense? Well its possible that they were shallow water animals using their weight as ballast, staying close to the ocean floor. This would definitely find some support in the types of environments they show up in, which tend to be shallow coastal waters. There are some Ukrainian localities that suggest deeper waters, but that has been interpreted as being the result of migration taking them out of their prefered habitat.

Now while pachycetines were probably powerful swimmers, their dense bones mean that they were pretty slow regardless. And to add insult to injury, they were anything but maneuverable. Remember those long transverse processes? Turns out having them extend over the majority of the vertebral body means theres very little space for muscles in between, which limits sideways movements.

From this one can guess that they weren't pursuit predators and needed to ambush their prey. What exactly that was has been inferred based on tooth wear. Basically, the teeth of Pachycetus show a lot of abrasion and wear, not dissimlar to what is seen in modern orcas that feed on sharks and rays. And low and behold, sharks are really common in the same strata that Pachycetus shows up in. Now since Antaecetus had way more gracile teeth, its thought that it probably fed on less well protected animals like squids and fish.

Below: Pachycetus/Basilotritus catching a fish by @knuppitalism-with-ue

The relationship between pachycetines and other basilosaurids is wonky, again no thanks due to Pachycetus itself being very poorly known. Some studies have suggested that they were a very early branching off-shoot, in part due to their prominent hip bones, but in the most recent study to include them, the description of Tutcetus, they surprisingly came out as not just the most derived basilosaurids but as the immediate sister group to Neoceti, which includes all modern whales. Regardless, in both instances they seem to clade closely with Supayacetus, a small basilosaurid from Peru.

And now for the part that is the most tedious. Taxonomy and history.

Remains of pachycetines have been known for a while and were first described as early as 1873 by Russian scientists. To put into perspective how old that is. The material's history in science predates both World Wars, the collapse of the Russian Empire and even the reign of Tsar Nicholas II. Now initially the idea was to name the animal Zeuglodon rossicum, but the person doing the actual describing changed that to Zeuglodon paulsonii reasoning that it would eventually be found outside of Russia (something that aged beautifully given that Ukraine would eventually become independent).

And this is where the confusion starts to unfold. Because at the same time people unearthed pachycetine fossils in Germany too, which would come be given the name Pachycetus (thick whale) and be established as two species. Pachycetus robustus and Pachycetus humilis, both thought to be baleen whales.

Pictured below: Pierre-Joseph van Beneden who coined Pachycetus and Johann Friedrich Brandt who described Zeuglodon paulsonii. Beneden easily has the better beard.

These latter two names however were later rejected in 1935 by Kuhn and lumped into other species, whereas Zeuglodon paulsonii was elevated to a full on new genus by Remington Kellogg in 1936. For those curious, Platyosphys means "broad loin", in combination with the species "Paulson's broad loin" to the amusement of some friends of mine.

And then people stopped caring and we have a nearly 70 year research gap. Eventually Mark D. Uhen found fossil material in the United States, but interpreted those fossils as being part of the genus Eocetus, naming them Eocetus wardii, a move that many following researchers disagreed with.

Then in 2001 a new species of Platyosphys, P. einori, was named. It's bad, moving on. More importantly, we got the works of Gol'din and Zvonok, who attempted to bring some clarity into the whole thing. To do so they rejected the name Platyosphys on account of the holotype having been lost sometime in WW2 and picked out much better fossil material to coin the genus Basilotritus ("the third king" in allusion to Basilosaurus "king lizard" and Basiloterus "the other king", isn't etymology fun?). They erected the type species Basilotritus uheni and then proclaimed Eocetus wardii to also belong into this genus, making it Basilotritus wardii.

This move was however not followed by other researchers. Gingerich and Zhouri maintained that regardless of being lost, Platyosphys is still valid and can be sufficiently diagnosed by the original drawings from the 19th and early 20th century. And to take a step further they added a new species, Platyosphys aithai (weird, why does that name sound familiar).

Then Van Vliet came and connected all these dots I've set up so far, noting that the fossils of Platyosphys are nearly identical to those of Pachycetus. This lead to the fun little thing were "paulsonii", applied first to Zeuglodon in the 1870s, takes priority over "robustus", coined just a few years later, BUT, the genus name Pachycetus easily predates Platyosphys by a good 60 years. Subsequently, the two were combined. Platyosphys paulsonii and Pachycetus robustus became Pachycetus paulsonii (simplified*). Van Vliet then deemed humilis to be some other whale and carried over Basilotritus uheni, Basilotritus wardii and Platyosphys aithai into the genus Pachycetus. *Technically Pachycetus robustus was tentatively kept as distinct only because of how poorly preserved it was, making comparisson not really possible.

Then finally in the most recent paper explicitly dealing with this group, Gingerich and Zhouri came back, killed off P. robustus for good, sunk Pachycetus uheni into Pachycetus paulsonii for good measure and decided to elevate Pachycetus aithai to genus status after finding a much better second skeleton, coining Antaecetus (after the giant of Greek myth).

And that's were we are right now. Three species in two genera, but only one of them is actually any good. So perhaps at some point in the future we might see some further revisions on that whole mess and who knows, perhaps Basilotritus makes a glorious comeback.

To conclude, sorry about the lack of images, despite the ample history theres just not much good material aside from that one Antaecetus fossil and I didn't want to include 5 different drawings in lateral view. Obligatory Wikipedia links: Pachycetinae - Wikipedia Antaecetus - Wikipedia Pachycetus - Wikipedia

Ideally Supayacetus will be the next whale I tackle, distractions and other projects not withstanding (who knows maybe I'll finally finish Quinkana)

#pachycetinae #pachycetus #basilotritus #platyosphys #antaecetus #archaeocete #prehistory #paleontology #palaeoblr #basilosauridae #eocene #whale

165 notes · View notes

bethanythebogwitch · 1 year ago

Text

Wet Beast Wednesday: basking shark

I'm not feeling too motivated today, so, I'm going to discuss another animal that likes to take it easy: the basking shark. This shark decided it's not into that whole "hunt down prey and fight to live" thing and decided to become a filter feeder instead. It seems to have worked out too, as basking sharks can be found worldwide and are the second largest fish, surpassed only by the whale shark. There is only one extant species of basking shark, but a few extinct species have been discovered.

(image id: a basking shark seen from the side. It is a large, brown shark with a large head and pointed snout. Its mouth is closed)

Cetorhinus maximus is one of only 3 species of filter-feeding shark, the others being the whale shark and the awesomely-named megamouth shark. Basking sharks average 8 meters (26 ft) in length, but can reach up to 11 meters (36 ft). An average adult weighs around 4650 kg (5 tons). They have a typical shark body shape (which has led to them being mistaken for great white sharks), but the mouth anatomy is different. The mouth can open up to a meter wide and appears toothless, though it is actually filled with tiny, conical teeth that appear to serve no purpose in adults. The gill slits are longer than in most shark species and almost completely encircle the head. Like other filter-feeding fish, the basking shark's gills are also used to catch its food. It swims forward with its mouth open and as water passed over the gills, zooplankton and small invertebrates and fish will get caught in the gill rakers, from where they can be swallowed. The basking shark's favorite food is copepods of the order Calanoida, though they will also target other copepods. They can detect their prey with electroreception like other sharks. Because plankton is not known for being fast and adult basking sharks have no natural predators, they aren't known for being particularly speedy. A basking shark on the hunt moves at a blistering 3 km/hr (1.9mph). They can move in fast bursts of speed and occasionally can jump clear out of the water. It's not 100% clear why they breach, but it seems to have a few benefits. It can help dislodge parasites (which is a big issue for basking sharks. They are often covered with scars from lampreys and cookie-cutter sharks) and notably they breach more during mating season, so it may also be used for sexual display. Breaching and the resulting splash may also be used for long-distance communication and threat displays. I remember being a kid watching Shark Week and being told by the TV that great whites are the only shark species that breach and that was just not even remotely true. The basking shark has the lowest brain to body weight ratio of any shark.

(image id: a basing shark seen from the front with its mouth open. The mouth is very large and white on the inside. Its gill slits can be seen from the inside, looking like large slits in the side of the mouth)

youtube

(video: a basking shark leaping out of the water multiple times)

The name basking shark comes from their typical behavior. They swim slowly at the surface of the water while feeding, leading to sailors thinking they were basking in the sun. They were commonly called sunfish, but the name is no longer commonly used to avoid confusion with the ocean sunfish. While swimming at the surface, they sometimes spin around or swim belly-up. Basking sharks are migratory, traveling toward the poles in summer and toward the equator in winter. It was formerly believed that they hibernated over the winter, but it is now known that they spend their time in deep water. While migrating and in summer, basking sharks display social behavior. They will shoal in groups hundreds strong and can often be found in small groups of similarly-sized fish, usually of the same sex. Not much is known about basking shark mating. They are ovoviviparous, with eggs hatching internally and developing further inside the mother before the pups are born. Gestation is believed to take between 1 and 3 years and a few large pups are born at a time. Pregnant females are very rarely seen and they may spend their time in deep water. There is only a single reported example of a pregnant female being caught and it has 6 pups. The seemingly useless teeth may actually be used in utero, as the unborn pups likely feed on unfertilized eggs after their yolk sacs are consumed. This adaptation has been observed in other ovoviviparous sharks. While females have two ova, only the right one actually functions. The lifespan of basking sharks is estimated to be around 50 years.

(image id: a group of 14 basking sharks swimming in a circle, seed form above. It is believed that this is a mating display)

(image id: a juvenile basking shark seen from above. It can be distringuished from an adult by the snout, which is sharp and hooked)

Basking sharks are classified as endangered by the IUCN. They has historically been hunted for their meat, hides, fatty livers, and fins. While there is currently no commercial fishery of basking sharks, they are poached for their fins and have not recovered from overexploitation. Bycatch is an ongoing problem for the sharks. Multiple countries have enacted conservation efforts including legal protection and the enactment of protected areas where fishing is prohibited. Basking sharks pose no threat to humans. They also do not fear humans and have even been known to approach and swim around divers. Basking sharks also appear a lot in the pseudoscience of cryptozoology. I can go into why cryptozoology is a pseudoscience in more detail in another post, but its the study of alleged animals not recognized by science. Basking sharks show up a lot as globsters, unidentified corpses that wash up on beaches or are caught in fishing nets. Basking sharks are responsible for a lot of globsters due to the way their corpses decay. Large amounts of decay happen around the head, which can lead to the mandible bones hanging loose or detaching and the snout decaying to look like a small head on a neck. In addition, the claspers (reproductive organs) of male basking sharks are very large and can be mistaken for limbs. One likely example of this is the Stronsay beast of 1808. Described as a six-legged decaying sea serpent, it is likely that the legs were actually the jaw bones, fins, and claspers of a male basing shark. A more recent example is the Zuiyo-Maru plesiosaur (warning: picture below and it's gross). This carcass was pulled up by the Japanese fishing boat Zuiyō-Maru in 1977 and based on the pictures taken and the word of two Japanese scientists, was thought by some to be an example of a recently-deceased plesiosaur. While the carcass itself was thrown back overboard, some samples were taken for analysis and based on them and anatomical detains from the pictures, it was concluded that the carcass is actually a heavily-decayed basking shark. The "neck" of the carcass is the spine and brain case with the jaws having decayed and fallen off. Further anatomical details such as the presence of cartilage in the fins and body proportions support the carcass being a fin and do not support it being a plesiosaur.

(Image id: top: the Zuiyo-Maru carcass, a large, decomposed carcass hanging rom a hook. It appears to have a long neck and fins. Bottom: a diagram comparing the anatomical features of the carcass and a fresh basking shark)

#wet beast wednesday #basking shark #shark #sharks #fish #fishblr #fishposting #marine biology #biology #zoology #ecology #animal facts #cryptozoology #cryptid #zuiyo-maru plesiosaur #cw animal death #cw dead animal #Youtube

285 notes · View notes

rel124c41 · 10 months ago

Text

I FEEL SO WONDERFUL RIGHT NOW. THROUGHOUT HEAVEN AND EARTH, I ALONE AM THE HONORED ONE. vox

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

tags: blood and injury, protectiveness, strippers & strip clubs, assassination attempt, fallen angels, morality ambiguity, blood and violence, developing relationship, unresolved romantic tension, romantic gestures

word count: 6,646

i. You are a dog.

Not in the physical presence. Your teeth were soft squares instead of cutting fangs. When you got happy, there was no tail to wag back and forth. In the placement of paws, you have two hands that experience a galaxy of motions and sensations. Truthfully, you are far more superior to a mortal canine.

But here you are starting to learn that you could be a dog. In the not physical presence way.

“Are there going to be schedules for when I must use the bathroom too?”

If you want to be a dog, the first lesson is to learn to wait. You must wait all day until he returns and if he is late, you must learn to wait longer.

In a gliding stroke, you move your palm down to Vark’s first dorsal fin down to his second dorsal fin. Vark descends into dark water as you lift your wet hand out the tank. Droplets bleed off your fingernails and join back into the electronic blue. Is being a shark better than being a dog?

“Do you want an invitation? Because I feel if I did extend one to you, you would just refuse to go.”

“You cannot be so certain.”

“Why I certainly can, dear. I have actually calculated,” all electronics in the room besides his face start to spin in a rainbowing Wheel of Fortune circle and, after a beat, the three red numbers shine at you, 1, 0, 0, “that there is a hundred percent chance that you would have said no to an invitation.”

You blink your eyes which have not been closed in a long time. They burn and tear up like someone has squeezed lemon juice into them. Waterline soaking, you hum at his answer and press your cheek onto the edge of Vark’s tank.

“You cannot control where I go, Vox.”

“Come now, dear. No need to be so despondent. You would grow ill stepping into one of the sinner’s clubs. That is certain.”

“You are certain?”

“Wholly reassured. Or should I say holy? Another look at the statistics?” The rainbowing wheels start to move again.

“No, no,” you chuckle. You start piano-ing at the top of the water, hoping Vark or his hammerhead brother will come back up to the surface. Afterall, they will be your only company for the five, twelve, forty-three hours that Vox could possibly be gone. “I know that you’re right.”

“Then why the long face?”

Rearranging yourself, you finally look down from your platform. Piles of folders and paper cover the long conference table but the demon busies himself with a tablet. One claw slides and slides up the touch-screen, sometimes momentarily stopping to type something.

The room is emptied of everyone but you two. This is how most of your time is spent in VoxTech tower — a room with only you and him. You have been in rooms with Valentino and Velvette momentarily but you are kept out of sight more often than not.

Perhaps, you reconsider, staring down at the demon, you are more caged dove rather than dog.

“I need to be out,” and you do actually pull your lips into that long face he mentioned, frowning delicately. “And I have been out before! So I see no reason that if I want to come, you restrain me from coming.” You behaved those times too: blending into the dark and simply observing as per Vox’s instructions, trying to figure out the reason for your question.

A strip club. More importantly, Valentino’s strip club. It was an entirely new environment and perhaps your answer could be unearthed there. It was a zenith of sin. If you pulled back all the grimy skin and maneuvered the oil-black bones, you might find a heart within it.

Go where sin is. Find what you are lacking.

You were still so unsure what those words meant. They scrambled your brain like an electric current and you cried over the instructions more than once. Given a command, you obeyed. Now here you are in Hell.

“Please.”

Vox is unmoved by the polite word. Manners are lacking in Pentagon City but that does not necessarily mean they are missed. Still enamored with his work, Vox tuts, “that isn’t going to work on me.”

“You know I could walk out of this tower right now.”

It was entirely the truth. You never lied – an old habit that stuck with you. There were no deals tethering to stay like a leash and no blackmail that could command you to sit like a biscuit shaped treat.

“Oh yeah, and where would you go?” Vox asks, still distracted.

“Lucifer.”

That works on him.

His claw stops scrolling on his tablet. Applying the brakes to all his motions like a car when a child runs in front of it, Vox freezes at your words. You worry that the tablet might be broken in his grip. Underhanded tactics left a rotten taste on your tongue. You watch the flat-screened demon finally set down the tablet and look at you. Rewards are a palate cleanser though.

Gracefully, you stand up on your platform and start to descend. Irritated, Vox walks around the conference table and marches in your direction. “You wouldn’t daRE.” His voice breaks off into a hurricane of sparks and distorted frequency. “You wouldn’t risk it.”

When you two collide like an actor and actress embracing on a stage or knuckles on the offending face in a punch, Vox pushes one of those blue claws to your sternum. Enough where it hurts. You hold your face as his panic translates into frustration.

“Two hours. I stay in the shadows.”

“Thirty minutes. If I even see your face on one of my monitors, all of your privileges are revoked.”

“Two hours. I stay in the shadows; not a single camera or person will see me.”

All of his anger bubbles up and you watch it ripple over him in a single wave of static. When the tide is done, he negotiates, “An hour and thirty minutes. And I can get you some more of the boring sweets from Franklin’s and Rosie’s.”

“Normal, non-cannibalistic ones, you mean?”

“Yes, yes, that.”

How could you refuse such a treat? You smile a cryptic smile that Vox hates.

ii. You are a dog, but not a dog that protects.

This caused people around you strife. What is a loyal dog unless it does not show its fangs and attack its owner’s offenders? You could not move your body to kill any soul and you do not think you ever will be able to. This morality clause ruined your first impression with both Valentino and Velvette.

Which is why the limousine feels as cramped as a rat trap.

Hands clenched on your thighs, you try to avoid eye contact at all times. Down, your eyes observe the tiny crescents cut deeply into your palms. You are butchering your skin like a manic secretary snapping a paper-puncher into overdue documents. Hunched over like you have been scolded, you do not even give a reaction when Valentino purposefully blows red smoke a whole 150 inches so it curls around your face and up into your hair.

Accept and learn to swallow abuse. You only have to endure this another few miles then you can teleport into the club.

Right now, you try not to focus on the words Velvette had pierced at you before you and the trio entered the limousine: “Why are we bringing rubbish to this meeting? Vox, does your pet need to follow you everywhere?” Well, those words had not been the ones to cause you to wilt. Though the entire conversation was unpleasant.

Timidly, you shifted your weight. The chauffeur was of similar deposition as you, head bent down and one hand opening the door, he too shifted his weight uneasily. He probably moved more out of restive than worry.

“Velvette, did we not all agree that they can come and go as they please?”

The red-haired woman shimmers at the reminder. In the beginning, she advocated for tying you down with a contract, making you truly palpable to any of their whims. She shoves the shoulder of Vox and snaps her teeth in his face. “Yeah, but not on a big night like this.

“We’re making our footing as the Vees. You’re being interviewed by Katie Killjoy tonight. Valentino is debuting that spider pornstar on stage. This is a heavy social media hitter tonight. Are you really jeopardizing that so they can play Sherlock fucking Holmes?”

You would admire her for advocating for what she wants, if it did not affect your plans.

“I have to agree. A night like this would be busy. We will not be able to keep an eye on our little angel.” Valentino flirts his teeth at you in a rising smile. You shuffle your eyes back to the pavement. Why cannot they have this conversation in the limousine – you cannot enter unless the three overlords entered first.

At the mention of that forbidden word, Vox points at a claw up at Valentino’s face. “If they want to come, they can. Can you name one incident where they have jeopardized anything?” He turns his eyes towards Velvette, challenging her in addition.

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, the two trying to rack their memory. When they turn up empty, Vox whirls on his feet in a burst of New Year's sparkling energy. “See. Trust in me.” He moves into the space that you and the chauffeur have made by the door. Not once offering you a look of acknowledgement.

Still Velvette wants to make her displeasure known.

“They won’t protect us if something goes wrong. We provide them with protection and get what in return? Nothing?” Finally they all start piling into the limousine, a dance of limbs ending in claws and delicate legs. Demons do truly move like oil sliding into water. “There isn’t even a contract in place to ensure they won’t act out.”

This is a complaint you have heard numerous times before. You enter last, head bowed.

Contracts, contracts, contracts. The most saccharine that any of the three Vs had been around you was when trying to rope you into a contract. Hand-feed fruits like blueberries and kiwi slices, caressed in four arms in a lover, or dissected apart by sweet nicknames. Those failures of seduction always made you amused because they repeatedly did them. Did they really think that you would fall into temptation or indulgence?

All the gilded splendor of their offers were proven to be rusted as you already knew they all collectively wanted you on a leash. You earned trust by being benevolent. Yet, their complete faith you will never have. Honestly, you doubt the trio fully trusted each other.

Always ready to backstab. What a sad environment to live in. The phantom pain on your spine grows heavy and itchy. Grateful that everyone has climbed into the car, you take a seat. You sit behind the divider between you and the chauffeur. A position where all three of them could keep an eye on you. Valentino takes the opposing head of the limousine, directly across you with Vox on the right and Velvette on the left. Twin cat demons slink into Valentino’s lap and an incubus throws his arm over Velvette’s shoulder. A bunny demon leans her weight into Vox’s side.

“They’re obedient, not protective,” he reminds Velvette. “We place faith in them to eventually pay our numerous favors in turn while providing exceptional protection. Think back to when we were human and put trust in people. Try to resurrect that part of you.”

Velvette huffs and steam floods out her nose. Having seemingly lost the argument, she begins to turn her attention to her phone. Merciless in her preparation for this night. The Vees are still newborn fawns in a pasture of grown deer. This is a critical stepping stone.

That was multiple turns and roads ago. Now you are waiting and waiting to arrive at the club. Valentino had already sent the tallest twin to lounge against you. All so he had a show of you squirming in discomfort. Then, Vox grew agitated and sent an electric current through the bunny demon’s ear; she too sandwiched your other side, not out provocation but protection. Not that you would protect her. So you sit like a taunt ball, fingers clenching and just wanting to teleport away.

You yank your neck away when the yellow-furred cat starts to press kisses across the thin covered larynx, afraid the taste of your skin will burn her tongue. You expect no one to say anything until –

“Valentino, call back your cat,” Vox snaps, hyperfocused on his phone.

“Oh come now, they don’t mind~”Valentino grins slyly at you. “You don’t, right, love?” He forces a tiny pout as if your rejection of the cat demon’s affection will break his heart.

Vox sighs out in a fizzling tone. Still not looking up from his device, he instructs, “(Name), go on ahead. Remember to avoid people but cameras especially.” You do not need to be told twice, grateful for the escape. You straighten up and try to gauge the distance from the club along with a location free of people or cameras. Following the thread of allure, you think you finally find a spot until Vox interrupts.

“And (Name).”

“Yes?” You do not why but you think he sounds like he will wish you good luck.

“Only an hour and thirty minutes.”

“Of course,” your physical form disappears in a clap of gold light. Where leather had hugged the back of your spine, you fall into the embrace of sheets. Hair billows around and under you. The embrace of those two women were gone. Pink light finds you alone and lays itself over like a lover. Staring up at the ceiling, you murmur your reminder and last connection to your old life, “Find what you are lacking.”

iii. You are a dog. You were once a stray though.

When you arrived in Hell, like everyone else, you had no home to call your own. There was no benevolent greeting man to guide and explain this discord and its system. You were equipped with nothing, bare-backed and face streaked with grime. Thrown into the den of lions, you would have to figure it out by yourself.

You figured out one thing early on: the type of dog you were was not coveted. Standing in the middle of reds and blacks, your wide eyes watch as one then two then three citizens of Pentagon City peeled their sticker-like selves off the background of this unknown place and raced towards you, trying to kill you.

You ran until the bones in your throat hugged the last bit of oxygen out of you. Spent, you crashed into an alleyway and slept. Tomorrow, you will search like you were instructed to, tomorrow.

News spread quickly: an unknown angelic presence had fallen into Pentagon City. Not an exorcist angel – that was certain as they (you) were unarmed. Even without wings, witnesses had testified repeatedly that it was an angel that had landed. Stable on their feet, witnesses said, unlike how sinners collapsed like unwinged bugs to the brimstone below. An undeniable presence of holiness leaking from their pores. It was an angel, flightless and apparently defenseless too. Pentagon City had never been abuzz with such intense excitement before.

It made sense that the one who would find this angel would be an overlord with eyes on every street of Pentagon City, through every camera, television screen, and pinged cell-phone.

It made no sense that this overlord would offer you a place of sanctuary when you offered nothing in return.

It made no sense that this overlord would not immediately harm or sell you out to Lucifer.

It made no sense that this overlord would look upon you so kindly.

iv. You are a dog.

You bite.

A dog eventually does bite when provoked. In the past, under heavenly orders, you easily and proudly crunched your teeth into those who had made God upset. Being untethered to God now, you had forcibly put yourself on a muzzle. A dog must learn to act only when given orders.

This though, you agonize, sliding down from the bed, has been an awful time without orders. Sad eyes glance around the empty bedroom. You had been given an order long ago and clenched it to your heart like an asthmatic with their inhaler. At least you knew you were behaving when you were searching – which is why you glance forlorn at the room.

The bed is covered in billowing pink and white sheets, frills and all. A heart-shaped bed-frame rises up and kisses the wall. The only other object is a bare nightstand with three drawers. Should those be searched? You are starting to figure out the reason for this odd bedroom when you glance at the hued lighting of delicate crimson.

You trail one finger on the hopefully clean blanket and start to kill the angelic presence inside of you. Flickers of it usually came when you teleported so you had to do this first and foremost.

All species released a susurrating aura of human, angelic, or demonic energy. The stronger the individual, the more consistent and powerful this spiritual humming was. In Hell, you had to learn to bottle the raging riptides of yourself until the point where you felt you could fall into comatose. Snuffing that angelic presence felt like killing yourself, lowering your heartbeat to a lethal turtle pace.

Oh, how you hated being here. Perhaps you should not have bargained when the four angels came to –

The door clicks open. You jolt and turn towards it. Laughter dies down in a trickle as you all observe and gauge each other. Two demons – one male and one female, leaning amorously into each other. You make no move to move until the male says, “Ha, two for the price of one. Looks like I picked the right room. Lucky me.”

Your feet have never carried yourself faster before. My apologies “I was just rearranging the room for you. I’m not part of the entertainment.” You might not be hellborn or a sinner, but your naivety has long since vanished away, thanks to Vox’s guidance. “Enjoy the service,” you sing and try to slip past the pair.

“Now, now, surely I can have –” the hand going to touch you is drawn back, fingertips smoldering.

You reel back in your angelic presence, thankfully slipping past them. You are entering a labyrinth with cameras but it is entirely better than staying in a wine room? Champagne room? Agh, whatever Valentino called them. “Enjoy the service,” a cryptic and gentle smile pulls up your lips.

In an instant, you contort yourself to disappear into the shadows.

To be frank, you had been searching endlessly for what God deemed you were lacking. The specifics were so hard to nail down. Emotionally, physically, mentally, monetary, company, etcetera. Was a spiritual deficiency your ailment? God had peered at you and noticed a hole.

In one frenzied night, you shoveled holes all around the outside premise of VoxTech’s tower. You dug into the dirt and tried to unground the roots of your miserable brain. Vox took your soil hands, wiped them down with a wet rag, and then employed Public Relations to cover up the incident before someone gossiped about the enigmatic holes. Another day, you ventured into Cannibal Colony on your lonesome to dissect the organs laid upon the streets, feverish in your efforts. When you did succumb to an actual fever, Vox brought medicinal products to you.

The point was, you had been trying for a very long time to find what you were lacking. Success was not coming easily. As you snake through foggy ropes of cigarette smoke and tunnel past barely dressed sinners, you worry that you might never find what you need to reconnect with God.

Condemnation had enshrouded you for quite some time.

You dodge a security camera in the ceiling and continue on your route.

The outline rules of tonight are that no cameras or people must interact with you. Or at least to avoid interaction with a person beyond the time where they might be able to remember the characteristics of your clothes or the shape of your features. Shifting into a darkened corner of the bar, you decide you could safely spend thirty minutes here before relocating.

Do not order anything that is attention-catching, not too suspiciously bland or suspiciously expensive. (How well behaved you are.) You order a margarita and shift your attention towards the stage.

The horns on the gazelle-mimicking demon are gorgeous. The black ridges swooped elegantly and curled like a handcrafted blown glass-piece. Fragments of magenta light cover them. When she pirouettes, amethyst jumps to join magenta. When she dips her body, amber crawls sleepily into the raised bits of the black horns. It is a magnetizing sight that no other sinner seems to be appreciating.

Your original animosity towards sinful things had withered after such long exposure. You could not keep prejudice close to your heart forever. Beauty was in all of the created and fabricated world, you learned that it could even be found down below.

Admiring art did not bring back your angelic status.

You sit admiring the dancers that come and go. As they strip down to bras or boxers, you take measured sips of your margarita – not too fast nor too slow.

Around the time you order a second one, the Vees have arrived into the club. Silently, you watch the three trickle in. Valentino strides in first with that newly contracted spider-mimicking demon on his arm. Yet in front of all of them is the cameraman of Katire Killjoy, walking backwards as the crowd parts for its sinful Wise Men. Animatedly, Killjoy is walking side by side with Valentino, lips rapid in their motions and waving her microphone, flanked by Velvette and Vox.

You squeeze your lime into the clear liquid, observing.

They move like this: in the heart of the club, talking and positioned to stand in front of the stage; towards the bar as the spider demon poses for the camera; Killjoy moves onto Vox and their interview starts; they walk down the center of the club again, and then still talking, all six (the Vees, Valentino’s new contractee, Killjoy, and her cameraman) spill into a VIP room, out of sight.

It has been thirty minutes. You leave money on the bartop and find another shadow to cloak yourself in. Avoiding cameras is a difficult task when Vox puts them on almost every inch of the places he is affiliated with. Grace is an angelic trait so you manage well enough for another thirty minutes.

An anonymous and fleeting face to all who see you and invisible to the security footage always. When an hour has arrived, you decide to check in the VIP for what you are lacking. You snake past the bull-mimicking guards and find a corner to evanesce into.

Shadows are comforting like enshrouding wings. They blanket your skin and sleep on top of you lightly. You lose yourself in the comfort until – huh? A gunshot – those were normal in Hell but why so incredibly close?

“Vox!”

“Fucking shit!”

“Shit shit shit!”

Your eyes snap towards the cacophony. The scene bleeds into your eyes. Where Velvette and Valentino once lounged lazily on the leather couch, they lean forward with more curses falling off their lips. Pink spider demon reels back though on his seat, one leg up as if judging if he should bolt. Katie Killjoy is in the same pose, leaning back as her cameraman freezes. She stands across from Vox – Vox – Vox –

His screen is shattered. A piercing of black lodged into the bottom right corner of his screen. Something you can visibly see through. Spindly branches of cracks drift up his face to shock eyes. A few dark, lifeless fragments fall into his open right hand.

The assassin who shot him moves out of his own shadow and darts between Katie Killjoy and her cameraman. Imp, hellborn, relatively short but was obviously making up for it with speed. He raises his gun.

Your heart spikes. Your orders! What were your orders in a situation like this – Stay in the shadows. Stay in the shadows. Stay in the – you peel yourself off the wall like a sticker and teleport towards your G – towards Vox. It is instinctual and that worries you. The past turtle tempo of your heart crescendos. You explode into the scene with a bright gold clap.

When you arrive in the middle of the duel assassinaton attempt and interview, you are crouched on the ground, one hand pulled to the back of your spine, grasping at nothing.

The room's atmosphere twitches and explodes.

You had released too much of yourself and burnt half of the assassin’s face. Spiderwebs of charred flesh crawling across the left as blood leaks heavily through the cracks like a molten cake. His expression is stricken, arms wildly failing as he reels back from what had burnt him. No one has truly computed you in their mind besides Vox. Even though snowflake holes are starting to burn into the skin of Katie Killjoy and the cameraman, Vox is stunned instead of harmed. He knows that it is you he is staring down at but he cannot find it in himself to believe it.

At least, until he sees that cryptic, gentle smile on your face pointed towards the assassin, and with a panic snap of his fingers, Vox kills every electronic in Valentino’s club.

It all moves as slow as your usual subdued heart. A symphony of glass breaking rains over the air. The camera explodes into blue bursts, happy gold fireworks snow down from the ceiling as lightbulbs pop one by one, cell-phones hum and die into blackening coal. Night colors the stage in an instant. Shrieks splatter the messy painting.

You feel God in your ribcage, beating happily into your sternum. Your heart swells in its pace. Your soul pushes and pushes, reaching until you finally are able to grasp it.

In the nebulous, indistinguishable black, a glowing gold, pointed oval leaf lights up the scene. In a rapid move, the gold drags itself through black in one broad, crescent stroke. Losing its form and turning into a racing comet of light. As quickly as it came, it leaves.

Hand emptied of your spear, you reach out into the black and put two fingers into the new mouth you have just ripped open in the demon’s throat. The squish of his larynx and torn muscles are warm. Like sticking your finger into a fresh loaf of bread, pleasant and heavenly. In a static current, you send yourself – the essence of your soul – into the bleeding cavern and the assassin dies.

Flesh, bone, and skin explode in one quick burst. You leave no evidence of his existence. Incinerating him down into the ground until nothing remains but a black, smoking spill on the wood where your presence accidentally burned.

Softly, as if dazed or sleepy, you blink open your eyes. They water gently and you blink out the burn. Hm? Father? You stumble on your feet and turn, open-mouthed from your heavy breaths, to stare at the only light source available: the monitor of Vox’s face, where he is in a similar stupor as you.

You have been with them (him, after he picked you up from the streets) for three years, eight months, and fifteen days. Not once in that expanding time had you acted out in a hostile manner.

Croaking, you question the man, ““V̴̥͔̠̠̺̲͕͓̓ͅő̴̤̗̪͈̥̲͕̝̣͙x̷̡͍̳͕͖̙͓̭̖̩̺̞̀̓͛͋̔̕?”

v. You are a dog. Your owner means everything to you.

Your previous owner was your Father before … before you had started to lack something. Never once did you question him. Never once did you disobey him. Never once did you have the audacity to suggest anything to him. Unlike your younger sister Sera who once openly suggested the exterminations and your older brother Lucifer who once openly suggested giving humans free will, you remained tight lipped and docile. Gabriel begged for you to propose anything – even a new species of insect for the human world.

“Start out small, insignificant. Something that won’t even cause a ripple. Please, just suggest something for this meeting; we’re worried about you.”

You did not see your ideas as mediocre rather as unnecessary ideas. As a council member, you should have openly expressed yourself but your tongue blocked your words like heavy metal bars. You saw no reason to bark, just to listen and obey.

And this saddened your Father, enough where he sent four of your brothers and sisters to – Suddenly, you stumble in both your thinking and footing, falling into bed with Vox.

The flat-screened man groans under you, a shaken bundle of pained frequencies of varying pitches. His screen flashes an error screen and you wince in sympathy. Wildly, you search the ground for what you tripped on. With a shake, you manage to detach yourself from the tangled net of leather straps of a BDSM bondage top. Ugh, why is this the only room without cameras and devices?

With haste, you turn back to Vox who you had quickly dragged away from before Katie Killjoy could press you for questions. His breathing is glitched and uneven. His eyes are pinched in pain which worries you. Chest to chest, you lean over him and dig your hands nervously into pink and white billowing sheets by his monitor.

“Vox? Vox?” You hesitate on shaking him because you would rather not be striked in the face. But he grew so quiet and cold when you grabbed his hand and a worm named worry is squirming around in the apple core of your stomach. “Vox? Are you okay? Answer me please.”

A dog is useless without its owner.

Gripping the sheets tighter, you rattle them and plead, “Vox, do I need to call an ambulance? Do you want Valentino or Velvette here?”

“Don’t … Don’t let either of th-th-those fuckers see me right no-ow.”

The worm in your stomach stops writhing around at the sound of his glitched yet alive voice. With a sigh of relief, you push your lips into a tight smile. “Copy that.” You are grateful that Vox is finally starting to open his eyes. It takes a few blinks until neon blue pupils are locked onto you. Your gratefulness is ripped apart when he springs up and shouts.

“Get off me!”

Obeying, you fall off the bed. It is an entirely innocent position to you as you really have no sexual desire written in your code. To Vox however … you leaning over him, hands pinning him on both sides, and then to add whip cream to the shit-sundea, you had a knee up on the bed and your crotch resting on his leg … you sent an entirely different message into his hard-drive of a brain. Seeing the disgust in his eyes, you fall back at least two feet from him.

You two rest in ballooning silence, afraid to break it. Guilt twists your hands in painful circles. The technologized demon groans as he starts to slide up into the bed, rising up. He scans the champagne room you had brought him into and then intelligently moves to slide off the bed.

He stumbles and his screen flashes a worrying rainbow. With a yelp, you run forward and gently push him back to his feet when his knees give in. This time you will have to disobey and refuse to let him go. You tightly grip on his left arm and scan him over.

The crack on his screen is Worry Central for you. You have yet to see an overlord injured and Vox being the first one leaves an unpleasant feeling on your tongue. That must be your angelic roots, your sympathy is a bottomless bottle that can make rivers into lakes into oceans. Softly, you stare at him as he stares back guarded.

“You never answered my question.”

“You threw so many at me.”

“Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“An ambulance will attract the media’s attention. You were smart to get my attention to shut down the cameras. Someone will be able to fix me up at VoxTech.”

“But are you okay,” you press, frowning.

“I’m fine.” His claws are tightly gripping your arm as if he is afraid you will slip through like sand. You can feel that electric pulse of his dead heart and you see the nervous white flickers breaking off the top of his antennas.

“I am a seraphim,” you confess. You wince at your wording momentarily, “Was a seraphim. I know that you, Velvette, and Valentino had placed bets … though that was three years ago … on which type of angel I used to be. So, whoever said ‘seraphim’, um, congrats.”

His claws relax. The needle pokes he had drawn into your flesh start to paint five, delicate, cherry colored tears down your arm. You ignore the flame of pain to gently smile at him.

“Fuck, I had thought dominion angel.”

“H-Had you?” You laugh, smile growing.

“Yeah, can we just say you are dominion if they ever ask you. There was a lot of money and contracts riding on that bet.”

“Yeah, I’ll say dominion instead of seraphim.”

“Thank you.”

You are so shocked that Vox would use any manners that you accidentally rip yourself away from him. Oh, that is not good, you realize, watching the smile you had just gotten to grow delete itself off his monitor. Simultaneously, his body also seems to jolt away from you. Floundering, you say, “Sorry, I–.” You just effectively crushed that entire milestone.

There is a deep desperation in you to regain that short-lived kindness from Vox. He was kind sometimes. It was as rare and as brief as a shooting star.

“No, it’s fine.”

Vox banishes the atmosphere with a wave of his hand. His dismissal hurts. You blink as an awful thought dawns on you, had you been imprinting on him? Did his approval start to mean something along the way? Before you can chase the idea, he starts towards the door, a self-assured voice returning, “Well, I got a mess to clean up. The head of Public Relations will need to be called if Velvette hasn’t already done it. Ugh, that bitch Killjoy is going to be such a headache. Hypnotism should be easy though … cunt always on her phone.” He grasps the doorknob. “And Valentino’s going to bitch about the lights and those fucking tacky carpets. What a mess. Assassin should've been better at his goddamn job. And –” his voice scratches and he suddenly turns around, the blue outlined eye growing in size “-- and you’re a seraphim.”

You jump at the static in his voice. The back of your thighs met the disorganized sheets of the sex-scented bed. Should you have kept that secret – he is an overlord of Hell – that type of information is valuable even if you were a fallen seraphim – what was he going to use it for – what would he be doing with you now – is this !

“That makes Lucifer your brother?”

Should you call it off? After three years of companionship, was this the moment where you needed to run?

“Yes.”

“Then, haven’t you gone to him? Wouldn’t he – do you think he would kill you?”

Firmly, you shake your head. “My brother and I were close. If I was to go there, I am sure that I would be provided a home but –” You had considered leaving before but – “but if I were to live with him, he would shelter me away from Hell. I was told to find something here by our Father. I need to find that before I return to Heaven.”

This Vox knew. This Valentino and Velvette knew. You were ‘sent’ to Hell to find something that you lacked. Velvette had joked a fun personality was what you were missing and Valentino had hypothesized that you were lacking a proper sex life. Vox never guessed though, thinking it boring.

None of them had faith that you would actually be returning to Heaven.

You still dream of it vividly: the day of your voluntary fall from Heaven.

Four of your siblings were sent to severe your soul from God and end your life. Originally, even you were under the impression that you would accept it without resistance. You were a good dog. You had kneeled and accepted the order. When Sera had brought down at her claymore to cut your head from your body, instinctual will pulled you to teleport away from the swinging blade. You never expected it and neither did the four of your siblings.

To think you had a stronger will to live than to obey your Father brought you close to hysterical sobs.

With that boiling sensation under your skin, the sting of holding back tears inflaming your nose, you cut down all four of the seraphims sent to kill you. Into their red stomach, your blade had fallen and sliced. Never deep enough to kill but immobilize. You darted, leapt, swung under, jumped above, and all around danced in a hurricane of blades and thumping angelic power. Not one hit landed on your skin.

Upset that you were acting out, you stood in the aftermath and cried, “Father, how can I make you forgive me!”

“Go where sin is. Find what you are lacking, (Name).”

Cutting all six wings over your back was agonizing but it was no worse than hearing your poor little sister Sera, caterwauling after you, your name mournful on her lips as you voluntarily fell into Hell. And the closest you had felt to Heaven after three years of living in Hell was when you killed that demon this afternoon. To protect –

You risk a glance at Vox as he stares at you as if he is seeing you for the first time. “I – I just need to find what my Father said I was lacking. Lucifer would want me to stay though. I do not hold any hard feelings for my older brother and would go to him if I had to.”

“And you haven’t gone to him yet? After everything?” He talks like you are mentally impaired, disbelief surfing in his static.

You understand what he is referring to – the abuse from Velvette and Valentino, the underhand tactics to get you roped into a contract, and the hatefulness of Vox. All of it really should have repelled you away. You should have been gone from the Vees’ resisting grip before it had driven you to kill someone, hellish or not. Though, you did kill someone for someone.

With a gentle, angelic, almost cryptic smile that only seraphims are capable of, you say, “I happen to enjoy the company I keep.”

Vox short-circuits with a grumble, appalled at the very idea of you and your inane ways. You close in towards him. He turns his face down, running a clawed hand across it. Offering up the hand that he had previously pierced, you say, “And why have I not been banished? After everything?”

He does not take your hand, staring at it incredulously, and replies, “The company … yours is exceptionally less awful than Velvette’s or Valentino’s.” He lifts up his face, red hovering over a bluish-gray screen. Anger or embarrassment probably. “Though it is troublesome.”

When he walks out the champagne room to fix the numerous plights of the night, you follow, faithful and obedient.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox

133 notes · View notes

totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 2 months ago

Text

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 15/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

“Bought this place about sixty years ago, before the land developers moved in,” Kinard said when he noticed Evan rubbernecking as they drove past several what could only be described as mansions. The neighborhood wasn’t quite on ‘I’ll probably see a Hollywood A-lister walking their dog’ levels, but it wasn’t far off. “It’s got a decent-sized lot—the realtors have been circling like sharks for decades.”

Kinard pulled the vehicle up to a gated driveway and leaned out of the window to punch in a code on a keypad nestled under a decorative wooden canopy (that handily blocks all of the remaining light from the setting sun). Evan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when Kinard said they were meeting Grant’s coven at a private property of his…but it certainly wasn’t a charming, Craftsman-style bungalow surrounded by decorative rocks and meticulously landscaped native shrubs and plants.

The driveway was laid with wide paving stones, and curled all the way around the back of the house. Kinard pulled the vehicle to a stop on a covered parking pad in the back yard and turned the engine off, twisting in his seat to grab the bag of food he’d stopped to pick up on the way. Evan would have been satisfied with just finishing off the leftovers from the breakfast Kinard had bought him earlier, but the vampire had insisted he’d feel better with something fresh and hot—and so Evan now found himself being handed a bag containing two huge deli sandwiches—one turkey and one roast beef, piled high with every topping available—a container of creamy chicken soup, and a piping hot order of onion rings.

Seriously, either Kinard had completely forgotten what was an appropriate amount of food for a human to ingest in one sitting, or he was trying to fatten Evan up like a Christmas goose.

He couldn’t deny the smells coming from the bag were making his mouth water, though.

“I haven’t been here in a few months, so the place is probably pretty stale,” Kinard said apologetically as he led Evan to a patio door that opened up directly onto the parking pad. There was another keypad beside the door, and he punched in another code before pulling a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door.

Evan shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, I live with six other guys under the age of twenty-five, I feel like it’d be pretty unfair to white-glove your baseboards,” he said, and even as the words left his mouth, it occurred to him that that wasn’t true anymore.

Max was dead.

“Evan?” He looked up to find Kinard staring at him with a worried frown, and he realized he’d frozen in the act of following the vampire. “Everything okay?”

“All those people who d-died at the party,” Evan blurted, before he could think the better of it. “No one’s ever gonna find their bodies, are they?”

Kinard’s frown deepened, and he reached up to rub the back of his neck a moment. “Probably not, no,” he admitted quietly. He drummed his fingers on the top of his thigh briefly and then tilted his head. “Do you—look, if you want to call your roommates or something…” He trailed off, and Evan immediately shook his head.

“No, no, God, no. It’s safer if they have no idea what’s going on. My side won’t go after a bunch of humans and anyone on your side who recognized me thinks I’m with you.” He didn’t even know what he’d say to Connor, Jake, and the others. What he could say. Any information about what had happened to Max would just put his other roommates in danger. And sure, apart from Connor, he wasn’t that close with any of them…but he certainly didn’t want anything to happen to them. He shook himself slightly and followed Kinard the rest of the way into the house. “Your coven’s in a lot more danger right now than my roommates, you know,” he said, pausing in what turned out to be the kitchen as Kinard walked around the place and started flipping lights on.

“Alonzo will do what he has to to protect the coven,” the vampire said confidently. Evan wasn’t so sure that this Alonzo guy could do anything if the SoCal high coven was involved, but he wasn’t about to try and argue with Kinard. “Howie and the others will be here soon. You should go ahead and eat.”

Evan still wasn’t quite sure what to do with this…concern that Kinard kept directing at him. It seemed genuine, and his magic gave him no sense of alarm, no sense of danger whenever Kinard got close to him. Fuck, he’d had the perfect opportunity to escape at the temp agency—all he’d had to do was teleport himself back to the Jeep and leave Kinard to deal with the high coven cleaner team. The spell still would have knocked him for a loop, but over such a short distance and only transporting himself, it wouldn’t have taken him out at the knees like that. He could have gotten away. For fuck’s sake, according to Kinard’s friends, the SoCal high coven was going to declare him a rogue operating in the area, and blame Greenway’s murder on him and Kinard. Even knew intimately how dangerous it was to make enemies of a high coven.

And it wasn’t just him that would be in danger if he were captured. He had no illusions that his fake driver’s license would hold up against even the most cursory investigation, and if the high coven found out his real identity, found out that his power hadn’t faded, that he was innocent of the crime he’d been banished for…

There was a very real chance he could bring everything crashing down on his sister’s head.

He should have run when he had the chance.

All he’d had to do was leave Kinard behind to be most likely (however old he was, however much stronger he was for having taken Evan’s blood, cleaner crews were no joke) killed.

And he couldn’t do it. The very thought turned his stomach, sent his magic itching through his blood in a frenzy. He could no more abandon the vampire in a fight than he could attack him, apparently. It made no sense, and Kinard certainly wasn’t helping by being so damn…nice! This whole situation was becoming more dangerous by the second. The best thing Kinard could do for himself was to follow his coven master’s orders and just kill Evan. Or use his contacts with Grant and this Howie person to just turn Evan over to the SoCal high coven. Instead, he just kept—

Fuck, he didn’t want to admit what Kinard just kept doing.

He tried to distract himself from the churning mass his thoughts had become by digging into the deli bag, pulling out the order of onion rings that had been taunting him with their smell, as well as a chocolate shake. Sugar and carbs, the quickest fix for the headache that still pounded behind his eyes and the slight tremor in his fingers. His stomach clenched almost painfully at the scent of food, the energy he’d expended getting them out of the temp agency office begging to be replenished. He couldn’t help a satisfied little groan when the onion rings turned out to be as delicious as they smelled—piping hot and still perfectly crispy, salty and just the right side of greasy. It might not be the healthiest, but he’d always found hangover food the most helpful when he’d overused his magic.

He unwrapped the sandwiches and almost felt bad for the speed at which he was about to devour them—food like this deserved to be savored. He needed rest more than anything else right now, but he doubted there would be much of that to be had for a while. Kinard made himself busy moving around the house, peering out the windows and checking through cabinets, leaving Evan unguarded in the kitchen.

Not that he was going to try to run. Never mind what he could or couldn’t bring himself to do where the vampire was involved—whatever was going on, it was too big to ignore. Someone was trying to start a coven war between the vampires and witches of LA. That was the only explanation that made sense. A coven war, in a city that had more people than a lot of states.

No, Evan couldn’t turn away from this. He’d never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t do everything he could to help.

He took a sip of the milkshake and looked around the bungalow’s interior, curiosity piquing despite himself. The loft had so obviously been just a safe place to land, meant to be temporary. There was no sense of being lived in at all. This house didn’t exactly feel lived in either, but there were hints of personality. The place was, indeed, stale and a little dusty—but clearly Kinard had put a lot of care into it. The appliances and lighting fixtures were all modern and up-to-date, but all of the little bits of character that the Craftsman style was famous for had been carefully preserved. The elaborate built-in bookshelves were stuffed full of books, figurines, and pieces of pottery that made Evan’s fingers itch to pick them up and examine them. Even from across the room, he could tell most of them were antiques, if not outright ancient. The furniture was all well-worn and comfortable, piled with throw pillows and blankets, and several plush rugs were scattered over the hardwood floors.

It was…cozy. Homey. Not at all what Evan would have assumed a vampire’s lair would look like. Granted, this wasn’t Kinard’s main coven house, but still. He finished the onions rings and one of the sandwiches quickly, and reluctantly rewrapped the other, hesitating only briefly before heading over to the stainless-steel refrigerator. He couldn’t help a slight laugh when he opened it to reveal completely empty shelves, not even a bottle of water to be found.

“Something funny about my kitchen?” Kinard called from across the living room, where he was examining something on the carved mantle above the stone fireplace that dominated one wall.

“Why bother with appliances?” Evan asked curiously, setting his sandwich down on one of the bare shelves. “I mean, I get why you’d have, like, a washer and dryer or something, but what’s the point of a fridge? Or an oven?” He tucked his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie he’d swiped from Kinard’s loft and wandered a bit down the hallway, peering into the other rooms. “Or a bedroom?” he called over his shoulder. “I didn’t think vampires slept.”

“We don’t,” Kinard acknowledged, abandoning whatever he was looking at on the mantle and following Evan down the hallway. “Doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate a good blanket burrito while we’re binging Netflix. Memory foam mattresses? Best thing humans have come up with since vaccines.” Evan turned to look at him in disbelief, and Kinard held a straight face for a long beat, before his face crinkled into a teasing grin. It was, some part of Evan noted, a very nice smile. “If there’s one thing both our kinds have learned, it’s the importance of not standing out, don’t you think? Maybe I don’t need a refrigerator or a stove or a bed, but I also don’t need any reason for someone not in the know about us to wonder why the hell I don’t have them.” He waited a beat, and then the grin widened. “Wasn’t kidding about the memory foam mattresses, though. Those things are a miracle.”

Evan snorted, shaking his head slightly as he turned and wandered back to the kitchen. As he did, he heard Kinard pull up short behind him, and when he looked back, he found the vampire standing with his head cocked to one side as though he was listening to something. After a moment, the teasing and amusement drained from his expression.

“They’re here,” he said simply, digging into his pocket and pulling the flash drive Evan had recovered from the in between at the temp agency out. “Hopefully, we can finally get some fucking answers.”

He hated coming into contact with other witches. Hated it with a passion.

Not just because they always ended up looking at him with eyes that reminded him of his parents’: dismissive or disappointed or angry or cold. Not because of the words that they greeted him with, always reminding him that he was nothing now, less than nothing to the world he’d grown up in. You are not known and will find no welcome here. Depart now in peace, or be cast out in violence. No. No, he hated coming into contact with other witches because as long as he was alone, he could mostly ignore the gaping hole in his heart where his coven bonds used to be. Where Sally used to be.

Three witches stepped into Kinard’s house, and Evan had to grit his teeth as the strength of their coven bond washed over him, the currents of magic that swirled between them brushing up against the ragged emptiness that sat permanently beneath his breastbone now and making it ache. He stood by the fireplace, watching the witches with wary eyes and forcing himself to ignore how the magic they radiated made his own power feel so, so cold.

That was the worst part, he reflected dully, as the woman’s—this had to be the infamous Athena Grant—dark eyes zeroed in on him and her jaw tightened slightly.

In the presence of the warmth of a coven bond, he was always so starkly reminded of how cold his world was now.

“So. You must be the banished witch,” Grant said, her voice carefully neutral. Evan appreciated it. Neutrality was always a step up from disdain. He lifted his chin slightly, squaring his shoulders. Never let it be said that Maddie Buckley’s brother backed down from anything.

“That’s me,” he said, more confidently than he felt. “Evan. Uh, Evan Daniels.” He made no move to cross the distance between them or offer his hand. He had learned the hard way that most witches wanted absolutely no contact whatsoever with someone who had been banished. Greenway had been the first witch who had been willing to touch him since his banishment. Just an idle clap of his hand on Evan’s shoulder, a firm handshake when they met up. It shouldn’t have meant so much to Evan, but it had.

He’d…he’d really thought Greenway was different.

“Athena Grant,” the woman said smoothly. “This is my husband, Bobby Nash, and this is Howard Han.”

“Call me Chimney,” Han said, tipping two fingers to his forehead in a salute that might have been friendly, or might have been mocking. Evan couldn’t really tell. Evan darted a glance over at Kinard, who was watching them all with an unreadable expression. He’d always called Han “Howie” or “Howard.” Kinard just shrugged minutely, rolling his eyes a little.

“He won’t tell me the story,” Kinard said. Han—Chimney’s—expression turned a few degrees warmer as he glanced at the vampire.

Evan couldn’t help but glance around at the witches’ familiars, a fresh stab of longing lancing through him. He’d never met Greenway’s familiar—LA was a very cosmopolitan place, but it still would have been hard to justify a coyote in the workplace. None of the familiars currently exploring Kinard’s living room looked anything like Sally—none of them felt like Sally—but he could still sense the bond they shared with their witches, if only dimly.

Nash’s familiar had taken the form of a large basset hound, with kind brown eyes that seemed to fix on Evan as it took a lap around the room before flopping down in front of Kinard’s couch with a seemingly lazy huff. Chimney’s was a small brown bat that fluttered agitatedly around before lighting on one of the rafters above their heads, its eyes glittering from the shadowy recesses of the ceiling.

Grant’s…Grant’s familiar was the most impressive. And the one who reminded him most of Sally. Not in form. Athena Grant’s familiar was a large, gray owl that perched itself on the rafters next to Chimney’s bat and glared down at them all with sharp golden eyes. He could feel the aura of power that surrounded the familiar even with his deadened sense of coven bonds. Athena Grant’s familiar was old and powerful. Probably not as old as Sally, but definitely a long-time member of its coven. He tried not to make eye contact with it, not wanting to feel the judgement in its gaze.

“All right,” Kinard said suddenly, breaking the strange tension that had overtaken the room. “If the SoCal high coven is trying to blame us for Greenway’s death, we need to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later.” He dipped his head in a gesture that looked oddly like a bow when Grant’s face twisted at the mention of Greenway, and her husband sighed heavily. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Kinard continued, his voice not unkind, but not really all that sympathetic, either. “But from everything I’ve seen so far, it really looks like he brought it on himself.”

Chimney scrubbed his hands over his face before slinging the laptop bag he was carrying off his shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do for Jonah and Victor now,” he said resolutely. “And you’re right, we have to get to the bottom of this. Let me see this flash drive you picked up.”

“And I want details. Everything that’s happened since you two met,” Grant demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Evan pretended to be finding the contents of Kinard’s bookshelves fascinating—something that ordinarily wouldn’t be a lie, Kinard had some cool shit just collecting dust on the shelves—while Kinard filled Grant in on everything that had happened since he took Evan out of that party. Kinard spoke with the air of a soldier giving a debrief, succinct and emotionless, and Evan listened with half an ear in the unlikely event the vampire missed some important detail.

“How did you get out of the office?” Nash asked curiously. “Athena said you just said it was Evan’s magic. I don’t know many spells that a high coven cleaner team couldn’t counter…pretty drastically, at that.”

Evan winced and tried to hide it by bending down to run his fingers over a piece of pottery on the lower shelf that looked like it belonged in a museum. “Does it matter?” he asked, trying to sound casual. As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. He heard the barely-there whisper of an owl’s wings, and suddenly Grant’s familiar was perched on top of the bookshelf he was in front of, peering down at him suspiciously.

It very well may, the owl said coldly, if they had time to throw a location spell on you.

“They didn’t,” Evan said, habits that Sally had ingrained in him from the moment they bonded springing to the forefront of his mind. You didn’t lie to a familiar, especially one of the old ones, when they were asking about magic. He bit his lip and focused on the spines of the books in front of his face. Many of them looked as old as the artifacts that littered the shelves, several with writing on their edges that wasn’t in English. Idly, he wondered how many languages Kinard could have learned in almost a thousand years. “I teleported us,” he said reluctantly.

Chimney’s hands stilled on his laptop, the clacking of keys falling silent. Evan could feel eyes boring into his back and his shoulders tensed despite his best efforts to appear relaxed. When he risked a glance up at the owl, the familiar was staring down at him unblinkingly.

“You teleported two people? Without a coven bond?” Grant said, disbelief thick in her voice. “How far?”

“Look, it’s not like it was easy,” Evan hedged. “It fucking hurt! I just couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“He fainted,” Kinard added helpfully, and Evan whipped around to glare at him.

“Shut up, I didn’t faint!”

“Agree to disagree,” Kinard countered.

Evan huffed, and turned back to Grant and Nash—who were both watching him warily. Nash’s familiar sat up, regarding Evan steadily with its warm, brown eyes, and Grant’s owl fluttered her feathers.

“How long ago were you banished?” Grant asked suspiciously, and Evan physically bit down on his tongue to make himself be cautious with his answer.

“Not long, obviously,” he said, and prayed he was imagining the way Grant’s eyes sharpened.

“Mmhmm,” she said, “and where did you say you were from?”

“I didn’t,” he said bluntly, switching tactics. “Look, I don’t like talking about it, okay? Can we please just figure out what’s going on, so I can get the hell out of this city?”

“Fair,” Nash said, laying a gentle hand on his wife’s arm. Her eyes flicked to him and a silent conversation seemed to pass between the two. Eventually, Grant cocked an eyebrow at him.

“All right. But if your magic is still strong enough to pull off a teleportation spell, then there’s an easy way to get the high coven off our backs, at least. Buy us some breathing room.”

Evan knew what she was going to suggest before she said it, and his heart dropped, even as Kinard perked up, stepping closer to Evan. “I definitely like the idea of that. What do we have to do?”

Grant’s dark eyes focused on Evan again. “If Mr. Daniels is willing, Bobby can cast a truth spell. I’m authorized to take his statement as sworn. It’ll be enough evidence for the high coven to call off their declaration.”

“Wait, you can do that? Why the hell didn’t you suggest that in the first place?” Kinard demanded.

“I didn’t realize his powers were still that strong,” Grant said evenly. Evan thought he was going to be sick. “The spell only works on witches—it needs a willing subject, with magic of their own for the spell to connect to. Assuming everything you told us is the truth, I can clear you both of Jonah and Victor’s murders right here, right now.”

“Well shit, perfect!” Kinard said, clapping his hands together as he turned to Evan, a relieved smile on his face. The smile faded immediately when he caught sight of Evan’s expression. “Evan?” he asked, his brow starting to furrow.

His heart starting to pound, Evan could only shake his head. “No,” he said, not daring to look over at the vampire. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not willing.”

#911 abc #911 tv show #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #buck x tommy #tommy kinard #bucktommy #mywriting #shameless self promotion #firepilot #firebeast #tevan #kinley #bucktommy fanfic

30 notes · View notes