#deep sea creatures need love too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peachesofteal · 5 months ago

Text

Deckhand Simon Riley / female reader 18+ mdni, dubcon. Simon is very no good terrible and kind of mean. Predator/prey. Excessive alcohol consumption, manipulation. Spitting, size, praise, a little bit of breeding/daddy - kink.

Simon arrives to town on the last summer wind.

It’s cold for the shoulder of the season. Not the coldest he’s ever felt, but cold enough his scars become rigid, inflexible swaths of skin littered across his body pinching at every hinge.

He can already feel the burn. The stretch and strain of his upper back, his arms, his legs. Can already feel the weight of the pots, sharp metal slamming and crashing, teeming with things that look more like creatures than they do delicacies.

Hook. String. Pull. Block.

The people stare at him, wide, wind whipped eyes peeking out underneath knit wool hems, gagged and confused, whispers passed back and forth like children with a lolly.

Did you see him?

Look at the size of ‘im-

Is that Ernest’s new deckhand?

Fucking monster of a man, I tell you.

He keeps his head down. Eyes fixed to the floor, old instinct still churning in his blood, shoulders stiff and squared. Captains are all the same, whether on land or at sea. Says “yes sir” as Ernest sizes him up, asks about his previous two seasons, and then sends him away with a perfunctory nod and a departure date.

The Old Man leaves in two weeks. See you then.

King crab fishing is the closest he’s felt to having a foot in the grave since he was actually in one. Opponents in a firefight are known, predictable. Monsters of their own kind, but ones he knows intimately. Minds of a killer, the lot of them, a certain subset of consciousness nearly shared.

The ocean shares its mind with no one. Its secrets are its own, buried in the briny deep, never to be revealed.

And the Bering-

The Bering is its own horror. Savage and cruel to those who would tempt it, willing to swallow anything offered and pull it down into fathomless black water. Cold enough to kill a man in seconds. Violent enough to toss them all to sea.

He’s seen it happen. More than once. The environment is uncontrollable, unpredictable, lethal, and the work is arduous.

The company is tolerable at best. The season is short, yet taxing. Deckhands live dozens of years, in a few short months. They stare off into nothing, watching the horizon, long gone look in their eye.

Still, he sees familiar flickers in them, same firelight he’s seen in the many men he’s killed, or worked alongside of.

At the base of it, these types of men, his kind, are all the same.

Rabid and dangerous in packs.

The cove is nearly derelict. The town spills up into white and black spruce, houses nestled in the grove of tree trunks twice Simon’s size, all doors facing the warped and tilted wooden slats of a long-loved dock.

There isn’t much here, a small grocery, a liquor store, a petrol station and of course-

A pub.

Aptly named The Wharf, the bar is as old hat as they come, seedy and sticky, sunken into the soft earth. It’s everything he’s come to expect in a fishing town this far up north, where the season is variable, and the money is too. Dark wood from floor to ceiling, over polished oak horseshoe, neglected stools and booths. Everything creaks, and The Wharf is no exception. The pub, the dock, the trees. Wind whistles and bark groans, a rasp you can only find here, in these places where time is too slow, and the world forgets.

There are rooms above the bar, usually rented to his ilk, deckhands biding their time, greenhorns rattling with excitement. They all filter in weeks before the season opens, and when he checks into his, he’s not surprised when the woman at the desk tells him he’s got the last one.

There are only ten, after all.

The Wharf’s side door swings open in a gust of blistering wind, yet not a single person turns their head.

None except him, though he doesn’t need to look to know it’s you.

He can smell you. Can feel you, clear across the floor. Sea salt and lavender, it whirls in your wake wherever you go, and when he lingers on the sidewalk outside of your little workshop, he swears he’s standing in a cloud of it.

“If y’need jackets, bibs mended from last season, there’s a place on the corner, next to The Wharf. She’ll get ‘em done before season.”

You’re the bloody seamstress. The tailor. Nimble fingers twisting and tying, threading and looping inside a faded light blue storefront, working into the small hours of the night. Your workspace is small, and overflowing with bright orange polyurethane covered clothes, long lengths of neoprene, socks, shirts, wristers. A mass of work, it seems, one that keeps your light on after all others have gone dark.

Except The Wharf’s.

It’s the second time he’s seen you here.

He doesn’t count the times he’s seen you without you realizing it. Doesn’t count the times he’s finished a cigarette on the street at the perfect angle, a solid perch to peer right in through your window. He doesn’t count the times he’s watched you from The Wharf’s one dark window, when you step outside to take a long breath of air, stretching your back and shaking your arms out, rolling your head in a circle-

and baring your throat for the slaughter.

The first was days ago, close to zero hundred, when you swung in to settle on a barstool with your back to the door. You look like you’re made from spools of silk, even underneath all of your winter layers, big coat, knit wool hat. There’s a coruscated dapple in your eye, one that manages to shimmer even in the darkest shadows of the bar, voice saccharine as he’s ever heard, dipping into a melody as you go back and forth with the bartender.

He hears it now when he closes his eyes at night, awash in a sea of bourbon, cigarette stench sunken into his skin. A gentle rhythm, a syrupy voice, saying his name.

Screaming it.

You catch his gaze across the bar. Catch him watching you, peeling you, picking you apart, but you say nothing. Blink a few times, glance down at your beer, pretend to busy yourself with something else. It’s not a flinch, but close enough to it.

He knows what you see. What you should see.

A monster. Licking his lips at a girl. A fire breather bearing down on top of a princess.

If he crossed this room right now and yanked you off that barstool, who would interrupt? Intervene? They’re all men of the same vein, born from different battlefields. The rules of engagement become status quo, regardless of whether you’re baptized by the Bering, or by fire.

Rabid, dangerous in packs.

Eleven days left, and he’s finally found something worthwhile to occupy his time, besides lurking in the dingy corners of The Wharf like an old, decrepit sailor.

You.

You live above the shop, an old fire escape leads to a wooden door with a big window, one covered by a curtain hung from the inside.

The Wharf’s rooms have a fire escape too. A metal catwalk.

Metal. Who’s the idiot who decided metal anything would be good in a place like this? Iron nearly turned red, rusted to all hell. One shift, and it all falls down.

He takes his watch there, at night. A gargoyle at his post, waiting for the flicker of your kitchen and bedroom lights, shapes and shadows dancing behind the thin drapes, a ballerina on stage for the masses.

For him.

He brings you his gear. Looms over you at the desk where your sewing machine is grinding out an industrial stitch thicker than what he’s seen on parachutes.

“H-hi.” Hi. Aren’t you cute? A little lamb, alone in the woods.

He nods. Stays silent. Enjoys watching his catch twist herself up on his hook.

You glance at the noxious orange pieces draped over his arm, and half timidly reach.

“Need those patched? Er, like… have any tears or rips?” Not really. He keeps his gear in good condition. Throws out his underclothes after every season- can never get the stench of fish out of em, but his outer gear is well cared for.

It almost pained him to rip them apart last night.

“Simon.” He gives it expectantly, jogging your manners to the forefront. You have the good grace to look embarrassed with how fast you spit out your own name.

“Bibs have a few holes. Big ones. Jacket’s got a rip under the armpit.” You reach, tiny little fingers stretching across the barren space between him and you, and he lashes down the urge to snatch your wrist out of midair and bring it to his teeth.

Do you taste like lavender? Sea salt? Is your cunt briny like the Bering, slicked sweet and brackish?

“Okay, well, I should have them done before-“

“You better.” You startle, eyes wide and confused, before they find your feet, cowed little girl before an awful man. “Jus’ need em, is all.” He softens the approach, not willing to cut you down just yet (that comes later), and you respond well, perfectly, pushing your glasses up onto the bridge of your nose with a genuine smile.

Live bait on the line. Set, cast, hook.

“Got it.”

His control is becoming a house of cards.

You’re in The Wharf earlier tonight, asking Jimmy for a double, whiskey over ice and nearly to the brim of a rocks glass. Just one, you say. Neck is sore as hell.

He maintains a distance. More inclined to watch you devolve, fascinated by the way you unravel with each sip. Lightweight. Figures.

You pull your glasses off and rub your temples, hopping off the bar stool with a quick word over your shoulder, a request for another drink. “Just goin’ to the bathroom.” You explain, walking away with a hardly detectable sway in your step-

directly into the side of the wall the bar juts out from.

Someone, a woman who never so much as looks up the entire time she’s here, furrows her brow at where you’re rubbing your forehead and tsks.

“Your glasses!” You turn, embarrassed, downright mortified, and sheepishly slide your fingers across the bar until you find them.

“Oh, right. Thanks Laurie.” Laurie, says nothing. Not until you’ve turned away and almost disappeared into the bathroom. Then, she mutters to herself, into her fresh pint.

“Damn girl is blind as bat without those things.”

He buys Laurie another round before he leaves for the night. An eventual thanks.

"Can I bum one?"

His neck nearly snaps. Where did you come from? You're timid in the mouth of the alley, lichen washed red brick flanking you on either side, your hands folded together at your navel.

"Little girls allowed to smoke 'round here?" Now your neck snaps.

"I- I'm not a little girl, thank you." It's like you're trying to turn your nose up at him, but he's a giant above, and it's hopeless.

"Sure you're not." He plucks the cigarette from his lips, and then holds it out to you. Your breath hitches, top teeth digging deep, an instigation, invitation. His hand whips forward, too fast for you to realize, gripping your chin, pressing his thumb into the flesh of your bottom lip. "Want a drag or not?"

"S-sure." He's got your cheeks squeezed together, just so, enough that the fat of them crowds your mouth and makes the s sound more like a whistle.

He doesn't let go as he feeds it to you, stopping just before the filter touches your teeth. "Go ‘head then." You draw, deep, eyes closing as that first hit of nicotine rushes your blood, undoubtedly making you light headed, and his cock thickens with dreams of his fat head pushing between your lips instead of this cigarette, dreams of you split open on him with a soaked pussy, neck bared for his teeth.

Hook. String. Pull.

He squeezes himself overtop his jeans, heavy weight pulsing between his legs, a dangerous affliction growing larger and larger with each second. He could rock against his palm, right here in front of you, and it would feel worlds better than the last measly meal he had, months and months ago. Nothing will compare to you, he already knows.

You see it all. Frozen like a deer in headlights, your lips part, transfixed, confused. Will you run? Will you shout? Will you tell?

"I uh, I better... get going. Have a lot of work t-to finish." Good girl. He nods, letting go of his aching cock, slipping the cigarette back in his mouth, searching for even a hint of lavender and sea salt lingering in the filter.

"Goodnight."

Four days left, and his gear is finished.

You leave a message for him, letting him know he can pick up whenever is convenient. During shop hours. Cash or card accepted. What a dutiful business owner.

You’re in the back when he arrives. It’s long past close, but no one locks their doors here. Anyone could walk right in.

“Be right out!” You yell, slightly muffled. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t opt to give himself away, just waits at the front desk, where a mug of fresh coffee sits, still hot, still steaming.

Desperation for claim, for possession, claws up his throat to his tongue, thrashing in a fit until saliva pools in his cheeks. He sucks through his teeth, rolling the pockets behind his molars forward, pulling as much as he can, his soul even, up and out, landing it in a glob on the surface of your evening caffeine fix.

It sits there, tiny bubbles and all, an island in endless ocean, unable to break apart or disappear. Blatant. Obvious.

So, he sticks his finger in it and gives a quick swirl. For good measure.

There’s rustling in the back, and then you pop through the doors, glasses sliding to your nose. “Hi! So sor-“

You grind to a halt, spine curling forward, as if you’re trying to protect your precious organs from his fingers, avoiding his grip around your ribs, his urge to rip you open and devour you whole.

He smirks. “Got a message my gear is done? Nick o’ time.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s done. I’ve got it, one sec.” You fidget, gun shy and shuddering, flitting away on the turn of a heel, eager to escape where he hulks in front of your desk, no doubt.

When you come back, you’re a bit more put together. Polished. Glasses in their rightful place, you place his bib and jacket on the counter unceremoniously, lips pressed together. He hands you a wad of cash, and you count it carefully, keeping your eyes pinned on the bills as he inspects the stitching, taking stock in your sharp attention to detail. “Like new, great work. Thank you.”

You go doe eyed, demure, flattered, and then confused, trying to reconcile this man, this version with the one from last night. “T-thank you.”

It all comes to a head, two days out.

There’s a party of sorts, a gathering. Entire boat of deckhands crammed into The Wharf, plus others, town residents and even some from the next over.

Too many, for Simon’s tastes.

Too many, except for one.

You’re crammed between the wall and someone’s shoulder, occasionally saying hello, accepting thanks for work well done. You keep your idle hands busy, accepting drink after drink, a shot of tequila, another of rum.

You’re even dressed up, cute as a button. Sweet as cream, honey on the hive.

Your hiccups ring out from across the room directly to his ears, chest shaking with each one. The bar is at max volume, shouting, cheering, chattering, but he can hear you crystal clear. Can hear the high pitch echo of each one, can hear your throat bobbing, the long exhale singing from your nose after trying to hold your breath. “I need some air,” you say to your neighbor, “be right back.”

He downs the last of his bourbon, subtle fire in his throat, and then makes for the back door.

Your arms are crossed, leaning against the brick with your head tipped back, eyes closed. Wearing a knit sweater, a skirt, and wool leggings, for fucks sake. “Dangerous place to be, a little girl all alone.” Your eyes snap wide, startled.

“Simon,” you don’t stutter his name, liquor easing your nerves, sweetening you up to a slaughter like the little lamb you are. Your ability to assess risk is long gone, and when you peek over at him, head rolling, the usual skittish haunt of your gaze is nowhere to be found.

“Out for a smoke?”

“No, just some fresh air.”

“Poor lamb. Drink too much?” You shrug, steadying your balance against the wall. Trying to appear more with it than he knows you are.

He stalks closer, closer than you should be comfortable with, but you only sigh, wilted as the grass withered by the impending winter.

He tests. Probes. Brushes a hand against yours, watches how you tip a little to the side, his side, eyes glassy between hard blinks. “You’re so sweet, little lamb.”

“Oh,” you make an o with your lips when you say it, like you’re suprised. “T-thank you.”

“Do you taste sweet, you think?” You jolt, but he handles your hip like he’s afraid you’ll fall, though you have a better grasp on your balance than you think you do. “Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.” It’s a race now, one you’re desperate to catch up in, but falling behind faster and faster.

Hook. String. Pull.

“Open your mouth.” You do, on instinct, and he hums with approval. “Good girl.” He sticks his thumb inside, depressing your tongue, shoving back and to the side, hard enough he stretches the corner of your lip, and then tugs.

Hooked.

You’re too drunk to process it, not really. Enflamed with a rollercoaster of shock, shame and disgust. But beneath it all, something else rises, breaks at the surface for air. Desire.

He doesn’t waste the moment, hands splayed at your ribcage, shoving you back against the wall, your shoulders slamming into it. He’s on you, rabid, wolf at the throat of a lamb, tongue forcing its way between your teeth without permission. You jerk, tense, muscles shifting like you might put your arms up, but instead they fall limply to your sides, and you moan.

String.

The length of his torso, chest and stomach press against you, hold you in place, allowing him free rein to wrap his fingers into the fine fabric of your wool stockings and rip. The shocked little gasp falls from you as expected, but you’re too far gone to fight. Prize on the line, he tugs them aside and strokes over your folds, already wet for him, dipping into your cunt, tight and fluttering around his invasion.

“Si- Simon- stop.” You push at him shoulders, trying and failing, squirming and whining. He shoves deeper, one nearly too much, two an impossible fit.

“Why would I stop when you’re so wet f’me little girl?” He presses the swell of his cock against you, your walls clenching at the contact, and he chuckles darkly. “Gonna say you don’t want this, sweet lamb? Gonna lie when this little pussy is dripping all over my hand?” You’re scandalized. Ripped from your comfort and thrown ashore, a fish out of water, gasping on land. He breathes into your neck, biting and sucking his way back up to your mouth where he distracts you for a brief moment, long enough to tip your balance to the side, a stutter step disrupting your focus, and delivers an opportune strike to snatch your glasses off your face so fast you flinch backwards in the confusion. He manages to cup your head just in time and cushion its bounce against the brick.

Pull.

“My glasses.” Your voice trembles, and he’s surprised to feel a twinge of guilt. Don’t worry little one. He’ll pull you apart, but he’ll put you back together. Eventually. “Simon… my- my glasses, do you see my glasses?”

“No, sorry. It’s too dark, sweet thing.” You tear up, horrified, and they spill down your cheeks, fat and wet, leaving tracks all the way to your neck.

He licks them with glee.

“I need to-“ he pays you no mind, returning to his work, his meal, shoving your knee to the side and lifting you up the wall, until the smear of you cunt weeps all over his jeans. “I need-“

“Know what you need, little girl.” He shreds your leggings wider, tearing a hole big enough to expose your thighs, your lower belly. Later, when he has you pinned to his bed, he’ll eat you until you can’t speak or see, but for now, bludgeoning the entirety of his cock into this too tight space will have to do.

You hiccup again. It’s too sweet, rots his soul. He wonders if you’ll be here, when he gets back. If you’ll run, or if you’ll wait. Maybe he’ll give you something to remember him by, knock you up, nice and fat by summer, heavy with a piece of him. Maybe.

He slides his zipper now, pulling the weight of his cock free, sliding the head through your slit as you look down. You can’t see, how big, how thick, how impossible it looks, head trying to push into you, your body unyielding, spasming as he batters his way inside. You claw at his shoulders, spitting out a half moan, a half sob, and he taps his forehead to yours. “It’s too m-much, too- hurts-“

“Don’t fight it. You’ve got plenty of room, be good.” He soothes with a lie, probably. You’re so tight he can feel you in his bones, restricting, bearing down. He pushes, heat and slick closing in around him, making him dizzy, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Fuck- that’s it. Feel that?” He drags your hand to the root of his cock, splaying your fingers around the base. “Feel yourself splittin’ open on me?” You moan some nonsense, some sort of garbage mixed with a yes, and a no. “Perfect little pussy, stretchin’ for me, yeah?” Only for me.

He fucks you so hard you’re shoving higher and higher up the wall, cunt choking him with each thrust, your fingers twisted in his sweatshirt, clinging on for dear life, a sailor in a storm. Lost in the fuzzy, blurry world without your glasses, he gives you a port in the dark, a lighthouse calling you home. He spreads you wide, rolling over your clit, pinching, thumbing, finding the rhythm that makes your buzz, hips starting to jerk, swallow him up.

Unbelievably, you tighten up even more, eyes slamming shut, and he holds you steady at your hips, driving deep, mouth on your ear. “Gonna be good and cum? Gonna show daddy how good you can be and cum all over his cock?” You gasp, and he drags you to it, pushes you over, rolls your shoulders back against the brick when you curl forward, pussy so tight it tries to force him out. You scream with it, but he covers your mouth, palm to your tongue, elbow at your collarbone. He’s relentless now, shoving himself until there isn’t a space inside you not filled with him, as fast as possible, body like a ragdoll. When he’s on the edge, teetering so close, he pinches your cheeks. “Open up, little lamb.” Your brow furrows, but partially blind, you’re more trusting, and you do as you’re asked. His hips piston, a rough saw, chasing, sprinting towards the end, heat climbing down his spine and across every muscle until he’s shoved so deep inside you he thinks he’s in your belly, and rears back, sucking a glob of spit to his lips and launching it into your mouth, just as he floods your pussy with cum. He jerks inside you, slow strokes, and you hang limply against him, fucked out, still drunk, docile as a lamb.

You hiss when he pulls free and lurch forward against his chest, not able to stand on your own. “C’mon, let’s get you a bath.” He murmurs into your hair, and you protest weakly.

“My glasses.”

“I’ll find ‘em.” He vows, patting their safe spot in his front pocket. “Don’t worry.”

#peaches writes #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #writing about the ocean and ocean adjacent things really does it for me #and I wrote half of it on my phone so mind the mistakes thanks #simon spits in your drinks agenda #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #unedited

2K notes · View notes

strange-creature-222 · 10 months ago

Text

OUUGHHH THIS IS MAKING ME THINK SO MANY THINGS OH MY GOD/POS

@lilywithcatears you should read this pls pls pls

I found myself thinking of Jekyll today and wondering if it causes him physical pain to have to fake a smile. To what extent is Henry Jekyll, pleasant doctor and sophisticated upperclass gentleman a painful mask he has to wear and does the discomfort ever feel physical?

I was at the local aquarium today (this is the perfect time of year to go because it's open but there are no tourists so it's never crowded and admission is cheap) hanging out and doodling on one of the benches while I watched the fish. I had on headphones to listen to an audio book and to provide a buffer between myself and anyone who might try to talk to me and I had been looking forward to relaxing for a couple of hours when a family walked up and the father waved his hand in front of my face to get my attention. The minute they started asking me questions about what I was drawing I was filled with what I can only describe as intense dismay.

Obviously the family being present isn't in of itself an issue, it's a public aquarium, it's aimed at families and parts of the aquarium are geared specifically at children, but the family noticed me drawing and stopped to talk to me.

I reiterate that this was not something they did wrong, they were just being friendly, but I was really not prepared to have a conversation and I found the whole ordeal to be...well an ordeal. They were interested in what I was drawing (a sketch of Henry Jekyll because he's been on my mind off and on) and just the thought of having to explain who this character was, hoping they got it, and having to potentially explain why I was drawing him felt overwhelming.

And it was, they did not know who Henry Jekyll was, they were vaguely aware of Jekyll and Hyde but weren't the type of people to read classic literature and had never heard of the musical or actually seen for themselves any movies featuring the character. The mom commented that he looks like "a Disney villain from back in the 90s" which...fair assessment, I can't pretend I don't see why she would have thought that. The older kid was probably the most interested and wanted to see more of my drawings which made me really uncomfortable but I let him look through my sketchbook anyway because his parents kept saying he was interested in drawing and he loves art and I felt too anxious to say no.

I made small talk with the parents for a while, all the usual, "what's your name, where you from, what's your job?" (I hate those questions, they are usually the least interesting things about any people, myself included) and I wondered if this is what Henry does on a regular day. Has ordinary conversations with reasonably nice people and feel completely like a fish out of water the whole time. I felt pretty terrible about it too, I didn't have any hard feelings or resentment but the whole time I was thinking "Stop touching my things, go away, please fucking leave so I can get back to my audio book and my drawing. I just wanted to sit with the fish for a few hours because it's supposed to be quiet here this time of year."

No one ever seems to catch on that physically talking to people is an effort for me. I've gone my whole life and no one has ever noticed that I'm anxious or uncomfortable in situations where I have to speak out loud because I've gotten good at faking small talk and I know how to make my voice sound pleasant.

It's strange because I express myself easily enough in writing and I like messaging with people over text but the minute I have to be verbal with people I don't know I feel like I'm putting on an immense effort. I have to consciously choose a tone, figure out what words I want to say, be ready with an explanation in case I'm asked questions and I have to do all of it in real time on the spot. It feels like improve, like I'm constantly doing an improve routine and I know most people would say "Just be yourself!" But myself doesn't want to be doing this at all. Myself wants to be drawing and looking at fish. Even as a child I was never very social, I liked to doodle or daydream or build with my lego sets. I got reprimanded a lot for being too quiet. So I made myself more talkative and learned how to hold conversations. I learned to blend in but it's so tiring at times and I can swear when it's at its worst it feels almost physical. The discomfort becomes a suffocating "texture" on my skin and in my brain and I have to keep pretending like I don't notice it because every time I try to articulate how I feel people don't understand it. It's just not a thing they experience.

So I just keep "acting normal," and wonder if there's something wrong with me, like I'm operating on a different frequency from the people around me and I'm the only one on that frequency so other people don't even know it exists. It's...incredibly isolating at times. Even my partner doesn't seem to hear the world as loud as I do or experience the "texture" it's just a strange THING that I'm stuck with by myself. I wonder if it was the same for Henry Jekyll? Except instead being of too quiet he was too loud, too boisterous, threw tantrums, didn't know when to stop rambling about anatomy and weird gross medical facts. So he learned how to cover it and move through life pretending to be interested in everyone else but keenly aware they could never share his interests because his favorite subjects were too grisly and if he started talking about diseases he'd put everyone off. I head-canon Jekyll loves what he does, but he doesn't love it for reasons a doctor should, he doesn't care that much about healing the sick, he cares about conquering illnesses, he likes to learn about symptoms, he enjoys the disgusting viscera of his work. But he can't let on that this is what he enjoys about his work because that's not noble or heroic, it's something most people would find creepy of him. So he buries it and pretends he cares about curing the sick. He pretends he enjoys talking to people who don't know anything about who he is or what he does but they think they do because they are aware of doctors and understand that medicine exists. All the time he loathes it, it exhausts him and he can't even indulge in activities he enjoys to blow of steam because he enjoys things like brawling, doing drugs, and fucking. All things a man of his status shouldn't be seen doing. There's an image people associate with Henry Jekyll and it's an image he can't afford to tarnish...

but it's not really HIS image, it's just a buffer he keeps up to make himself more palatable. I wonder if that ever hurts him physically, if the mask ever feels like a "texture" muffling him.

there are times when I feel like it's no wonder he wasn't repulsed by Hyde when he first saw his reflection. Because I can only imagine by the time Hyde showed up he was already completely burnt out on being Jekyll.

#This is making me relate to Jekyll so hard rn #and op in a way #I'm either too quiet or I open up to someone and then am too vocal #one time when I was younger I started infodumping about about mid evil torture devices to another kid #I have a feeling thats why I haven't been over at their house again lmao #I also relate to loving something others fully understand or ever think about #When I say I want to be a paleontologist people either say “wow that's a big word idk what it means” or “oh yeah dinosaurs are pretty cool!#and yes!! Dinosaurs are cool!! But it's always somewhat clear they're thinking about Jurassic park/world dinosaurs #Giant monster lizards that think of nothing but killing #But I love paleontology because it's about all life we've lost to the sands of time. Dinosaurs weren't like what the movies show us #They killed because they need to to survive. Like many animals that exist today. We apply too much morality to animals who don't know moral #Maybe Henry Jekyll applied too much morality to himself and others #also I like digging in dirt and finding bone :3c #talking feels like a physical effort for me #Unless I'm with someone who knows what I'm genuinely like then it comes easy #I could rant for days about animals people fear but that's off topic lmao rats and snakes and deep sea creatures etc. my beloved #Weird science my beloved #Also I wish I had an aquarium near me I've never been to one They sound amazing #Maybe if Henry Jekyll could go to an aquarium-#creature rambles in someone else's post #casualdejekyll and formaldehyde #Me and one of my close friends were the only people who actually enjoyed dissecting worms and frogs in science class #I was one of few people who liked holding and watching the hissing cockroaches we had to draw scientific sketches of #Ok enough rambling #I would move this all out of tags but that would require quite a bit of editing because my tags don't all flow smoothly together #creatures faves #Creatures faves²

65 notes · View notes

yandere-writer-momo · 6 months ago

Text

Yandere Head Canons:

The Wishing Well

Yandere Kraken x Fem Reader

TW: Tentacles, teratophillia, monster fucking, etc

When you were a child, you were often told about a wishing well deep within a sea cave. A well that would grant you any wish your heart desired so long as you made a deal of equal standing with the magical creature that resided in it. Yet most of your fellow villagers said the price was always worth more than what you desired… and the forest was extremely dangerous.

There was a tale about a king who had wished for more riches, yet he returned from the well with no hands so he could no longer hold the gold he had so foolishly sought out.

There was another tale of a woman who went to the well to wish for a child, yet she returned from the well with a round stomach. The villagers all said her baby was a monster.

You were told only one good story about the well. A story of a man who had went to the well to wish for his wife’s health to improve. A hopeless romantic, your peers called him. A man who successfully made a wish and had his wife healed from her incurable disease… yet he never returned from that well. The villagers all assumed the worse, that he sacrificed his own life for his lover…

These stories terrified you as child so you never really thought about the well. At least not until you reached adulthood, anyways. When your village was being threatened by orcs from foreign lands. Your village would perish if they didn’t surrender all of their women to the invaders.

Your villages population was mostly elderly people so there were only ten options of women to send off and you were one of them. You didn’t want to be the whore of an invader, you wanted to marry your lover, Valo… a handsome young man who lived by the seaside on his own. He was a bit eccentric, but you could see yourself with him.

There was only one way to save yourself and your village. And that would be to use the well.

And so you journeyed deep into the frozen sea cave on your quest to liberate your land. Your hopes high despite the small bit of dread that pooled into your stomach. The price shouldn’t be too bad… no. It didn’t matter what the price was. Because you’d rather die than lose your dignity.

Your journey took over three hours, but you finally stood in front of the old well. It was so much larger than the stories had described… and it seemed bottomless from how pitch black the water was.

“H-hello? I’m here to make a wish.” You yelped when a masked face popped up from the well. The man’s muscular upper torso leaned on the edge of the well to stare at you.

“A wish?” The man’s voice was raspy, almost as if he hadn’t spoken in eons. “I haven’t received a wish yet… okay. I’ll grant your wish if I like it.”

What did this man mean by that? Was he the creature of the well? You tried to see what was behind the man’s upper torso yet it was impossible to get around this man.

“No need to be shy. I want to hear what your wish is. You’re the first human I have seen.” Oh? But this well has been here for generations… perhaps the creature within it changed every so often?

“I’m here to save my village from invaders.” You gasped when he grabbed your jaw to tilt your head towards him.

“How noble… I don’t believe that’s all you want though. You’re hesitant.” The man chuckled at your flushed cheeks. “Are you afraid of me?”

You cast your gaze to the floor which made the man burst into laughter. “Goodness! How fun! Please be honest or else you had made this journey for naught.”

“The other girls and I will be sacrificed to the invaders to be… to be their wives or slaves.” Your voice is so soft yet it echoed throughout the icy cave. “Please help my village! I don’t want to be with someone I don’t love-“

You felt your heart stop when the man’s masked face was now only a few inches from yours. His violet eyes studied your form in interest before he sat up. “You’re not lying and I find you quite pretty.”

The man snapped his fingers and a contract appeared from thin air, the words written on it were in an olden tongue you couldn’t grasp. “I will grant your wish but you must sign this contract. I don’t want you to butt out of our end of the deal.”

“Deal?” You’re puzzled by the man who laughed at your gobsmacked expression.

“Duh. Wishes aren’t for free otherwise more people would come to me.” The man nodded his head at her.

“But what is it that you want from me?” You asked the man who merely gave you a smirk.

“I’ll tell you once your little invader issue is resolved. Until then, you’re free to go about your life.” You bit your lip but ultimately signed, the man quickly snatched up the contract as his body spun in circles in the pitch black water of the well. “I’m thrilled! It’s been so long since I’ve had company…”

The man turned to her with a grin. “You said you’ll only be with someone you love, right?”

“Yes?” The man nodded his head and snapped his fingers, the contract disappeared into thin air.

“Then it’s settled. I will collect you when the time is right.” The man then waved you away as you made your long journey home. The man was now absolutely giddy. Was this how his mother felt when she met his father all those centuries ago? He was so happy that you were indeed the one.

You did go about your life and was surprised to hear how a kraken destroyed the invaders’ ships. It was a terrifying site to see the dismembered bodies and ship wreckage on the frozen shores of your home… yet it was satisfying. Everyone was safe, just as promised.

There was no longer the threat of foreign invaders… which meant you were able to spend more time with your lover. The violet haired man beamed at you when he invited you to walk on the icy beach with him.

“Once winter is over, why don’t we get married?” Valo blushed when you took his hand in yours. “The sea is always bursting with life in the summer…”

“I’d love to.” The two of you giggled in bliss. Yet you couldn’t help the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that the man from the well would call upon you soon to pay off your end of the deal…

After that day with Valo, you were plagued with nightmares of a creature from the deep. A violet kraken that wrapped its tentacles around your small body and plunged you into the depths of the dark ocean. The tendrils would squeeze you in ways that were salacious. The violet appendages would shove their way down your throat and into your poor hole. It was such a terrifying nightmare, one that always felt so real.

You’d often wake up with sore arms, legs, and sometimes sore nether regions from these dreams. Perhaps you should spend more time with Valo? Your lover always made you feel more comfortable…

And it was now summer! The two of you were going to get married soon, anyways. It wouldn’t hurt to see Valo…

And so you went to your lover’s home on the shore. Your fellow villagers quirked a brow at you. They never knew why you went to the beach so often with a smile on your face since you always came back empty handed.

No one had lived on that shore for centuries after the fisherman disappeared to save his wife at the well in the sea cave.

“Valo?” You approach the violet haired man who gives you a bright smile. His violet eyes eerily shine under the moonlight as his body remained half submerged in the sea.

“My dear, it’s time to pay off your debt.” You freeze when you hear the familiar voice of the man from the well leave Valo’s throat. “You said you’d only be with someone you love, so it’s time for you to pay your dues.”

You scream when violet tentacles shoot out from the murky water and wrap around you. What? But… how? These were the tentacles from your nightmares. The violet tendrils that wrapped themselves skeins your pliable body when you were in dream world… the tendrils that fucked you.

“V-Valo?!”

“I’m sure you’ll love our new home… it isn’t often a kraken finds their mate.”

2K notes · View notes

storiesoflilies · 7 days ago

Text

a touch of salt, a taste of flesh

synopsis: in which toji cannot decide whether or not he wants to eat or love the pretty little human he saved from drowning. w.c: 2k.

pairing: merman!toji fushiguro x f!reader.

warnings: mature themes! mentions of gore and blood, mentions of drowning, open ending. sfw but MDNI!

a/n: if you saw me post this yesterday no you didn’t. please don’t let the fic flop this time lol. heavily inspired by this delicious art!

divider / ao3

the ocean loved to keep her secrets.

she coveted every single one of them, for each was a precious pearl of knowledge about her soul. to know even a single one was to be doomed to a life of fear, to be at the mercy of her passing whims, because you could never tell when she would decide to punish you for it and bash you into pieces.

she didn’t think she knew anything at all about the ocean.

but here she was, coughing up salty secrets trapped deep within her lungs.

again.

while a pair of green eyes watched her.

they were always watching her.

“why do you continue to tempt the sea?” he purred, a slight smirk touching his lips. “little human”

little human.

because that is what she was, and what he most certainly wasn't.

it was in the way he smiled at her – cold and dark and cruel as the smothering sea that had tried snuff her out, curling around her throat like tendrils of seaweed.

a dark, shark-like tail rose from the sea as the creature tilted his head, wet strands of his black hair dripping to the side. he winced every time she coughed some more, as if it were far too loud for his liking, and looked down at her like she was a grain of sand stuck between his scales.

she probably was nothing.

especially not to something like him.

“do you really need to know what it’s like when death creeps up on you?” he continued, dismissively waving a clawed, scaly hand at her. “i could always just tell you how it feels.”

she sucked in a shaky, pathetic heaving breath of sea air into her chest, still gasping and sputtering onto the white-washed sand. the coarse grains scratched her palms painfully, and she tried to calm herself, breathing in and out with the rise and fall of the tide.

his eyes narrowed playfully, thin slits of green in the night. “there, there. you’ll be just fine.”

she didn’t feel like she would be.

there was nothing comforting about him at all.

he was a predator.

his teeth were just that little bit longer than they should be – sharper, pearlescent, and flashing dangerously in the silver moonlight. even though this was the third time he has saved her from succumbing to the depths of the sea, she still didn’t know why he had saved her, or why he still continued to.

but it had to be for something.

or else, he wouldn’t have saved her the first time. he would have let her fingers disappear beneath the waves forever, let her sink to the bottom of the darkest ocean. he wouldn’t keep on watching her from the shoreline, circling round and round the island like a shark drawing ever closer to its prey.

waiting to strike, ready to bite.

“why?” was all she could muster in a hoarse voice, sand tickling her throat.

“why?” he repeated, that saccharine smirk playing on his lips again. “why what, little human?”

“why do you keep on singing?”

the green slits widened a fraction, and he started to laugh. her heart hammered against her chest, and she was afraid she might have said the wrong thing.

“is that what you would call it?” he asked incredulously, a sprinkle of offense creeping into his voice. “singing?”

she gulped.

what else would she call it?

that was what it sounded like to her. she would sit beneath a gnarled tree at the cliffs’ edge, where the earth dipped sharply towards the sea, its rocky face curled over the sea like an old man’s wrinkly hand. there, she would listen, trying to make sense of the strange words wafting from his tongue in the salty breeze.

she would’ve started a war for him.

would have shoved her arms into the bodies of the bent and broken, rummage through all their bones to offer him their still-warm, unbeating hearts.

but there was something in his haunting baritone that made her want to cry, to surrender to the sea, naively believing she could somehow help save him from his own restlessness. to block out the echoing memories that, in that moment, were blurred together and she wasn’t sure if they belonged to him or her.

there had to be some kind of magic involved.

because tonight was the third time she had heard his haunting song.

and the third time she had mindlessly wandered into the arms of the ocean and her false welcome, full of promises she had no intention of keeping.

despite knowing full well that she couldn’t even swim.

his laughter died with the wind, a low, lilting hum lingering at the edge of his words. “maybe you shouldn’t be listening so closely,” he murmured, his eyes heavy with something that looked like hunger. “the sea doesn’t sing for humans.”

he drifted a touch closer to where she was lying, slicing through the shallow water like a blade. she sat up straight, digging her heels into the sand to scramble away from him.

“and yet, here you are,” he said, amusement curling his lips. “again.”

she licked the salt from the cracks in her lips, stuttering, “i-i don’t k-know why.”

maybe it was her obvious helplessness, or perhaps he could smell her hopeless desperation like rotting flesh, but his eyes softened.

“it’s the call for my…” he trailed off, smacking his lips as he searched for the word. “heart.”

he said the it disdainfully, like he didn’t really want to believe he had a heart at all. she couldn’t imagine that he had one either, or that it wanted for anything beyond his most base desires.

flesh and blood.

“your heart?” she repeated in disbelief.

he glowered at her, his tail flicking through the water in annoyance. “yes,” he said, adding much more quietly. “and it seems i’ve found it.”

run away, now.

“w-what?” she sputtered, salt-coated sand flying to the back of her throat.

the creature grinned widely, mischievous fangs glinting, “oh, you know, little human.”

she did know; she just didn’t want to admit it.

“i-i never– i don’t understand.”

“no? then why do you keep trying to swim to me?”

she didn’t know what to say to that.

it was silent for a long time, the sweeping sea moving backwards and forwards like the ebb of time between them. she could see more of him too, even though she knew better than to look.

and he was beautiful.

his tail was longer than she thought, silky smooth and gray like a shark’s was, marred with pink scars and rakes as deep and painful as the ocean. it curled high above his head as he lay belly down in the sand.

oh, but his eyes.

they were a chest of shimmering emeralds, locked onto her every minuscule movement. but his pupils were infinite, a black hole of mysteries and knowledge of ancients city that had come and gone, of seas of blood and red misery.

yet, he was here, on this unremarkable beach at the edge of the world, calling for his heart – for her.

and she’d somehow answered.

“what’s your name?” she blurted out.

there was a strange rumble in his chest before he replied with, “toji.”

toji.

it reminded her of the cold kiss of winter, the inevitable conquest of snow over the trees and blooms, covering everything in its white death. he belonged to the ice-covered seas of the north and south, definitely not from places where the sun and joy pierced through the waves.

there was no doubt that toji was king of those icy seas, reigning supreme over the darkness found within the kelp forests of the deep trenches.

“how old are you?”

toji tilted his head curiously, completely silent as he pondered and searched for an answer.

“how long have humans sailed the seas?”

how very lonely.

she knew she shouldn’t feel anything for toji, least of all feel sorry for him. but here she was, itching for him to take her hand and drag her into the depths he called home. maybe that was what his song meant; perhaps all he wanted was someone to share in ruling over the ice and sea.

how ironic that she couldn’t even swim.

he drummed his sharp fingers against a closed fist, slow and irritatingly suspenseful. “you’re bleeding, you know?”

she frowned and looked down at both sides of her palms, between her pruned fingers, and then further down.

oh.

there was a small stream of blood beneath her left foot, trailing toward the sea before being swept away with the tide.

straight towards toji.

that was when she saw the dangerous twitch dancing on his scarred lip, and she realized just how long he had been holding back for.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered breathlessly, and she truly meant it.

toji’s eyes narrowed again, but there was a spark of anger in them this time. “don’t apologize,” he hissed. “never– not for that.”

for that, for bleeding.

would a shark thank her for covering up a wound?

she didn’t think so.

toji asked for her name, and she offered it freely, willingly. he repeated it loudly, the deep baritone of his voice starting to sing her name in an increasingly agitated-sounding tone.

mine, mine, mine.

her name wasn’t her own anymore.

he was looking at her now, like he wanted to slice open her chest, pull out her heart, and play with the strings that made it beat. to shove his fingers into her aorta to say that he had been really inside her – his – heart.

mine, mine, mine.

and then, his cold hand was gripping her ankle, claws lightly digging into her skin.

she let out a yelp as toji dragged her toward him, the sea rushing over her cheeks and into her ears. he was on top of her, the wetness of the sea bleeding into her, his weight heavy and suffocating, pushing every bit of air out of her fragile lungs. his fingers dug deep into her thighs, just about to pierce through the plush skin.

she beat against the hardness of his chest, “t- cough! toji, please, stop.”

but he wasn’t really there, caught somewhere between the whispering blood ocean and the misty memories haunting his soul.

a pearly tear slipped down his cheek.

“i ca-ah! can’t breath.”

the same deep sound rumbled from his chest, and toji lifted himself up from her ever so slightly. she sucked in great gasping breaths, her eyes teary and blurry as she looked at him through lashes laden with salt.

another milky tear fell from his left eye and dripped down onto the curve of her cheek.

“would you slip away?” toji whispered, his voice rolling over her like the tide, but he sounded far, far away. “into the sea, for me.”

she didn’t want to.

but then he started to hum low and sweet, his wet lips pressed to her neck, and she was ready to.

she could see through the mist and blood now, far above the clouds and the sky and the sun breaking through the horizon. her heart was burning with salt and secrets – secrets she didn’t know she possessed.

until now.

that she was one with the sea, and maybe always had been. so, she didn’t mind all that toji was slowly pulling her towards the depths instead of away from them.

a flash of brilliant green lit up the sky.

was it toji’s eyes or a farewell from the sorrowful sun?

she didn’t know; she didn’t care anymore.

she was his to keep now.

ི♡࿐

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji fic #jjk oneshot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen au #jjk au #jjk fanfic

419 notes · View notes

pigfacedbitch · 1 year ago

Text

Phobia

idea : your phobia relates to your boyfriend's gifted godly abilities.

word count : 0.8k

type : headcanons

pairing/s involved : Jason Grace / Percy Jackson / Leo Valdez / Frank Zhang / Nico Di Angelo x Reader

warning/s : phobia speaks for itself. personally, it's thalassophobia for me. 😓

here is my masterlist!

Jason Grace | Acrophobia (Fear of Heights)

Due to having the same fear as his sister, Jason is completely aware of the dos and dont's when you're an acrophobic.

If you two are forced in situations where you need to be in high places, he always attempts to distract you with anything he can think of.

He prefers embarrassing stories over jokes. His delivery is too deadass and his 'i'm-trying-hard-here-it's-not-funny' look makes you laugh before the punchline.

Knowing that it can be associated with the fear of falling, Jason will reassure you every time that he's going to catch you.

If you did fall, during some battle for example, he will asks you to close your eyes and hold you tighter before slowly bringing you down.

He really lives up to that Superman nickname so much, the others started calling you Lois Lane.

Percy Jackson | Thalassophobia (Fear of Deep Bodies of Water)

Percy would be bummed out. Being the son of Poseidon, he loves to be in the water.

Everything about him— from his favorite hobbies to his happiest of memories, revolves around it and he wants to share that with you.

He plans on taking you on trips underwater; introduce you to the majestic marine creatures nobody else has seen before, unravel mysteries the sea has to offer, and form a big bubble where you can do whatever you want without being interrupted (ehem👀).

But how can he make all of it possible when your fear is literally all of those?

Percy would want to help you get over it. He wouldn't force you but he will at least try convince you.

If you refuse, he will respect that.

But if you accept his help, he'll try to take it one step at a time. Probably by starting to show you how the sea, no matter terrifying it is, is also beautiful place.

Leo Valdez | Pyrophobia (Fear of Fire)

Initially, Leo will laugh. I mean, who wouldn't?

You're a pyrophobic yet you're dating someone who is actually made out of fire?

After he notices that you're not joking, he will begin to be terrified for you. Expect that Leo will be extra careful when you are with him, especially when he is working on something.

His contraptions deemed too dangerous like explosives, will be kept somewhere far away.

As much as he thinks your presence will make Bunker 9 a lovelier workspace, he will understand if you don't want to go there. The essense of it is from the god of fire himself— I mean you need a blast of fire to enter.

He also will refrain himself from using his fire abilities in a fight, making do with his inventions instead.

While pyrophobia doesn't have specific causes, it may be possible that you had some traumatic experience relating to fire. Leo doesn't want to hurt you or make you feel worse.

Frank Zhang | Zoophobia (Fear of Animals)

Frank is confused. He doesn't know that the fear of animals is a thing and would wonder why you agreed on dating him in the first place.

He will ask you tons of questions; what caused your phobia? Are you afraid of all animals, a few, or just one? What can I do? After your conversation, he's going to search more information.

If you're afraid of one animal only, Frank will forget it ever existed. He will never talk of that animal again even when you're not around.

The others will joke about it. Example, if you're scared of snakes—

"What is a snake, Frank?"

"What's that, Leo? I have no idea, so let's never speak of it again."

In the case that you're afraid of all animals (this is a rare condition), he will not use his abilities and will train harder in combat.

When he really doesn't have a choice but to shapeshift in a fight, you two will separate with your friends' assurance that they got your back.

Frank is a nice guy but if someone made an offensive comment about your phobia or hardcore pranks involving that animal? Expect the wrath and rage of Mars.

Nico Di Angelo | Phasmophobia (Fear of Ghosts)

I'm sorry but Nico will slightly judge you. Really, a ghost? What are you, five?

Like Frank, he will ask you what caused your phobia.

He will feel terrible and comfort you if you have the same experience as Reina and Jason, who's loved ones turned into a mania. If it's because of horror movies, he will awkwardly pet your head.

You may think the subject is dropped but Nico will make sure that no ghost will ever come near you.

Having the infamous title 'Ghost King', he will not hesitate to torment and threaten the spirits who try to approach, scare, or talk to you.

He will take you on dates to McDonalds but he will not bring you to any 'ghost business'.

If you want to get rid of your phobia, Nico will summon ghosts who can entertain you; like singers, dancers, those that can do tricks, and stand up comedians.

He will also show you how easily he can bend any ghost to his will, proving to you that there's nothing to be afraid of.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson headcanons #heroes of olympus headcanons #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #hoo imagine #pjo imagine #jason grace #jason grace x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #frank zhang #frank zhang x reader #nico di angelo #nico di angelo x reader #riordanverse

3K notes · View notes

panboiiibish · 5 months ago

Text

Thinking about monsters right now. More specifically shark mer and his little scuba diver human.

Hes a terrifyingly mesmerizing sight of one of the biggest white shark mers you've ever seen. His pale grey skin is just covered in faded and new scars showing off the many battles he has been in. Though even with his terror filling appearance hes quite gentle when approaching the swarm of sharks fluttering around an odd cage just bobbing around the water only attacked to a boat above by a thick chain.

Not even spooking the other sharks swimming around trying to nab at fish snacks and sniffing the chum filled waters he is more curiouse by the little creature inside the cage. Covered in a black skin like substance while their face is covered by an odd mask hes most consumed by thie odd fin covered tails? No wait this is a human so their legs.

It takes little effort for him to grab at the bars and give the little diver a big scare. This wasnt their first time seeing a mer but it was a first for any kind of shark mers. They mainly seem to keep to themselves far off in the deep waters far off from humans. Though you are glee filled to see one just there watching you as you toss out little fish snacks to the other sharks. You had offered him on thinking he was hungry but he didnt seem interested.

Instead of grabbing the offered fish snack he fiddled with your diving suits fabric, pinching at the black fabric sticking to your wrist before slipping a finger under seemingly entranced by how it wasn't your skin but infact a covering.

It wasn't long after that your trust in him was startled and his need to see and feel more pushed him into brash actions. His clawed hands gribbed at the cags bars before just bending them away. His strength was nothing against the thin bars as they bend just well giving him enough room to wiggle into the cage and press himself up to you pressing your back flush to the bars trapping you more then you where before.

The boat crew got worried when they saw the cage shifting causing the boat to bob a bit so they started lifting your cage back out of the waters. Only to freak out when seeing the cage emerge from the water showeing your practically pinned form under the large shark mer who is just barely inside the cage. His tail end hung outside of the cage while it swung slightly and his human half kept you under him as his hands fumbled with your mask able to pop it off and see your sweet little face. Warm with embarrassment and trembling in fear as an actual predator of the seas sat there playing with the neck zipper of your diving suit.

Hes just stayed there enjoying the warmth your little body gives off and loving how your pinprick eyes tremble. It's so cute seeing such a pretty little human too scared to fight against him as he rubs at your soft skin with his wrinkled and rough pads while trying to keep his claws from scratching you too much.

Hii!Hi! Its pan, welcome fo my contribution to mermay X3 iv been wanting to do a mer idea for so long but wanted something a bit more different from my softer stuff so here's a jerky mer playing with his prey >;3 I might do more of him later! I like this shark mer idea and might make him into an recurring character, anyways have a nice night and leave a comment if yah got any ideas!

#idk wtf im doing #ideas #x reader #monster x reader #thinking about #monster boyfriend #mermay #merman #monster fucker #monster lover #Shark boi

825 notes · View notes

oonajaeadira · 1 month ago

Text

That Awoooo Inside You, Pt. 1

Fandom: The Wild Robot / Fink the Fox

Pairing: Fink <3s OFC fox

Rating: G all the way, don’t worry. This is keeping in the world and disgustingly wholesome. Prolly too clean for tumbles 😆

Warnings: None. It’s for cuteness and for heart.

Summary: After the events of The Wild Robot, a new resident joins the island.

A/N: Listen. This is just for fun. I love a fox character and I love a sassmaster with a gooey center and my heart melted for Fink. He is very lovable. As @something-tofightfor mentioned in a chat with me, “he just wanted to matter to someone.” I totally agree. In keeping with the frank but sweet style of the movie, I just ached to give Fink a silly little sequel and it feels in bad practice to keep it locked up when I’ve had such blockage lately. Thank you for indulging my exercise.

It was a mild spring evening like any other, the sun going down as Fink bounded back inland, his belly nearly dragging on the ground after an afternoon of digging clams and catching fish. If it hadn’t been for Roz, he’d just be waking up for the evening, getting ready to hunt mice and rabbits. But thanks to Roz, he couldn’t bring himself to eat them anymore. He couldn’t eat his friends.

He smiled warmly. Friends.

And thanks to Roz, there was a soft, mossy green bed for him to curl up in after gorging himself on the pantry of the sea. It was waiting for him just ahead, its siren song of comfort and sleep calling out to him. Why be a hunter in the cold night when you can fish in the warm sun and sleep in a warm basket? What a life he’d lucked into.

Suddenly though, the spring evening like-any-other shifted into something else entirely when he was hit with a scent so new and wondrous that his quick feet stumbled to a stop just before the hut came into view. Putting his nose to the wind he let it wash over him and the scent ran through him like fire, tingled like a storm in the air, chattered his jaw and set every hair on end…

But in a really, really delicious way.

Obsession was something he was used to, but this was intense. He had to find it. Had to paw at it and roll in it. He needed it ground deep into his fur and he was running full out before he realized it, not off into the woods but to familiar ground, to his very own home.

“Your tail’s all puffed out,” Thorn noted as Fink came through the opening. “Someone chasin’ you? That’s my job.”

The bear gave a low laugh and Fink ignored him, hastily scanning the hut for the source of his agitation, not caring so much that his tail was puffy, but he couldn’t stop it twitching. “What… what what is that smell?”

“Oh. That’s probably her.” Thorn heaved himself off his big furry butt and stepped to the side, revealing Fink’s bed and the creature sleeping in it. “Found her washed up on the shore. Still alive. Barely. Thought you wouldn’t mind if I brought her here–”

“It’s a…fox. Another fox.” Fink stood aghast. He hadn’t seen a fox on this part of the island for most of his life. His mother had driven him off as soon as she was going to have another litter and the only other foxes around had been bigger males or his sisters, so he had run for days hoping to find a territory where he wouldn’t be bitten and bullied and kicked around by them. He’d found this corner of the island to be lonely, but at least he wouldn’t get himself killed over territory disputes. And then, of course came Roz and Brightbill and then this corner hadn’t been so lonely after all. It had seemed a fair trade to make; with such a warm, accepting new family, he’d never even stopped to wish for someone of his own ilk.

But now…

“She is?” Thorn mused. “Never seen a white fox before. Just thought she was a kind of weasel or something.”

Fink’s nose twitched. “No. She’s definitely fox.” Slowly approaching the bed, he craned around to get a better look at her sleeping face tucked halfway under her gray-tipped tail. She was small and her features were a little more delicate, but that scent couldn’t be denied. “Definitely.”

Another fox! Here! Where did she come from? How did she survive into maturity with that coloring in the wild? Was she friendly? She’d have to be taught the rules of their community. She’d need a place to stay…well, here, of course, with himself. No doubt. Foxes united. Was she clever? Another fox could help keep the raccoons in order. Would she be in pain when she woke up? No visible injuries. Would she be hungry?

Fink gasped.

Another chuckle from the bear. “Well that’s just great. Now there’s two of ‘em. Dandy.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Fink turned and ran for the door. “If she wakes up before I get back, don’t let her leave!”

“Where you goin’?”

“River! Fish!”

Darting under fallen trees and skipping over the bank stones, making the grasses into a blurring tunnel of green, Fink made quick work of the path to the river. Getting a fish under duress and desperation was less than graceful though, slipping off the tree spanning the water and falling in, swimming halfway to shore before surrendering the indignity of being wet and turning around to paddle back to the center of the stream and bite bite bite at the water where the fish were jumping in the twilight as they came up to the surface for bugs. By the time he returned to the hut with a fish in his jaws the sun was finally down.

There were a number of animals sitting in the meadow outside of the shelter when he arrived, sitting up on their haunches and vying for a view, attracted by the noise of spitting and snarling, of Thorn bellowing reassurances, and a great deal of scampering happening inside. It seemed their guest was awake. Fink had to paw at the bear’s backside to get into the hut–Thorn was plugging the entrance with his body–and was able to squeeze through in a moment of silence.

The hut was in chaos, everything that could be upturned had been, and the white fox herself was at the side furthest from the door, braced and ready to spring, exhausted and panting, seemingly fighting for her life. She was now ashy as the shadows inside the hut; it seemed she’d fallen into the cold fire pit at one point, her bright coat splotched with soot.

“I keep tryin’ to tell her she’s safe but she doesn’t wanna believe me,” the bear moaned, his defensive roar shaking the walls.

Dropping the fish, Fink rolled his eyes. “Gee. I wonder why.” He took a few steps toward the newcomer. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry this big lug scared you–”

“Oh right,” she panted. “Why would I be afraid of two predators that are keeping me trapped in a cave and won’t let me leave????”

“Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa,” Fink flinched at her ferocity. He couldn’t blame her for going on defense, but he knew he had to calm her down fast before her flight instincts led her to hurt herself. He put on his gentlest voice. “You can leave, I promise you. But? Weeeeee need your help first.”

This threw her off, her breath catching and her eyes darting between Thorn and Fink in the darkness.

Her eyes— one dark and one light–

“Help you? Help with what?”

It was working. Her panting slowed and her shoulders began to relax. Fink sneezed in a show of playfulness and gave a sideways glance to his quarry. “I came all the way back from the river to bring you this feast and it’s just gonna rot and stink up the hut if you don’t eat it.”

“I’ll eat it,” Thorn offered, earning a jab in the belly from Fink.

She continued to watch them a moment before slowly sitting back on her sooty haunches and considering. “I don’t get it. What’s the catch.”

“Trout, by the taste of it,” Fink sassed, sighing in mock dismay. “A little embarrassing, if I’m being honest. I’ve caught bigger, but I was in a hurry and they tend to be slippery. I had to take what I could get and–”

“I mean, what do you want?” She wasn’t amused. But she was calmer.

“I…want you to…eat the fish?”

She huffed, squinting at them. “Why don’t one of you eat it?”

“Because we’re not hungry.” Returning to sincerity, Fink took up the fish and walked it around the central fire pit closer to her, stopping just as a twitch in her side warned that she might run. Laying it on the ground gently and turning his back on her to show trust, he resumed a sitting spot near Thorn at the door. “You’re new here. A guest. And we have rules. And rules are, the animals around here are all friends. Well, mostly. We don’t eat guests. And we don’t eat friends. And we don’t let guests eat friends. Or squirrels.”

“But… you’re predators,” she countered weakly, the fish beginning to pull her focus.

“We aaaare,” Fink conceded. “But? There’s enough bugs and shellfish around here for everyone, and plenty of good roots and berries. Someone really special made us understand that we survive better when we’re counting on each other instead of chomping on each other. My big friend here found you and brought you here to help you survive. You seem to be doing nicely with that and you can go, but we’d like to send you off with a full belly so you’re not tempted to eat any of our pals on the way out, capiche?”

“So you’re not going to kill me.”

Fink and Thorn’s heads swung in unison.

“Too pretty to kill,” Thorn mumbled. Both foxes stared up at him. “What. I’ve never seen fur so white. She glows in the dark.”

They followed his gaze up to the round vent hole in the roof where the moonlight was shining in. The parts of her coat that weren’t besmirched with soot reflected it brilliantly, bluish-white in the darkness of the hut.

And perhaps it was the moonlight or perhaps it was her hunger, but something in her changed just then, grew softer, let go. And thanks to Roz, Fink had learned to see it.

“I’m Fink,” he said. “This collection of fur and odors is Thorn. You can stay as long as you want. Or you can go…but there are more who would probably like to meet you. Thorn? Move it. Let the lady pass if she wants.”

The bear stepped away from the door and let more of the moon in, catching the fish in its sparkling light. Beyond, it also illuminated the clearing outside and the crowd of animals there, predators and prey alike, peacefully side-by-side, trying to get a peek at the newcomer.

Her eyes–one dark, one light– reflected the moon and her tentative decision not to run. “I’m Farrah,” she said with careful unveiling trust, before settling down and digging into the meal.

A collection of tiny possum voices called from outside. "Nice to meet you, Farrah! Welcome! We're glad you're not dead!"

Thorn bumbled about the hut, tipping things back into place with his nose, trying not to amble too close to Farrah or scare her while Fink simply laid down and, crossing his paws in silence, watched her eat.

Not so long ago, he was just like her. They all were. In one short year, a robot–a machine with a heart–had come and shown them all a better way to live. And for a while, Fink was happy. He had love and family; he mattered to someone. To many someones.

But he hadn’t considered that he might ever matter the most to one specific someone.

Not until now, at least.

It was spring on the island. And he was a fox. He did foxy things. And maybe one of those things was finally considering what it might be like for a specific someone to matter the most to him.

---

PART 2

MAIN MASTERLIST

#the wild robot #the wild robot fanfic #fink the fox #wholesome #fluff

182 notes · View notes

shxxxbi · 3 months ago

Text

EVERYTHING THAT WASN'T INCLUDED IN LOVE SEA THE SERIES 🌊

Episode 1 (Chapters: Prologue - 4)

next->

Tongrak's age

While Tongrak's age is never explicitly confirmed in the series, in the novel he says himself he's about to turn 31. His day consists of waking up in the afternoon, living on coffee, drinking alcohol as a hobby and staying up late. Regardless, his only worry is whether his cheeks will start to sag.

Intro scene: Love is such an annoyance, and those who are in love are the most annoying of all. It's so boring

In the novel Tongrak is actually at Khom and Connor's house, looking with annoyance at the couple being all clingy and lovey-dovey. As Tongrak and Connor engage in friendly bickering about Rak being "jealous" of the couple, Tongrak claims he would never want someone like Connor as anything more than a friend and jokingly asks Khom "I want to know if there are any more guys like you on the island. Introduce me to someone, will you?"

Cargo bike scene

Tongrak refuses categorically to get on the bike and asks the villagers around if there are other ways to get to the resort. Mahasamut watches him frantically running around until he lifts Tongrak up and places him on the bike himself.

Bar scene

While wearing all white in the show, Tongrak was actually wearing all black in the novel. In this scene specifically, he had been eyeing a hot foreigner sitting at a nearby table but was shocked to find out that man had been flirting with Mahasamut and had extended his stay to try to get the guy. Upon hearing this, Tongrak was annoyed at himself for almost going for "Mahasamut's leftovers". Despite being bothered by the mere mention of Mut's name, Tongrak kept thinking to himself "beneath those drab clothes was a well-built chest, not to mention that deep voice speaking in an incomprehensible Southern dialect, which could be quite seductive if whispered in the right tone".

Kitty Tongrak

Before Rak's arrival to the island, Connor warns Mahasamut about Rak's personality: Connor describes him as stubborn and self-willed, but also as someone who is very prone to loneliness, comparing him to a cat. Mut gets very curious about him and asks Connor if there are any restrictions he should be careful about. Connor tells him to be careful not to get scratched. Mahasamut's response? "I never let anyone scratch me for free". His curiosity makes him very eager to meet Tongrak because"such a lonely creature needs to be very well cared for".

Breakfast scene

To stop Mahasamut from getting on his nerves, Tongrak actually shuts him up by putting his hand on Mut's mouth. Mahasamut then grabs his wrist and kisses the palm of Rak's hand. The action made Tongrak's heart "beat wildly" and a "wave of heat spread through his body".

Rak's fall

As he watched Tongrak walk away in embarrassment after his fall, all Mut could think about was "how freaking cute he was". Walking back to the dining room with Rak, Mahasamut recalled what Khom and Connor had told him about the writer's personality, yet so far all he had seen was a "moody cat that kept hissing"

"And he liked feisty cats".

Horny Mahasamut

As he watched Tongrak working, he started admiring "the beauty Khom had so highly praised". Mahasamut admired Tongrak's facial features and slender figure, which he considered "a feast for the eyes". His eyes then dropped to Rak's fingers resting on the keyboard and Mut couldn't help but feel the urge to "kiss those beautiful fingertips just once, maybe nibble on them a couple of times too".

Mahasamut's dive

One of the reasons Tongrak reacted so badly in this scene, besides being worried about the younger boy's wellbeing, is because he thought Mahasamut had left him alone, in the middle of nowhere, on purpose. Upon noticing Tongrak crying, Mut reached out to wipe his tears away but Rak slaps his cheek with full force, while shouting.

Horny Tongrak

Our boy Rak wasn't just admiring "a broad chest, beautifully defined muscles and strong arms" but also the "dark skin that accentuated his masculinity". And most of all "the prominent bulge beneath the pants".

#this took way longer than i thought #love sea the series #mutrak #fortpeat #fort thitipong #peat wasuthorn #love sea

236 notes · View notes

anyca786 · 2 months ago

Text

"DRAGON'S EMBRACE"

Daemon Targaryen x sister!Targaryen

WARNINGS: canon typical incest/targcest (brother & sister), fluff, kissing, violence ( at the tourneys) (possible rhaenyra x aunt!Targaryen?! Idk)

Series

Daenys stepped into the Dragonpit, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and dragonfire, and the distant growls of the dragons echoed through the cavernous space.

A particularly menacing growl caught her attention. It was Caraxes, the Blood Wrym, Daemon's fearsome mount. The dragon, with its long neck and bright red scales, loomed over her, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity.

Daenys approached Caraxes cautiously, her voice steady. "Be calm," she whispered in High Valyrian . "Remember me."

To her relief, Caraxes seemed to recognize her. The dragon's growls subsided, and it lowered its head, allowing Daenys to stroke its scales.

"Good dragon," Daenys praised, continuing to speak in High Valyrian. "You are a magnificent creature, a true beast of the skies."

Caraxes purred contentedly, its tail thumping the ground. Daenys pressed her forehead against the dragon's, feeling a surge of connection. "Good boy," she whispered.

Just then, Daemon entered the Dragonpit, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Came back after so long, and already on a mission to steal my dragon?” He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Daenys rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. With a final pat to Caraxes' scales, she ran into Daemon’s arms.

He caught her effortlessly, pulling her into a warm embrace. “I’ve missed you,” Daenys mumbled into his ear, her voice soft and a bit breathless.

“I’ve missed you more, my love,” Daemon replied, placing a longing kiss on her cheek. “Though I’ve heard quite a lot about your adventure in the North, and let me assure you, I’m intrigued.”

Daenys rolled her eyes playfully, but a blush crept across her face. “Women have needs brother. And men in the North know how to satisfy their women.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Their women? Sweetheart, you’re mine.”

Daenys blushed and walked towards Nyx, her dragon, who towered over Daemon’s Caraxes. Daemon followed quietly.

“You have a wife, Daemon,” Daenys said, patting Nyx, who purred in contentment.

Daemon wrapped his arms around Daenys from behind, placing a passionate kiss on her neck. Daenys bit back a moan, her body tingling with anticipation.

“Aegon, the Conqueror, had two wives,” Daemon replied, his voice low and seductive.

“You’re no Aegon,” Daenys said, turning to face him with a smirk. She pulled him into a passionate kiss, her hands tangled in his hair. Daemon’s tongue fought for dominance, and he deepened the kiss, his hands exploring her body.

Suddenly, a low growl interrupted them. Daenys laughed, realizing Nyx was jealous. “Someone’s feeling left out,” she teased, turning to pat her dragon.

Nyx huffed but seemed to relent "Calm down, girl," she said, patting the dragon's snout.

As they stood there, the wind carrying the scent of the sea, Daemon turned to Daenys. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too," she replied, her heart filled with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Alright, I've got to meet Aemma and Rhaenyra," Daenys said, pulling away from Daemon.

But Daemon wasn't done. He pulled her back for another deep kiss, his lips moving against hers with a possessive urgency. Daenys melted into the kiss, her body responding to his touch.

Catching her breath, she finally managed to pull away. "I'll see you at the tourney," she said, her voice a little breathless.

Daemon grinned. "Don't be late."

As Daenys turned to leave, she couldn't help but glance back at Daemon. A soft smile played on her lips as she walked away.

🥀

Daenys ascended the grand staircase to the balcony, her heart pounding with anticipation. The crowd below roared as King Viserys I addressed them, his voice carrying over the din.

"Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed" the king announced.

Daenys found her seat beside Rhaenyra, her niece, and gave her a warm smile. Viserys stood amidst the nobles, his voice booming.

"When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!"

"I'm yet to see your mother," Daenys said to Rhaenyra. "How are you, my sweet niece?"

"Pleasant, now that you're here," Rhaenyra replied, her eyes sparkling with admiration for her aunt. Daenys was everything Rhaenyra aspired to be or to be with.

Two knights, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, charged towards each other in the center of the stadium. On the second run, one was dismounted, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The winner approached the balcony, bowing.

"Who's that?" Daenys asked curiously.

"A mystery knight?" Rhaenyra replied.

"No, a Cole, of the Stormlands," Alicent Hightower, Rhaenyra's best friend, said.

Boremund Baratheon rode up to the balcony. "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of 'The Queen Who Never Was.'"

The nobles exchanged glances. Rhaenys approached, dropping a wreath on Boremund's lance. "Good fortune to you, cousin," she replied.

As the tournament continued, Rhaenyra turned to her aunt and best friend. "Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire."

"Lord Massey's son?" Daenys asked.

"Mm-hm. They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood," Rhaenyra replied.

"Best get on with it. I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress," Alicent said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Boremund and Criston Cole, the mystery knight, clashed. Boremund was unseated, the crowd roaring with excitement. Harrold approached Rhaenyra's seat.

"What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?" Rhaenyra asked.

"I'm told Ser Criston is the common-born son of Lord Dondarrion's steward. But other than that, and the fact that he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn't say," Harrold replied.

Daenys teased her niece. "You seem curious about the Coleman."

The crowd erupted in cheers as a Targaryen flag was raised, signaling the entrance of a group of knights into the arena.

"Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!" the Master of Reveals announced.

Daemon rode out, his eyes scanning the assembled jousters. He finally settled on a knight wearing the Hightower sigil. Daenys couldn't help but smirk as she realized it was Otto Hightower's son.

"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King," the Master of Reveals announced.

Rhaenyra squeezed her best friend's hand, Alicent's face pale with worry for her brother.

Daemon glanced at the crowd one last time, making eye contact with Otto before charging forward. The two knights collided, their lances splintering upon impact. Daemon was hit and lost his lance, but he managed to stay in the saddle. Otto looked pleased.

Both riders were given new lances and charged again. At the last moment, Daemon swung his lance in front of Gwayne's horse's hooves, sending both tumbling over. Gwayne was injured but managed to get up, eliciting mixed reactions from the crowd and nobles.

Daemon rode up to the balcony, where Rhaenyra, Daenys, and Alicent stood.

"Nicely done, Uncle," Rhaenyra said.

"Thank you, Princess," Daemon replied, his eyes lingering on Daenys. "Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it."

Alicent hesitated, sharing a glance with Otto before dropping a wreath on Daemon's lance. "Good luck, my Prince," she said.

With one last glance at Daenys, Daemon returned to the tournament.

Daenys frowned as she saw a maester whisper something in Otto's ear, who then relayed it to Viserys. Viserys looked nervous and stood up to leave.

"What's happening?" Daenys asked Rhaenyra.

"I don't know," Rhaenyra replied, her voice filled with concern. "Something must be wrong."

The tournament raged on, the crowd roaring as another knight was unseated. The fallen knight, however, refused to yield. He pulled his opponent off his horse and began to attack, his actions met with a mixture of cheers and gasps.

The attacking knight raised his axe, the crowd holding their breath. With a powerful swing, he brought the axe down, ending the fight with a sickening thud. The onlookers gasped, the weight of the moment heavy in the air.

A dead knight was dragged away, the tournament briefly pausing.

"Ser Criston Cole will now tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City!" the Master of Reveals announced.

Daemon and Criston prepared to joust.

Neither was dismounted on their first pass, Daenys watching nervously. They took new lances, the crowd's anticipation building.

As they collided again, the world seemed to tilt for a moment. Daemon landed on the barrier in the center of the arena, barely managing to stay on his horse before tumbling off. He pushed away a man who tried to help him up as Criston dismounted.

"Fuck," Daenys muttered, her heart sinking.

"Sword!" Daemon demanded, a squire bringing him his weapon.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!" the Master of Revels announced.

Criston approached Daemon, his morningstar gleaming. With a powerful blow, Criston hit Daemon from behind, pinning one of his arms to the ground.

"Yield. Yield!," Criston said, offering his hand to help Daemon up.

Daemon hesitated for a moment before yielding, swatting Criston's hand away as he stood. As he surveyed the crowd, his eyes met Daenys', who, along with Rhaenyra and Alicent, had run to the edge of the balcony.

Criston approached them. "I was hoping to ask for the Princess Daenys' favor."

Daenys smirked, tossing a wreath down to him. "I wish you luck, Ser Criston," she said.

"Princess," Criston replied, clearly blushing. Rhaenyra coughed, noticing the interaction, and all three girls burst out laughing.

But the laughter was cut short as Otto approached the balcony, his face grave. "The Queen is dead," he whispered to Daenys.

Daenys stumbled back, her knees buckling. Otto caught her, his voice filled with concern. "Princess," he said.

Daemon noticed the exchange, a worried line appearing on his forehead.

The Queen was dead.

A/N- Filler Chapter, next one will have some🌶

Aemma deserved better😔

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #tumblr #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryan #hotd

196 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 10 months ago

Note

I love your monster au so much. It makes the monsterlover/fucker in me real happy. Sorry just wanted to share my appreciation.

I've been thinking too, how would you feel about writing a underwater sea creature reader? (No pressure but I hope this idea tickles your fancy so I'll infodump my ideas on you) They can live on land and stuff but drag their prospective mate into a deep underwater ravine when they want to mate. Idk how to describe it, like I have an idea in my head of what the creature's traits would be but I can't find a way to put it into words.

I'm going to give it a try though, (excuse the fact it won't make much sense, my thoughts jump around a lot. But I'll try and make it coherent.) Basically, my mind went to underwater dragons. So with most of the traits that you wrote for dragons, like the purring and the tails intertwining (and the sharing of scales). But I was thinking without wings, because you don't need them underwater. But we glow in the dark, because we are deepsea creatures we have adapted to become bioluminescent. Oh and also we have gills and stuff still when we are on land.

Idk if this is confusing or just something you don't want to write but I was hoping for you to include a more sfw part with the mating dance maybe and then then an actual nsfw part (dom top male reader??)

But at the end of the day this is just a suggestion and it's up to you if you want to write it or not. (If you do write it can it be with ghost or gaz?? gaz giving us shiny things but sea related, like shells? and/or ghost struggling through knowing how to court us. Both of them being confused of what to do because we are a new type of dragon that not many people knew existed and our courting traditions are mostly unknown??

Okay this is cool and it tickles my brain of having just this big fucking monster that's gigantic due to deep sea gigantism :D, I also picked Gaz cause I like the sea/sky duality.

CW:NSFW, subbot gaz, domtop Mreader, quick and rough

When you first joined the taskforce, Gaz didn't know what to expect. Your species had been newly discovered, barely any information about you, but something about you put some ancient part of his mind on edge, ants nipping on the sinew of his wings until his body begged to return to the safety of the sky.

First time he met you, you reminded him less of a dragon and more of a Leviathan — something that dwelled where the light didn't reach, far too big than anything should be allowed to be, bright bioluminescent markings shimmering against dark scales to lure prey into crushing jaws filled with sharp crooked teeth, horns like spears to pin down what couldn't fit in your maw, powerful legs built to swim and breach the surface of the water to catch unaware flyers like Gaz just to pull them down into the abyss to be devoured.

He would have been more. . . unsettled by you had you not been so nice.

You towered over him even in your mostly human form, but you were a gentle giant, happy to let him use you as a perch and humming along as he talks, joining in on his and Johnny's pranks and hiding them when Price eventually catches them.

And Gaz doesn't even notice when your presence no longer makes his feathers puff up, the shadow you cast over him now warm and welcoming after all the times you'd been a meat shield for him. He tils his head back to catch sight of your eyes as he leans back, soft feathers rubbing against your clothes, "Hey there big man." Gaz smiled.

You hum, your hand coming to loosely hold his hip, holding the pretty thing close to you. "Hi." You purr, the small biolights along your body flickering in seemingly random patterns, but nothing about them was random to you or your kin, your interest in him painfully obvious.

But to your dismay Gaz doesn't understand, just snorts at your colorful display. "What's got you in a good mood today?" He asks, eyes tracing the dancing lights, that instinctual bird part of his mind liking the sight, and the low rumble of your voice, and just. . . being near you.

You blink, "You," You say simply, your people aren't ones to mince words.

Gaz can feel his body heat up at your declaration, feathers puffing up, but strikes down any thoughts about you before they turn inappropriate and cause him to coo at you. "Fine, keep yer secrets." He huffs and gets out of your hold, wings stretching out to purposely show off his feathers as he walks away, tail feathers flickering.

He can feel your eyes follow after him, hummingbirds pecking at his spine and he doesn't know if he should feel that way. And all you can think of is how you could drag your pretty bird down into the abyss without clipping his wings.

. . .

Gaz watches you lazily swim around the lake near their current base in your real form, "Havin' a nice soak in there Nessie?" He asks as he walks the short pier and sits down, dipping his feet in the water as his wings spread out lazily behind him.

A low rumble leaves you like a distorted whale song, your large form pushing through the water like a submarine cutting through the ice. "Nessie?" You ask as swim over to him, "Who's that?"

"Never mind about that," Kyle grins, his eyes roaming along your large form as the biolights flicker once again in that specific pattern that means nothing to him but everything to you. "You look happy."

You shrug, "It's nice to be back in the water." Without a word you heave yourself out of the water and onto the pier, large hands clutching the wood on either side of him, a deep purr rumbling in your chest at how close he is to you now. "Did you need something?" You ask, biolights flickering seductively.

Kyle swallows drily, eyes going wide as he registers you loom over him, can smell the sea and salt still clinging to your scales, something other than fear buzzing down his spine from how close your dangerous teeth are to him. "Oh, right, uh," He clears his throat to clear the molasses clinging to it, wings spreading out in a way that got his feathers shining in the setting sun as he reached into his pocket.

"I, um. . . I got you this." He said, holding out the seashell he'd found for you. His breath caught in his throat as you looked at it, hoping you liked it; he'd spent hours polishing it until it was shining, the colors vibrant and every single scratch buffed out.

"Thank you," You rumbled and took the seashell into your hand. Your pupils dilated, a very pleased purr rumbling in your chest — oh, he was so thoughtful, such a good mate to bring a rare treat for you.

Kyle felt like a bloody peacock at the way his wings spread out, but he couldn't care less about his posturing when you accepted his gift, his heart fluttering like butterflies in a jar.

Then you ate it.

You ate his gift.

His heart shatters like the seashell between your fangs, wings dropping like a rock, never having expected to be rejected like that. "I- what- why did- if you-" He couldn't even form words to say what he wanted, pressing a hand to his face in an attempt to hide the way his eyes prickled with vestiges of tears.

Unfortunately for him, you notice. "Oh, little bird, what's wrong?" Your voice is soothing, biolights pulsing in a slow and calming way as you gently pry his hand from his face, looking into his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

Kyle doesn't look you in the eyes, doesn't know what the hell to feel right now, the words spewing out of his mouth before he could control them. "Why would you do that!" He hisses.

You tilt your head. "You gifted it to me." You say like it's supposed to explain everything, reaching up to cup his cheek, your clawed hand cold and wet against his skin. "It was very good." You lean in closer, a deep purr rumbling in your throat, your long tail moving to curl around his leg.

Kyle sucks in a sharp breath as you push you loom over him your hands on either sides of him keeping him in place, feeling himself slowly lay back as you creep over him onto the pier, heart drumming in his chest. "Wh-what?"

You snort, eyes glowing like anglerfish lures, lowering your head down to lick a stripe up his neck, claws raking down his front. "Let me show you my appreciation, yes?"

Kyle shivers at the sensation of your teeth against his throat, body heating up, your scent — of sea and salt and something very very old — invading his nose, an involuntary chirp escaping his chest. "Ah, yeah, sure just-" Kyle yelps as your claws cut through his clothes, wings quivering as they're pressed against the wooden pier behind him.

"Relax little bird," You coo softly, licking around his lips in what counts as a kiss for you when your maw is filled with vicious teeth, tongue trailing down to lick up the drops of his salty sweat. "I'll be gentle."

And gentle you are; softly licking up the blood after your fangs had left marks on his skin, sharp claws holding his trembling hips tenderly as your rough tongue worms inside him, soft purrs and deep rumbles vibrating your tongue against his prostate until he's sobbing, his hands clutching your horns to hold your head closer as his cock leaks a puddle of pre onto his abdomen.

He whines when you continue stretching him with your tongue, "Please, mate, just-" Kyle sucks in a sharp breath as your tongue once again grazes his prostate, thighs clenching around your head. "-just please fuck me already! I can't- I'm not going to-"

Kyle sobs with joy and anguish when you pull your tongue out, the slimy appendage slithering back into your maw and leaving him painfully empty. "Alright, alright," You coo, moving up to drape your body over his, nuzzling your cheek against his as you line your hard cock with his stretched hole. "Relax,"

The tip of your cock breaching his puckered hole has Kyle sucking in a sharp breath, "Easier said than done mate," He chuckles, closing his eyes and just trying to focus on your scent and just you, groaning. Fuck, you're big in all aspects, his body clenching down like a vice before relaxing enough for you to slowly push further, spreading his walls wide until you're fully inside him, your hips resting against his.

"There you go," You purr, letting Kyle adjust as you nibble on his neck, biolights flickering happily when he rocks his hips into yours. "Taking me so well,"

Gaz can feel his body heat up at your words, throwing his head back when you rock your hips, cock hard and heavy inside him, dragging against his walls with every minute movement that has him panting and whining, his legs crossing behind your back to pull your hips closer every time you pull out.

The world escapes your notice, all your attention fully on him as you focus on mating him, pulling needy desperate sounds from Kyle's lips, your large hand gently stroking his leaking dick as your cock rubs against his prostate, your unhurried pace making him cum again and again and again until he's a moaning boneless mess by the time you cum inside him.

#gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod smut #cod monster au #cod modern warfare #monster 141 au #monster cod au #cod mwii #cod x male reader

909 notes · View notes

frogchiro · 1 year ago

Note

OKAY BUT WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT POSSESSIVE MERMAN GHOST JUST THINK OF IT GUYS

Possessive merman Ghost is the worst :(( I'm gonna go with the idea that reader is a mermaid too

If you thought human Ghost was possessive then you should see him as a mer! I finally decided what I want him to look like and I settled on a frilled shark! They are deep see creatures and I freaking loved them ever since I was a kid obsessed with sea life😭

He's driven mostly by instinct to protect and provide for his mate and he will be violent if he needs to; his sharp talons, fangs, powerful tail and his natural prowess in hunting comes in handy in repelling every possible threat to you be it a literal danger or a threat to take you away from him.

He loves to watch you swim :(( Watching you swim in the depths of the ocean, your long beautiful tail swishing behind you like a sea angel as you perform various acrobatics, your giggles like the finest siren song to him, beconing him to join you but he usually declines, content with just watching and admiring you.

Simon likes to swim up to you and wrap his long, strong, thick tail around yours and press you close to his strong torso and he'll click and vocalise his adoration to you with growls, rumbles and bellows while nuzzling you possessively, licking your cheek and biting your sensitive neck-a very intimate and vulnerable gesture only reserved for close mates because that's where your gills are.

He'd tighted his hold on you with his tail, growling lowly in his throat as he feels his cock start to harden and breach the slit as he starts to get aroused by your own trills of happiness and pleasure :((

Ghost can't wait until the next breeding season because he's determind to breed you with his offspring and have you preggo with his eggs :((

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley

880 notes · View notes

dancingtotuyo · 7 months ago

Text

Part III

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: You and Joel hull the kids to the beach for a much needed vacation. Things begin to change.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: Tommy being a shitty husband & father, Father's day celebration, cursing, consumption of alcohol, emotional affair/cheating, some physical boundaries crossed. Pining

Notes: Y'all know the drill by now, thanks to my loves @janaispunk for beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading and providing me with some authentic prison information and inspiration, and @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 5273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

It’s June before you’re able to escape to the shore. You make it in just over 4 hours. It’s good timing considering the multiple bathroom stops you had to make. It’s a small house that probably hasn’t been renovated since Joel was there as a kid. It sits two blocks off the shore on stilts that make you feel secluded from the people that pass on the quiet street below, and when you stand on the porch, the salty sea breeze caresses your body as you let your eyes close. You can just make out the crash of ocean waves. You can feel the breeze carrying all your cares away.

Nate and Sarah excitedly explore the inside of the house. Their muted enthusiasm floating through the walls makes you smile. You’re thankful for this, thankful for Joel.

The sliding door opens and then shuts. You don’t move. It’s Joel. You know the sound of his footsteps, the way he moves through the world by heart. He settles against the railing, arm pressed against yours.

A smile spreads across your lips as your eyes open, landing on his. He smiles back. “Hard to enjoy the view with your eyes closed, Darlin.” His deep baritone rumbles smoothly. You see it in him too, the way the breeze carries away the wear and worry of the world.

“It’s peaceful out here.”

He nods. “Yeah, it is.”

“We should probably get back in there before the kids break something.”

Joel nudges you with his shoulder. “Don’t jinx us like that.”

“Our two? Unsupervised? That’s asking for it.”

“Our two?” A playful glint glimmers in Joel’s deep brown eyes. “My daughter is perfectly well behaved. It’s your little menace that’s the bad influence.”

“Oh my four year old is the bad influence?” You cross your arms, doing your best to keep the smile at bay.

“For sure- got his dad’s streak for mischief. My Sarah is a perfect angel.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You roll your eyes, slapping his shoulder, but you don’t have a good response. He’s not wrong. Nathaniel knows how to get into places he shouldn’t. “I seem to recall an incident involving a ten pound bag of flour that says differently.”

Joel chuckles at the memory. Nathaniel was barely a week old when Sarah shrieked in the kitchen only for you to find her and the kitchen dusted in white powder. You had cried upon seeing it, postpartum hormones raging. Joel had cleaned your entire kitchen top to bottom.

“She felt so bad for making you cry,” Joel laughs.

“I think I scared her.”

The door opens again. Sarah and Nathaniel break out, rushing for your legs and begging to go to the beach.

You spend the next several days lazing on the sand, reading more than you have in years as you soak in the sun. The kids run around chasing seagulls and other creatures. Joel helps them catch waves on boogie boards. You both take them further out to ride the waves. Sarah’s arms clutch around Joel’s neck, and Nathaniel does the same to you. They build sandcastles and Joel digs holes big enough to bury them both.

At night, the kids are out by 8 o’clock if not earlier allowing you and Joel to sit out on the deck and drink. Your skin is warm from the constant sun. Joel’s cheeks are tinged pink on your third evening, his chest rosier. The salty air works at his hair, bringing out curls. You like this version of him a lot. You like this version of yourself too.

Your feet sit in his lap as he massages your legs and feet, calves worn out from lugging your belongings across the sand and back. He stares up at the sky, twilight bringing the first few stars with it. You sip your homemade margarita, Joel’s specialty, from a red solo cup.

“I shoulda brought my guitar. Only thing that could make this moment better,” he says.

You hum softly, shifting in your chair. “Wouldn’t be able to massage my feet if you had your guitar.”

He laughs, so easy, so relaxed. You can’t remember the last time things felt this good. “Don’t worry, you’d still get your massage.”

“Why didn’t you bring it?” You cock your head to the side.

“Wouldn’t fit in the car, miss over packer.”

You roll your eyes softly kicking at him. “We’ve used everything I packed. Speaking of which, what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” You take another sip of your drink. Joel finds a knot in your calf, working it out as you let out a slight hiss.

Joel shrugs, carefully watching your reactions careful to inflict as little pain as possible. “Ask the kids.”

“It’s Father’s Day.”

“Kids like pancakes.” Joel sips from his own drink before returning to the knot.

“But you don’t.”

“Doesn’t matter what I like, Darlin.”

“Well, it does tomorrow.” You cross your arms.

Joel sighs rolling his eyes.

You narrow yours. “Don’t make me force it out of you. You know I will.”

He considers it a minute before deciding it’s a losing battle. “Those omelets you made for my birthday. I really liked those.”

You smile. “I can manage that.”

You sit in bed with Nathaniel the next morning to call Tommy. As early as possible is preferred, not that Tommy will care. He’s been blowing you off more, hardly talking when you call or visit, seemingly uninterested when you talk about Nate. It’s exhausting. You dread it, but you continue anyway.

It takes a while before Tommy’s voice comes through the speaker. You force an exaggerated smile to your face for Nathaniel’s sake. Daddy is an abstract being to him. “Hey babe. Happy Father’s Day!”

“Oh… that’s today?”

You push back the annoyance rising inside you. “Nate wants to say hello.” You hold the phone up to your four-year-old’s ear.

“Hello?” he says.

You can barely make Tommy’s pathetic response. He won’t even pretend for Nathaniel and that’s the unbearable part of all this.

“Happy Day!” Nathaniel says, taking hold of the receiver before he dives into updating his stranger of a father all about their beach vacation. Tommy stays quiet the whole time.

Rage begins to boil just under the surface. Before it can bubble over, Nathaniel says goodbye, shoving the phone into your chest and dashing out of the room the moment he hears Sarah moving around in the living room.

“Tommy?”

“Look, I need to go.”

You're not sure what’s worse. The hurt or the anger inside you. “I love you.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you on Friday.”

“Tommy.” It sounds like a scold. That’s exactly what it is.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for your wife and son?”

“You’re the one who called me.”

“Are you actually going to call on Friday? Or am I gonna end up sitting next to the phone all evening?”

You get silence.

“Tommy?”

“I’ll call.” And then the line goes dead.

You want to scream or yell or cry or all three. You settle for throwing a pillow across the room and giving yourself 5 minutes to cry. There may only be three months of this left, but you’re not sure you’ll actually be talking to your husband at the end of it, not that the two of you do any talking now.

Wiping your eyes, you make your way to the kitchen to start on Joel’s promised breakfast. Nathaniel and Sarah sit at the table comparing sea shells. “Aunt Bonnie?”

“Yes baby doll?” You smile, kissing her head.

“Which one would Daddy like on his card?” She points to a collection of about 5 shells.

“Hmmm,” you crouch down to her level, looking them over. “I think he would like any of them, but this one looks like him.” You point to a blue-grey shell.

She picks it up, inspecting it carefully. “It does look kinda grumpy like him.”

You laugh. That isn’t what you meant, but she wasn’t wrong. “I’m making omelets. What do y’all want in yours?”

The kids are digging into their breakfast when Joel walks out of his room, arms stretching above his head to reveal a little sliver of his tummy. Sarah quickly shoves her Father’s Day project under some magazines.

“Look who decided to wake up.” You smile over your shoulder. “Morning sleepy head.”

“One day of the year I get to sleep in.” He mumbles, shooting a teasing glare your way. He clocks your red eyes before you can turn away.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!” Sarah yells, standing on her chair to give Joel a hug. He chuckles, pulling her into his arms, spinning around, and setting her back on the chair with ease. She laughs.

“Thank you, baby girl.”

“Happy Day!” Nathaniel grins at his uncle.

“Father’s Day.” Sarah corrects. Nathaniel simply shrugs like he’d said the correct thing to begin with.

Joel chuckles, kissing his nephew’s cheek. “Thanks, Bud.”

You track his footsteps over to your side of the kitchen as you invest your full attention on the omelet in front of you. You know he caught your tear-stained eyes. “Fresh coffee in the pot,” You say, keeping your voice even.

You feel his full body heat behind you, a hand falls to your waist as he reaches into the cabinet next to the stove for a coffee mug. Something settles in your stomach.

“What did my idiot brother do now?” He keeps his voice low so the kids don’t overhear.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Darlin.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Your head snaps toward him. He’s right there, face so close to yours. Always nearby.

“You sure?”

You bristle a little bit. He drops his hand but stays in your space. “Not right now. We’re celebrating you this morning.” He smiles softly at you. “And I don’t want to burn your omelet, so scram.” You cock your head to the side.

He waits a second, searching for any signs he’s missing something. When he’s sure he isn’t, he gives you a soft smile and a tender kiss on the forehead, and steps over to the coffee pot, leaving you feeling warm and hazy.

The kids help clean up after breakfast. Sarah stands on a bench at the sink to wash dishes and Nathaniel waits patiently with a dish towel to dry the lighter dishes. You and Joel sit at the table, second and third cups of coffee in hand as you oversee their efforts.

“I think I’m going to enjoy this next phase of parenting,” Joel says with a long, content sigh.

You feel the easiness thrumming in your veins. Why couldn’t life always be this way? “Yeah if my anxiety about broken dishes or wet feet doesn’t get the better of me first.”

He chuckles softly, sipping from his mug as an easy silence falls between you. You watch the kids and Joel watches you. Sun pours through the many windows of the beach house. You’re not ready to leave tomorrow.

“You wanna talk about it now?”

You sigh. “Not really. We’re supposed to be celebrating you today.”

“I’ll be able to enjoy myself more if I know what’s going on in your head.”

You keep your gaze focused on the kids, rolling the words around in your head. You feel emotionally exhausted by it all and you’re not even through the morning hours yet.

“Darlin,” Joel kicks at your foot, smile on his face. “C’mon. We can talk about it.”

You set your mug down, turning toward him. “He’s just blowing us off again. I spent more time waiting for him to come to the phone than I did talking to him. He hardly interacted with Nate this morning.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to push away the tears pressing to escape.

Joel reaches across the table, taking your hand. He runs his thumb over your knuckles. It grazes past your wedding band, almost taunting you now.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t fair to either of you,” Joel says.

“You’d think I’d stop letting it affect me at some point.”

Joel bites his lip, eyes pinned to your ring finger. “He’s your husband. Needs to start acting like it,” Joel says gruffly. You catch the spark of something in his deep brown eyes, but you don’t have time to place it.

“We’re done!” Sarah exclaims with a proud smile, her shirt soaked through.

You pull your hand from Joel’s, wrapping it around your warm mug as you laugh. “Thank you for your help. Both of you.” Nathaniel puts the dish towel carefully over the oven handle, shooting you the biggest grin.

“Can we do presents now?” Sarah asks, curls bouncing with her.

“Presents?” Joel says. “Y’all didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” Sarah says, looking to you for permission.

“I think now is a great time for gifts.”

Both kids run toward their shared room. They had been very excited at the promise of bunk beds. You ease out of your chair. “Not you too.” Joel shakes his head.

You shoot him a wink. “Suck it, Miller.”

Flashes of your delayed Mother’s Day celebration jump between you. Joel had switched up the weekends and hadn’t been prepared, but had made up for it the following weekend. You hadn’t heard from Tommy. He never even mentioned it.

You grab the small box from your suitcase, a small white bow tied around it. The four of you settle in the living room. You sit tucked into one end of the sofa while Joel sits at the other end, a bouncing kid on either side of him.

“Me first!” Sarah says, handing her card and hand-wrapped gift to her father.

Joel takes care, slowly reading the card out loud. His gift consists of a souvenir snow globe and a puca shell necklace. She picked them out with great care at the beach shop the two of you stopped in yesterday. He oos and awes over both.

“You should put on the necklace!” Sarah says, standing up on the cushions of the couch.

“Maybe I want to admire it more,” Joel says.

You bite back a smile. He’s already lost this battle and you both know it.

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” She grabs it from his hand, determination, and concentration painted on her face as she wraps it around his neck.

“Yeah, don’t be silly, Daddy.” You tease, shooting him a wink. He pokes his tongue out at you as Sarah almost chokes him in the process of securing the necklace.

“Not so tight, baby girl.”

“Oops,” she giggles. “All done.”

She steps back to admire her handiwork, looking quite pleased. “What do you think, Aunt Bonnie?”

“Beautiful,” You smile, laughter evident in your tone of voice. “You look ready to hit the beach.”

“My turn!” Nathaniel announces, handing Joel a hand-drawn picture depicting their day at the beach yesterday. He goes into great detail describing everything he drew. Joel’s hand rests on Nate’s shoulder blades, head tucked toward him as he takes in everything the boy says with practiced patience and intentionality.

It strikes something in your heart, a deep longing. That should be Tommy. But it also sends a deep sense of gratitude toward your brother-in-law for picking up where his brother has failed. You swallow back the tears, losing track of how much you’ve had to do that today.

“Thank you, Bud. I love it.” Joel kisses Nathaniel's head.

“You’re welcome, Daddy.”

Joel freezes. Ice rushes through your bloodstream. Your eyes meet Joel’s. What do you say to that? Neither of you knows the answer.

“He’s not your daddy, Nate,” Sarah says, pulling out her older sister voice. “He’s your uncle.”

“Oh yeah,” Nathaniel shrugs, unbothered by his mishap as he swings his legs back and forth, hitting the couch with his heels as he does.

“Aunt Bonnie, do you have the other gift?” Sarah asks, determined to keep the morning on schedule.

“Yeah, right here.” You fumble around, finding the box tucked between yourself and the couch. Joel keeps his eyes on you trying to figure out what’s running through your mind, but he can’t.

Sarah plucks the box from your hands before presenting it to her father. “This is from all three of us.”

She looks very proud of herself. Joel takes it with a smile, eyes flickering back to you briefly. You give him an encouraging nod.

He loosens the bow, pulling off the top. The kids lean over either side of his body, excited for the reveal even though they’ve both seen it. He pulls it out, inspecting it carefully. A black watch face with silver accents and an olive green watch band. His eyes dart to yours. You smile at him.

“You’ve been talking about it for years.” You smirk, sipping your coffee. “You were never gonna do it yourself.”

“It’s exactly what I wanted.” He shakes his head, a stunned chuckle shaking his chest. “How’d you know?”

“Found an old picture Tommy had stored away last fall.”

“Look at the back.” Sarah bounces with excitement.

Joel flips it over. His brows knit together as he catches the inscription. Happy Father’s Day. We love you. Sarah and Nathaniel. 1997.

“Do you like it?” Sarah looks up at him with sparkling excitement.

“I love it.” He kisses her cheek, thanking both the children. He wraps it around his wrist, buckling it into place.

“Now you won’t be late anymore,” Sarah says, making you and Joel laugh.

“We can only hope,” you say.

Joel looks up at you with one of the most heartfelt smiles you’ve ever seen. His lips move silently. Thank you.

You nod in response.

You spend the final day of your vacation on the beach until the sun has disappeared. Joel ends up running back to the house to grab the car so your two very tired children don’t melt down. You hurry through bath time, trying to get all the sand from hair and bodies. You’re sure you’ll be finding sand all over your and Joel’s homes for months.

You provide goodnight hugs and kisses, but Joel takes bedtime duties. You’re cleaning up the kitchen, and packing up pantry items when the first lines of You Are My Sunshine drift out of the kid’s bedroom in Joel’s soft melodies. The kids' sleepy voices talk him into another lullaby and then another before their eyelids slip closed and their breathing evens out.

The door clicks softly and you’ve already pulled the margarita pitcher and new solo cups. “See they talked you into the whole set list tonight.” You smile, filling the cups with the last of the margaritas.

“It’s the last night of vacation.” Joel chuckles. He grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and the half-eaten bag of pretzels. “They asked so nicely.”

“And you’re a big softy.”

You grab both cups, following Joel out to your spot on the deck. It’s cooler tonight, the breeze a bit stronger. You sit across from each other, feet propped in the seat of the other’s chair with the blanket spread across your legs. Joel sets the pretzels right at your knees.

“Did you enjoy your day?” You ask, sipping on the day-old margarita. It goes down easier tonight, and your cup is filled to the brim.

“It was a good day.” Joel smiles at you, easy and relaxed. The world and your issues feel so far away here despite the day’s earlier events. “Probably the best Father’s Day yet.”

“Oh you mean it beats the raw banana bread from last year?” You’re laughing before the sentence fully leaves your mouth. Joel’s head falls back, chest vibrating with laughter.

His hair curls more from the salty air and fits him, tanned skin, curly hair, Puca shell necklace and all. You wonder if you look like a similar version of yourself, the relaxed beach version.

“Sarah trying to choke me with the necklace beats whatever it was you tried to bake last year.”

You stick out your tongue. The pretzel bag rustles as he grabs a handful. You take another drink from your cup. Joel Miller makes a mean margarita.

“What about you? Did you have a good day then?”

You take an extra second to think about it before nodding. “Yeah. I can’t complain when it comes to well-behaved kids and the beach.”

“Nathaniel calling me dad didn’t throw you off, I hope.”

Your shoulders tense a little bit. “I think I’m the one who should be asking that.”

“Kinda surprised it hasn’t happened sooner if I’m being honest.” Joel’s pointer finger slides along the lip of his cup before he brings it to his lips.

You bite your lips, staring at the house across the street. “Same.”

“Sorry, that was kinda a mood killer.” Joel’s hand rests on your calf.

“It’s fine. You’re more of a father to him than his real dad.” You try to wave it off, but the facts are reeling in your mind like a movie. “Fuck, you were in the delivery room, and coached his T-ball team, and you’ve tucked him into bed more times than Tommy ever has.” You swipe away the moisture that’s gathered in your eyes, chasing them with another gulp of your drink.

“Hey… maybe you should slow down there.” Joel leans forward, his feet dropping from your chair as he grabs the solo cup from you and the pretzels tumble to the deck.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” You reach for the cup, but Joel keeps it out of reach, setting it on the ground next to his.

“I do.” He’s firm with you, grabbing your hands and tucking them between his. You can’t meet his eyes, embarrassment flooding your body. “What's going on in your mind right now?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Darlin,” He tugs gently on your arms. Your feet greet the warm deck as you're forced to sit up straighter. The side of your knee bumps against his. “You can talk to me.”

“I just want to enjoy our last night, Joel.”

“Can’t do that if I’m worried about you.” He tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

The street lights flicker off his warm eyes. You feel his touch linger under your chin. Extra warmth gathers in each place he touches. The words bubbling up in you, helpless to stop the thoughts circling in your head for months.

“I’m not sure my marriage is salvageable. I don’t know if I’ll recognize my husband when he gets out. I don’t think he’s the same person-“ You can’t finish through the choked-out sobs.

Joel lets out a soft sigh and before you know it, he’s tugging your pliant body into his lap, rubbing your back. He kisses your head. Your head finds the crook of his neck, fingers digging into the back of it. He’s the steady rock he’s always been. It does little to soothe your racing mind.

You have so many questions and no answers. Tommy’s release from prison always felt like a distant finish line. Now, three months away, it feels like just the start.

“No matter what, I’ve got you,” Joel says, hand cupping your cheek. “I’m here for you.”

How much longer can you continue to find solace in your brother-in-law's arms? How much longer will Joel play the part Tommy is supposed to? Supporter, parent, partner…

You pull back, fingers still wrapped around his neck. The metal of your wedding ring presses against his skin, but he’s used to feeling it. He doesn’t even think about it anymore. Your forehead nearly touches his. The pools of his deep eyes are endless. They’re different than Tommy’s. You don’t mean to compare, but you like it, soft and inviting after sleeping on rocks for years. You think you catch the hints of desire in them. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be desired.

There’s a fight, a push and pull between you. Who’s going to do it. His hot breath fans across your lips. Who’s going to be the one to finally cross the line you’ve been toeing for so long and drag the other one into exile with them? It’s a lush oasis in the middle of the desert you’ve been traveling. One move and you can dip your toe in.

Joel gives in first, leaning in. Your eyes flutter shut with anticipation, another touch of his breath. His nose nudges against yours. You catch a whiff of the salt on his skin, and then, nothing, a mirage all in your head leaving you stranded in the desert.

Confusion knits your brow before your eyes are open. Joel is still close, closer than a man that’s not your husband should be, but he feels further away than ever.

His thumb nudges your bottom lip. He gives a weak smile in an attempt to cover his true emotions. “We can’t…”

He’s right. You hate yourself for getting so carried away. “I know.”

Your hand drops from his neck. You might be sitting on his lap but he’s never felt farther from you.

“You should go to bed.”

You think to fight him on it, but you decide not to. You stand up. Joel doesn’t move, thumb playing with the lip of his solo cup. He can’t meet your eyes and it feels like you might be losing him too.

Before you can think better of it, you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Your fingers rake through his hair twice over. His eyes close and he lilts into you just the slightest.

“Thank you, Joel. For everything.”

His Adam’s Apple bobs as you pull away. He keeps his eyes pinned ahead, fingers curling around the red plastic. He’s barely holding on to control.

“Good night,” he says, voice gruff, never looking away from his fixed point.

“Goodnight.”

Joel finishes off yours and his margarita before he falls into bed. It’s just enough to keep him buzzed as he runs toward rest. He can’t get the feel of you out of his mind, how close he was to ripping apart his whole family.

He’s in and out of sleep when the door pops open. He assumes it’s Sarah. She probably had a bad dream, and tosses the corner of the comforter back. Except, the full size mattress dips lower than it should. He reaches out but instead of Sarah’s small frame, he gets a handful of your waist as the smell of you fills his nostrils. In the haze of sleep, Joel opens his eyes just enough to find you facing away from him.

The bed isn’t big enough for his legs not to tangle with yours, not if he wants restful sleep. Your body doesn’t tense under his touch. You don’t say anything. Neither does he, but your body melts into him until he finds his arm fully around your middle, back flush against his front.

Joel Miller considers himself a good man, but a good man doesn’t yearn for his brother’s wife. A good man doesn’t give into the temptation to have her so close, to be with her so intimately. Tonight, Joel Miller doesn’t worry about being a good man. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but tonight, Joel Miller falls asleep with you in his arms and bed. Tonight, Joel Miller’s deepest desires come true. Just for tonight, he gets to pretend you’re his.

You wake up to an empty bed like you have since Tommy went to prison, but something feels off about it. A familiar smell lingers under your nose, and unfamiliar warmth fills you even though the sheets are cold.

You let out a soft groan, eyes fluttering open. You stare up at the ceiling, convinced once again that something feels off. You turn to look at the clock on the bed stand but there’s not one there. The walls are a different color and you shoot up as it all comes flooding back.

You almost kissed Joel last night. The way you tossed and turned before giving into temptation and crawling in beside him. He hadn’t fought you, hadn’t said a word but pulled you flush against him in the bed that was just a bit too small. You’d slept like a baby for the first time in years.

Joel sits at the table with the kids as they shovel the last of the extra sugary cereal into their mouths. A special vacation treat. You expect Joel to ignore you or at least be standoffish, but he hands you a cup of steaming coffee with the same smile he always does, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes as if nothing happened.

You offer a smile in response. A silent agreement to never speak on it again.

You’ve been home for a week when it comes, a plain white envelope stuffed with something soft labeled with a return address you’re all too familiar with written in Tommy’s chicken scratch handwriting.

You wait until Nathaniel is down for the night, but it throws you the whole evening. Letters from Tommy are more rare than phone calls. You’ve received one, maybe two since he was incarcerated. Considering he’d promised to call on after Father’s day and hadn’t, the mysterious letter makes you feel unsettled. What shoes are left to drop?

You run the envelope through your hands, thumb picking at the corner of the seal, uncommitted to actually tearing it open. You’re worried whatever lies within will only hurt you more. You can’t sustain more hurt.

Finally, you dig into the corner, tearing it open. Your eyebrows knit together. White fabric is neatly folded and tucked within. You pull it out, revealing a square of white fabric, like a bandana unfurls and a note falls to the floor. As you take in the black and white drawing on the fabric, you gasp. It’s a drawing of the picture you keep on your nightstand. The moment Tommy met Nathaniel for the first time. Tommy’s arm is wrapped around you, Nathaniel in his arms with the biggest grin on his face. It’s a moment that’s seared into your memory. Seeing it portrayed like this brings tears to your eyes, the emotions from that day and the last 696 flooding your body.

Before the tear completely blur your vision, you pick up the note. You can barely make out Tommy’s handwriting when your eyes are clear, but you manage.

Baby,

You and I both know I didn’t draw this. My cellmate did based on the photo. You probably know that. They call them paños. I’ve seen a lot of the ones guys in here have sent to their girls. They’re pretty cool.

I’m sorry. I wish I could be better for you and Nathaniel. I love you, Bonnie.

Tommy.

Tears stream down your face. Just like that your heart seems to forget the heartache of the last couple years. This proves that your Tommy is still inside him somewhere, fighting to come back to you. You’ll do anything to have your Tommy back.

It doesn’t matter if you're grasping at threads. Your heart overpowers your mind. You’re determined that you can pull him back by those threads, maybe not now, but once he’s out. Once he’s out, you can bring him back. You’re his Bonnie. He’s your Clyde. You’re tied together. Your heart beats for him, but you don’t catch a piece of your heart breaking off from the rest. That part can't beat for Tommy. It’s attached to someone else.

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours @duckybird101 @anoverwhelmingdin @nervoushottee @caitlynsixxx @kaykay0315 @stevie75 @millercontracting @cals-laundry @jessthebaker @noisynightmarepoetry @vickie5446 @mewantpeepaw

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tommy miller x reader #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #high infidelity (joel miller)#ppcu fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories

307 notes · View notes