#humanity is nakedness

[harmlesscigarette]

"Communion," Yesika Salgado

(image description available in alt id)

[dandyshucks]

okay wait genuine question actually as a general comfort consensus thing: how does everyone here feel about nonsexual nudity in art, WITH the assurance that genitalia (breasts don't count lol) will not be shown (i.e. tasteful posing to obscure it).

i know i have a few minors following me so this is mostly for their sake but also i think its good to get others feelings on it too just in case! i can (and likely will) definitely tag it with a specific tag IF i end up posting stuff here but i'm not rly sure yet if i'll actually share that stuff on this blog or not!

[dammitradar]

Literally had a dream about internet censorship and about how in a world where sex, cursing and death are censored, you've got to memento motherfucking mori

[butch-bakugo]

I want to be a natural parent.

I want my children to see nudity.

Not pornography, not kink, not sex.

Nudity. Nudity in art. Nudity as a form of beauty.

Nudity as a form of power. Nudity as natural and beautiful.

Nudity is not shameful. Nudity is not gross. Nudity is not sexual.

I want my children to see human bodies as beautiful. I want my children to see this as natural. I want my children to see the beauty in the natural human form. I want them to confident in their bodies. I want them to see bodies of all types. I want them to not shy away or blush at nude painting.

I want my children to look at themselves as see a beautiful human being and to see beauty in other's bodies. They will see breasts and see the feeding of children, not sexy tits. They will know the proper words for their body parts. They will not call it their cookie or coochy, that is their vagina. They will not call it their peepee or sprinkler, that is their penis. Studies show those nicknames excite predators. Pedophiles reported being turned off when a child said the proper terminology.

They will be taught that no one other than themselves should see their naked body, only people they want to see it should. What places are or aren't appropriate to be naked. When it is or isn't appropriate to be naked there. Who they should show it to and who not to. They will be taught to not allow anyone to touch them in certain areas and I will make sure they feel comfortable telling me if someone dose and who.

Children only see things as sexual when they are taught to and my children will not be taught that a naked body is inherently sexual. Because it isn't. It is simply a natural body.

[misswrittenword]

Imagine you go skinny dipping.

Tentacle!Monster x fem!human ~ ovipositor, eggpreg, dubcon, tentacle bondage, aphrodisiac cum, p in v, breeding.

You're house sitting for a rich couple for a few weeks. The place is stunning, vaulted ceilings, the most recent tech. Huge fluffy bed in the guest room. And the best part? The giant pool in the back yard. When you'd been hired, the couple said you were welcome to use any of the facilities at the place, including the in ground pool, so you made sure to pack your bikini.

The place was super remote, no cell service, just a ridiculously gorgeous mansion in the woods, and this fueled your decision to go skinny dipping in the pool. You can't help but feel nervous, you've never done this before and doing it in a pool that doesn't belong to you feels scandalous. Removing your towel and setting it down on the lounge chair nearby, you walk over to the shallow end and enter the water. With the sun beating down on your back, the cool water feels incredible, and you jump in and start to swim around.

You float around for a while, humming to yourself quietly and relaxing. Unable to help yourself, you run your hands over your body. First your tits, and then down your jiggly tummy and your hips before grazing over your warm centre. Your hands drift away, but soon after you feel something brush against your thigh. The dreamy relaxation skirts away and you move until you're stationary, just able to touch the bottom.

Looking around, you see nothing out of the ordinary until you're looking straight down at your bare legs. The water seems... weird, and you realize that the pattern of the liner in the pool is obscured by something a similar colour. Unsettled, you stare at it intently. What feels like hours pass, whatever it is is large, but you can't seem to make yourself move.

And then it lunges. The water barely moves, but something grabs both your legs and yanks you under. Your scream is cut off by the water, and you thrash frantically until, surprisingly, you're released. Popping up and gasping desperately, you fumble to swim to the edge of the pool. You cough up some water as you bend over the side, stunned and trying to get your bearings.

It's a mistake. Whatever grabbed you has latched on again, racing up your legs and wrapping around your hips. Finally, you see what it is. Bright blue tentacles have taken hold of you, quickly moving up your body and gathering up your arms. It restrains you easily, though at the moment you are too startled to fight back again. The tentacles are warm and wet, suckers lining the underside reminding you of an octopus.

There's several of different sizes, the biggest you guess to be only a bit larger around than your wrist, and the smallest about the size of your pinky. You're shaking like a leaf, but the true terror kicks in when one on your leg inches up and brushes over your bare cunt. Suddenly remembering your own nakedness, you begin to desperately try and free your arms.

The tentacles holding them together behind your back tighten as you wiggle your wrists, and they circle up toward your elbows, pulling them closer together. The action thrusts your breasts out into the waiting tentacles inching toward them. These two have wider, flatter ends that are covered in numerous small suckers. They latch on and you gasp at the sensation of them squeezing and sucking your nipples.

You wriggle and struggle against your living binds, the tentacles eagerly exploring over your heating flesh. They spread your legs, and you sob fearfully, another winding around your neck and using the opportunity to delve into your mouth. You gag violently at the intrusion and fight to breath through your nose as it pushes into your mouth slowly. It tastes like water and something warmer, heartier.

Still bent over, your weight seems to be held up by the tentacles. Lifting you, they raise your ass into the air, and the ground seems to be farther away. Legs open so far they hurt, your cunt is completely exposed. You can't even bring your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to protect your dignity, though you try.

A smaller tentacle rubs over your pussy. It's movements are slow and teasing, touching gently and exploring. The suckers bump over you, and you whine around the one in your mouth. Rutting up against your dampening flesh, it finds your clit and curls around it. Your hips jerk and unwanted arousal seeps into your bones.

For a moment, everything stops. It's as if you and the creature both hold your breath. You in embarrassment and confusion at your bodies betrayal. The monster.. Well, it was anyones guess as to its feelings on the matter.

Until it doubled down.

The one in your mouth thrusting faster and pushing to lodge itself into your throat. The one on your clit renews its movements, playing with you. Another quickly wiggling into your cunt and beginning to open you up. It's not too big, but the suckers catch on the tender flesh inside you and your eyes roll into the back of your head, hips twitching and pussy quickly soaking the intruder.

You hate yourself a bit for how turned on you're becoming. But you hate it the most.

Breathing heavily, angry tears stream down your face. The tentacle fucking into you and the one on your clit have you whimpering and shaking as you near orgasm. A shiver seems to run up them and they move quicker, harder and deeper. Some of the suckers play with your cervix and you scream around the one in your mouth as others zero in on your g-spot.

The stimulation becomes too much, and you wail as you cum around the sucker lined tentacle buried inside you. The one in your throat keeps eagerly pumping into you, but the one in your cunt speeds up and begins to flood your hole with something hot and heavy.

Cum.

You cry harder, but then a certain tingle works its way into you. Your tears go from fully angry to slightly angry and fully aroused. Your cries are no longer sad, but now they're needy and your pussy clenches down longingly around the tentacle. Hips jerking and thighs straining to close in the hopes of some sort of friction, you undulate against the monster as it holds you aloft. Begging for more.

And more you get. The tentacle in your cunt lets go, withdrawing from you slowly. Mind fuzzy, you cry out at the loss loudly, wiggling as much as your bonds allow you. Soon you feel another nudge against you. You whimper in relief at the contact and present yourself to it as much as you can.

This one is bigger than the last. Possibly one of the biggest. Least it feels like it as it starts to stretch your tiny pussy out. You're eager for it, and the combination of your arousal and it's own cum eases the way for it to bully its way into you. The head is quite tapered, and your eyes widen at the sensation because you realize it's almost like an arrow head. When it pulls back a little, there seems to be a lip that catches on your cunt walls as it gets thicker.

Your fear only seems to heighten your arousal, and your quickly overstimulating body cums again as it begins to stretch you out. The thin head pushes against your cervix, and you whimper. Whatever was in its cum has made your body completely receptive to it, and what shouldn't happen does.

It bullies its way into your womb with only a small amount of resistance. It feels tight, but as it lodges its tapered tip into you and fucks the rest of it's huge tentacle inside of you, it's hard to even care.

The tentacle monster speeds up, thrusting eagerly now, jostling your pliant body and stuffing your tiny cunt so full it feels like your brain is being fucked away. Each orgasm has you shaking more and more, until you're constantly cumming, body alight with arousal and insatiable.

Another spurt of cum has you seeing stars, and that's when you feel something press against your hole. You try and see what's happening but can't, and the only thing you can come up with is the monster has decided to fuck it's eggs into you and make you a mother.

You moan around the tentacle in your throat as the egg pressing against you pops into your cunt and is forced into your womb. The heavy feeling makes you cum again, and a burst of several eggs fills you up at once. More and more come, and you lose count of how many are inside you quickly.

Awash with pleasure, you moan and writhe begging incoherently as it breeds you with its eggs. When it slows down, another burst of cum floods into your womb, spilling out and dribbling from your cunt and into the water beneath you. By the end, your stomach feels gravid and tight, straining with the clutch inside you.

Looking down, your bleary eyes take in your shadow. Trussed up by tentacles, you watch in fascination as the reflection reveals the large tentacle buried in your hole. It's huge, and your cunt is stretched around it tightly.

It's going to be a crazy few weeks.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— i believe in a thing called love

SUMMARY : dean thinks you’re playing a game but he slowly realises you’re not. 

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), unprotected piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, edging, praise kink?, horniness 

WORD COUNT : 4.2k

A/N : title from a song by the darkness. this fills the square amnesia for my @jacklesversebingo card.  I’m sorry yall, I like cliffhangers 😔 (but there’s a part two coming, yay!)

You don’t remember ever waking up to a more warm and pleasant morning.

Usually, you woke up after sleeping however many hours you could have, and always felt like it wasn’t enough. Your eyes burned with sleepiness, your body felt heavy with fatigue, and your mind was clouded with the darkness of unconsciousness.

Not this morning.

You felt light and warm, like the vapour of your too-hot shower. Your bed was soft and your sheets smelled of sweet and flowery fabric softener. 

You opened your eyes to a room blanketed in complete darkness. There was not a window in sight for sunlight to slither into and your stomach sank slightly when you realised that you didn’t know where you were. Or how you got to where you were now.

Your nakedness beneath soft, thin sheets made you feel vulnerable. You pulled the sheets up your body and started to get out of bed, only for the sheets to catch on something. No, on someone. A man who groaned gravelly and slightly tugged the sheets away from you.

Your eyes widened, your blood went cold with fear, and your body became hot with adrenaline. You froze as you thought of what to do and looked around to see if you could make any shapes while the darkness smothered you. 

“Come back to bed, sweetheart,” he pleaded lazily, his voice thick with sleep making your skin prickle. He gave the blanket a lazy tug to encourage you, but you ignored him. You didn’t know him, the audacity. You simply released the blanket and blindly made your way around the room for clothes that you must have left somewhere. 

You heard him sigh tiredly, the blankets rustled when he shifted, and the room lit up with the quiet click of a lamp’s switch and you yelped when you saw him, equally naked, in the bed. He sat up in alarm and looked around, before just staring at you in confusion.

His hair was a mess and he looked tired… but hot. His arms were thick and strong. His shoulders were broad and a familiar tattoo rested above his heart, beneath his collarbone. He wasn’t ripped like someone who was obsessed with going to the gym and dieting. He was so damn fine. The thin blankets came lower down his hips when he sat up inquisitively. His stomach became taut and you could see the faint lines of his abs. At least you slept with someone hot and not some creep. Well… he could still be a creep.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He moved the blankets from his hips, subsequently flashing you his dick, when he began to get up and make his way to you.

“No, stop!” You shouted, covering your eyes before deciding to cover yourself instead. He instantly obeyed and froze on the spot, bewildered. “Cover your eyes,” you demanded exasperatedly.

“What? Why?” He asked, but he still covered his eyes with his hand. But who could blame you for quickly stealing a glance at his very pretty cock? “Did you start your period? You’re not due for another two weeks.” You blinked at him, astonished and disoriented.

“Uhhh, what? How do you even know that, dude?” You flushed with embarrassment.

“Dude?” He lowered his hand to give you an irritated look. The only reason you didn’t shout at him to look away was that he wasn’t staring at you like you were a piece of cake. “It’s way too early for jokes.” He shook his head at you and turned around to sift through the tall dresser behind him. Your eyes hesitantly dropped to his perky ass and you forced yourself to look away before he turned to you.

Forgive me. I am just human.

“Where’s my damned clothes?” You asked, leaning forward over the bed to drag the blanket towards yourself to cover up. He turned with a deadpan expression while he slipped his boxers up to his hips. But when you lifted your brows expectantly, he rolled his eyes at you and smiled sarcastically, flourishing his arms in front of the dresser.

He was kind enough to pull out a black shirt that looked like it was his, then pink women's underwear, and finally some colourfully striped socks. He handed them to you, but you backed away.

“No, I’m not wearing that,” you refused, looking disgustedly at the cotton underwear and the small socks. 

“It’s yours,” he told you flatly.

“What do you mean it’s mine?” 

He blinked at you boredly and dropped the clothes on the bed to cross his arms across his very sexy broad chest. “Alright. How long are you gonna keep this up?”

“I… uh, what?” 

He smiled slowly and climbed up on the bed to get closer to you. Once he did, he reached for your waist and tugged you forward. Your heart thudded heavily in your chest and you clutched the blanket closer to your breasts. Even standing on his knees in the bed, he was taller than you. 

“What game are you playin’ at, hmm?” He asked seductively, gently squeezing your side. Your lips parted slightly and your heart raced. 

You studied his face, captivated by his beauty. The crinkles at the corner of his verdant eyes called to you when he smiled down at you. You could see he was doing the same. His eyes followed a path along your face until they landed on your lips. You couldn’t help following the same path on his own with your eyes. After letting your eyes drift across the curve of his freckled nose, the line of his jaw, and the attractive stubble, your eyes fell to his pillowy lips.

His hand moved to your jaw. He looked playful and your heart sped up the longer he admired you. His calloused hand gently slid up your jawline to tangle his fingers in your hair until finally, he dipped down and kissed you. His lips felt soft against your slightly-chapped lips, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

His mouth moved lazily, yet expertly over yours. Your stomach fluttered and your breath hitched. As simple as it was, it felt amazing. His lips on yours sent waves of need and excitement through your body, electrifying your skin. 

He clouded your mind with his kiss and your mouth slowly fell open. He cupped the back of your head in his hand and tilted his head, slowly becoming more firm and needy. Your hand released the sheet from your body and your hands found their way into his soft brown hair. He hummed lowly in appreciation and splayed his free hand across the bare skin of your back.

He carefully removed his hand from your hair, then you felt his hands move to the back of your thighs. He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath against your swollen lips made you dizzy as he hoisted you up. You clung to him, dazed and aroused, and he carefully dropped you into the bed again.

His knees parted your legs. You could feel your arousal dripping down as you were exposed to the room’s cool air. He almost instantly pressed his hips to your wet core. You could feel the warmth of his hard cock against your pulsing clit. You moaned softly and he gave you a charming smile that heated your cheeks in response. 

He leaned down to kiss you again. This time, his tongue pushed past your lips. The warmth and wetness of his saliva moved against your tongue. He did it as if he’d done a thousand times to you—shamelessly, with craving. 

His lips moved passionately, firmly against yours. His tongue brushed over yours needily, lovingly. He tasted you with hunger and pulled away with heavy breaths, ignoring the string of spit connecting your lips to his. 

He leaned forward again, except this time—when you closed your eyes—you felt his lips brush against your cheeks. His warm breath tickled your neck and ear, so shivers trickled through your body. 

You squirmed beneath him and wiggled your hips longingly.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard on my tongue, baby,” he whispered. You cursed softly. Your cunt clenched with excitement at the thought of him doing to your pussy, what he’d done to your mouth. You almost didn’t feel him press wet kisses down your neck until he sucked gently at your pulse.

He moved down your body slowly. Used his teeth, tongue, and lips on your flesh to hold you in his spell. He did it so precisely, fanning the embers to create a fire of desire that overwhelmed your body with lust. 

His lips brushed against your nipple and your heart lurched. Heat pooled between your legs, followed by a warm wetness that you somehow knew would boost his ego. 

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he whispered against your breast before gently sinking his teeth around your nipple. His fingers pinched the other. How he expected you to respond was unclear as he teased your sensitive skin with his expert tongue and strummed at your flesh like a professional guitarist. 

“How did I end up here?” You replied quietly, carding your fingers through his short hair. He chuckled softly at your response, moved on from one breast to the other. His saliva on your abandoned nipple enhanced the coldness of the room, causing your skin to tingle. 

His laugh was a whole other thing. Hot and deep. Everything about him seemed to be that way. Hot and deep.

His hand sneaked down to your ribs, your stomach, and stayed there. Warm, heavy, huge, and calloused. One hell of a man. You bet he could choke you with one hand. 

You moaned softly at the thought and squeezed his sides with your thighs in attempts to alleviate your desire. It was futile, but you had a feeling that’s how he wanted you. He smirked against your breast, you could feel the stretch of a smile on his sinful lips, and he finally moved on.

“You’re so desperate today, aren’t ya?” Amusement seeped into his voice, but there was nothing amusing about the way his hand finally moved between your legs. He slid his middle finger through your folds, slowly teasing your clit with ghostly touches. “Always so wet, baby, fuck,” he moaned against your hipbone. 

“Please,” you whined, clutching his hair tighter. He sucked a lavender mark on your hips and slid his lips down to your pelvis.

“Yeah?” He teased with a smirk. You loosened your grip on his hair, just slightly. His green eyes sparkled up at you, but all you could really focus on was his finger turning to two fingers that quickly dipped into your entrance to gather your excessive slick. “Fuck.” Oh, God. No one should sound so hot saying that word, but your stomach seemed to flip excitedly when it sounded so pleased. “Look at that, sweetheart. You’re soaked, it’s gonna be so easy for me to fuck you.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, your toes curled with excitement. 

He parted your folds with his fingers and lowered himself to level his mouth with your dripping cunt. His warm breath on your wet heat made you squirm and your legs shamelessly opened wider for him. The Pied Piper of sex.  

His eyes fluttered shut when he kissed your clit. You don’t think anyone’s ever done that to you before. To be fair, you can’t remember much and you don’t know if it’s because of his intoxicating sensuality or because of something much more serious. Quite frankly, you didn’t care as he continued to kiss you down to your clenching entrance with hums of appreciation vibrating through your desperate core.

“Please,” you laughed breathily, weakly attempting to pull his face closer between your legs. He perked up even more at that, and flicked his tongue against your clit, perfectly striking a nerve like a chord that resonated through your entire body and made you quiver. 

He flattened his tongue from your aching pussy to your clit, slowly and loudly savouring the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He did it over and over before settling for lapping at your entrance where your arousal puddled. His moans were husky and praising.

You gently weaved your fingers through his hair and panted heavily. His nose nudged at your pulsing clit and his tongue pushed into your fluttering pussy. 

“Fuck, please,” you whimpered, tightening your grip on the hair at the top of his head. He hummed against your core and roughly licked his way up to your clit. Quick flicks of his tongue on your clit made you writhe with pleasure. Curses slipped from your lips and all you could think about was the sensation of how wet your pussy was with his spit and how close to coming you were again.

You felt one of his fingers slowly push inside your cunt. He worked you open carefully with one thick finger plunged deep inside you and simultaneously began to suck on your clit. Your body became tense; you were right on the edge of your orgasm, but he moved away from your aching cunt to quickly kiss his way up your flushed body, to reach your lips. 

“I wanna come,” you pleaded quietly, staring profoundly into his greedy eyes. 

He chuckled playfully at you and slowly pushed a second finger inside you. His breath fanned over your lips and you traced the slick of your pussy on his smug mouth with your eyes. He stroked your walls slowly, skilfully pressing the pads of his fingers into the sensitive depths of your cunt. You clamped down in desperation for him to press over and over into your g-spot, but he wasn’t merciful. He wanted you to feel the length of his fingers moving deeply inside you. 

“Say my name,” he murmured against your lips. You squeezed his hips with your knees as you squirmed restlessly. Again, he made you delirious with pleasure after a request so you could do anything but properly think. He angled his fingers into that delicious spot inside you, but the buildup of your climax was as torturously slow as the stroke of his fingers. 

“Your name?” You gasped mindlessly, closing your eyes to focus on feeling him being in all the right places. His lips brushed against yours, ignited your body like a spark to hot-wire a car. His thumb pressed gently into your clit and he slowly drew circles. 

“Dean,” he whispered bewitchingly against your lips. You felt his arm press into the pillow beside your head and he tenderly brushed your hair away from your neck. 

“Dean,” you moaned—begged, heart hammering in your chest at his tenderness. His response was instant, with his lips pressed against yours, numbing your mind once more, but a third finger slid into your pussy so you nearly toppled off the edge again. After a few thrusts that left you moaning wantonly against Dean’s mouth, his fingers disappeared from inside you. “God,” you cursed in irritation.

Soon, the entirety of his warmth was gone from your body. His bruising kiss left you breathless and thoughtless, but you managed to open your eyes to watch him lower his boxers with his thumb hooked at the stretchy waistband—leaving himself completely bare again. 

Dean bit his lip as he stroked his cock with his fingers coated in your slick. He seemed more than happy to have you watch. And you were more than happy with staring at the girth and length of him in his hand. His cock was pretty, beautiful even—if you could even imagine. Throbbing. Leaking precum at the tip so your mouth watered for a lewd long moment. You bit your lip and wondered what he tasted like—hopefully as good as he looked, how he’d fuck your mouth if you asked him to.

The sight of him like this made your arousal skyrocket. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly, slowly making his way closer between your legs. 

The thought of his cock stretching you out instantly drove you crazy. 

Once he was close enough, he leaned over you again with his arm beside your head again. He slid his hot cock through your folds and your breath caught in your throat. He moaned softly. You tore your eyes from where he coated you in his precum repeatedly. 

“I want you… inside me,” you replied bashfully, heat flared up to your ears and you squirmed involuntarily—desperate to be fucked as you ruined the sheets beneath you with your slick. But over and over he teased your clit with slippery circles of his tip that began to build your resolve. He wasn’t going to let you finish and you knew it. 

“Which part of me?” Of course he’d do that. 

You became frustrated quickly and remained quiet to think of your next move. Dean had taken you to a point where your confidence was merely pent up sexual frustration.

You sat up and climbed into his lap without a single thought. As shamelessly as he’d touched you, you gripped the base of his cock. His lips parted and his eyes widened in pleasant surprise when you took his chin between your fingers and kissed him hard. He gave you full control and released his dick so his hands could find your hips instead and pull you closer. 

He felt heavy in your hand, the throb and heat of him made your grip tighten in anticipation. He moaned against your mouth when you slowly stroked up his silky skin, slick with his precum. You thumbed at the slit, smeared his excitement around the head of his cock, and sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

Dean groaned softly and squeezed your hip. He slowly let himself lay on his back and pulled you down with your lips still locked in a breathy and covetous kiss. You twisted your hand upwards, faster, and emphasised the movement of your fingers beneath the head of his cock. He pulled away slightly with a gasp and found his place between your legs to run a teasing finger through your drenched folds. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard… wanna bury myself inside of you,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped instantly against his parted mouth, “yes.”

Dean kissed you hard and replaced your hand on his cock with his own again. He pulled away to catch his breath with you. Using his other hand, he brushed your hair out of the way and continued to pant for breath. He watched between your bodies, his throbbing cock in his hand, but you only watched him—curiously and longingly. He stroked himself slowly and he cursed under his breath when the tip finally breached the wet opening of your vagina.

Your breath hitched, but his name managed to slip out quietly. He hummed in satisfaction when you slowly lowered yourself on him. The delightful stretch of having him inside you weakened your knees and your pussy tightened around him. He thrusted upwards slowly, sliding his cock further into your wet heat, perfectly stroking your g-spot.

You pulled away a small distance and watched him become utterly enraptured. His freckled cheeks were tainted a deep red that spread up to the tips of his ears and down to his neck like a wildfire. He looked so fucking beautiful. His brows furrowed in concentration and his plush lips parted to release soft groans of pleasure that made your pussy throb around him greedily. 

His eyes fluttered open and he leaned up slightly to reach your lips. He managed to land a small peck before you started lifting yourself up and down on his cock. A broken moan from him made you smile devilishly. He fell back into the mattress and squeezed your hips roughly.

“Dammit, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he praised breathily. You hummed softly and wrapped your hands around his wrists to guide his hands up to your breasts before bouncing on his lap faster, building a more steadfast rhythm. 

“I love the way you feel, too,” you moaned softly, aroused at the sound of Dean’s cock entering your wet pussy and your skin hitting his when he was buried so deeply inside you the breath was nearly punched out of your lungs in surprise. 

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful,” he continued to worship quietly, pinching almost painfully at your nipples, then teasingly brushed the pads of his thumbs over them—maybe soothingly. You moaned and leaned back with your hands on his thighs the closer you got to your orgasm.

One of Dean’s hands moved away from your breast to slowly slide down the front of your body. You watched him stare up at you, adoring you with his touch and lauding you in between groans and gasps of ecstasy. He squeezed your thigh encouragingly and cursed at the way you clenched your cunt around his sensitive cock. 

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and let the pleasure of riding him saturate your mind and body. His hands moved along your body, praising without words when all he could do was groan and pant lewdly at your enthusiastic fucking. 

He kneaded your breasts, squeezed your flesh, scratched gently at your skin. You were teeming with bliss and you were embarrassingly wet, but everything about him made you pathetically horny and he appeared to absolutely love every second of it. 

Dean’s hand finally moved between your legs to find your clit and rub it continuously. His hips bucked upwards when you whined his name and clamped down on his cock as you orgasmed. Your body shook above him and he hummed low in his throat, partially amused, but mostly satisfied. 

His thumb rubbed furiously at your clit—dilating the duration of your orgasm, intensifying it—and only stopped when you couldn’t handle it anymore. Your whimper and the way you weakly draped your body over his with your forehead pressed into his warm shoulder, stopped him.

You couldn’t process much after that, but soon your face was pressed into his pillow and your pussy was getting filled again with his cock. His fingers bruised your hips and you gasped out moans as your second orgasm began to build. 

"Shit, you love it like this, don't you, sweetheart?" You were flustered by the soppy sound of your cunt every time he pounded into you from behind, but you were partially grateful that he was close to finishing. A perplexing, carnal part of you wanted him to keep ploughing into your pussy until you ached.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” Dean praised gruffly. You only whimpered brokenly in response as he fucked you through the squelch and wetness of your second orgasm. Your toes curled with the unbelievable sensation that seized your body when you felt his cum fill you with warmth. His release slipped between your thighs in a mixture with yours and you cried his name as your walls pulsed around his throbbing cock. 

Dean released you and your body sank completely into the soft mattress. He panted against your shoulder and murmured praises with his comforting hands sailing along your body. 

Your mind slowly returned to the real world and the beat of your heart slowed to its normal rhythm. You were exhausted and you wanted to clean yourself up, but Dean had other plans for you: staying in bed and cuddling.

You willed yourself into getting up out of his bed. You sat up—his arm loosely around your waist—and became aware of the lack of windows and the wooden stake that rested at the far end of the little platform—a shelf really—he had above his bed next to a little fan. 

“Um…” you trailed off, wiggling out of his arm to slide out of the messy bed. 

“You’re seriously not gonna stay in bed?” He questioned you as you looked around, attempting to ignore the rest of your mixed release dripping from between your legs. You felt his fingers move between yours, then a sharp tug pulled you back in bed. Your legs were shaky so you ended up right back where he wanted you to be—in his embrace. 

“Yeah,” you laughed awkwardly. You squirmed and wiggled until he finally released you, “I don’t know you and I need to… get back… somewhere, home.” He sat up on his side and stared at you blankly for a few seconds. No, he’s too beautiful. 

You looked away and decided to pull “your” clothes from where he’d thrown it to get something to cover your body now that your post-orgasmic brain was becoming logical and self-conscious. 

“Babe, drop it, we’ll play that game later,” he dismissed you with a cute snort. You groaned at him when he snagged his shirt from your hands. He slowly peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder and you were unable to fight him.

“Dean, I’m serious,” you tried weakly and gripped his hair to pull him away as gently as you could. You turned to look at him again and he backed off. “Look at me and tell me if I’m lying to you.” He rolled his eyes but held your gaze for a few moments as he contemplated you. 

You saw the amusement on his handsome face but you continued to frown. The amusement faded into perplexity and concern. 

“Ah, shit,” he muttered.

—> stone flower

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[angelltheninth]

An Archon's Fated One

Pairing: Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, failed arranged marriage, running away, love confession, loss of virginity, kissing, mating bite, protectiveness, creampie, tail shenanigans, Rex Lapis!Zhongli

Word count: 1.5k

Ao3

A/N: Come get your dragonfucking smut!

You knew from the start that the arranged marriage wouldn't work out. Your so called husband was an abusive, entitled asshole, besides your heart already belonged to someone else. It has for a very long time. He was the only one you loved, the man you ran to for safety and comfort, Rex Lapis, Morax, or as you knew him, Zhongli.

The door to his home opened as soon as you approached, he senses you, moreover he sensed your distress. "Ah, I didn't mean to frighten you. When I felt you approach I... your... your wrists... your neck... what?" His eyes widened in horror as he took you in. You must have looked pretty pathetic to him, crying and cowering by his side as he ushered you inside, placing his hooded coat over you, unmindful of his own half-nakedness.

He didn't push you for answers, he ordered for a bath to be ready for you, and any change of clothes you wished. When you walked beside him you could feel his thick tail caressing your lower back and your legs. No hands. Not until you told him it was okay to do so.

Would he think you even weaker if he knew? You were human so you already paled in comparison to a god. You knew that even if he shared your feelings your relationship would never last. Zhongli opened the door for you to show you into the bedroom you normally stayed at when you spent the nights at his place. He never crossed the line of sleeping with you, he never even kissed you, the most you got out of him were late night cuddles and breakfast.

No wonder your husband was jealous. You spent more time with here then with him. Doesn't change the fact that you never wanted to marry him in the first place. Or what he did to you.

"Wait." You called out, hands touching Zhongli's tail, "Please don't go. I'm... scared of being alone tonight."

Zhongli turned to face you and let his hands hover over your shoulders, still waiting for your signal. After you gave him a nod you felt his warmth, his arms pull you into a hug, against his chest, felt exactly where his arm markings stopped, and when you hugged him back felt where his dragon trail began as your hands rested on the small of his back.

The bed was just as soft as always, like what you imagined sleeping on a cloud might feel like. The only sturdiness was Zhongli himself. "He did this, am I correct?" Your tremble of fear was confirmation enough. Zhongli snarled, his eyes flashing bring yellow for a moment before he took a deep breath of your scent to calm down. "I should have sensed it. I should have been there. I am so sorry darling."

You snuggled deeper into his arms, taking in his comforting words and petname, "I told him I wanted a divorce, that... there was someone else." His arms slackened slightly, but you kept going, "I told him I loved an Archon and he laughed at first. Then I told him... that it was you. He... accused me of cheating on him."

His silence invited you to keep talking, as did his tail, now coiling around you.

"Because I was here so often he thought we were sleeping together. Didn't believe me when I said we were only friends. He got angry, really angry." Your body shook remembering his hands around your neck, the names he called you, the insults.

"So you ran here. To me." Zhongli's voice sounded lower then usual. It sent a very different kind of chill down your body, one that finished between your legs. It was shameful. How something so simple had an effect on you. It wasn't anything new for you, when you were in here you always had your hand between your legs at least once a night, not daring to call his name out.

"Because I knew you'd keep me safe Zhongli. I trust you."

"You love me." He announced, shifting his body until he was on top of you, looking down at you, his face still stoic but his hands conveying his love as they cupped your face. "If you so wish, if you would allow me, I could make you my woman. My mate."

Your heart wanted it, your cunt did too, pulsing and empty, "I don't need you to pity me. I know I'm just a human. I have nothing to offer you."

"That is not true. For years now you've been coming here, keeping me company, talking to me, keeping me from going insane. Also," He bent down and nosed your neck, "don't think I don't know what you've been doing in here. This is my domain, I hear and see everything and everyone."

It was probably you who spread your legs for him, made it easy for his hips to push between them, for him to press his rock hard bulge against your core. There was so much heat between you two, but not enough friction. He could fix that, you could see he ached to fix that if only you said the words.

"Zhongli, please make me yours." Every other time you uttered those words it was in the thorns of passion and without him there to do so. Now he was here, on top of you, pealing off your clothes layer by layer until you lay naked beneath him. His pants followed, revealing that hard cock that's been the subject of your dreams for so many nights.

"Has he..." Zhongli trailed off, his body shaking as he aligned himself up with your entrance, gathered some wetness at the tip and waited.

You shook your head, "He wanted me to submit on my own, but how could I when I only wanted you." You reached back, undoing the tie in his hair with one hand and scratching at the base of his strong horn with the other, feeling the scales there. And with your heels you felt the beginning of his tail as you pulled him closer, "I want you to be the only one for me from now on."

"And I shall be." Zhongli handled you with gentleness, but also possessiveness, his hands running to your hips, his eyes following the bounce of your breasts when he entered you, the gulp you made that tapered off into a moan. It was very much to his liking. "My bite, I will hurt. However if you're to be my mate, my bride, it's necessary."

The pain of it scared you a little, but the pleasure you currently felt, his big, thick, throbbing cock rolling in and out of you with every movement of his hips was enough to distract you. You leaned up to kiss him first, "I do." You whispered against his lips, which made him tilt his head, "It's how humans seal a wedding."

"Ah. Then... I do." Zhongli's lips felt much hotter than your own, every part of him felt hotter. You wondered how his cum would feel. Your pussy clenched around him at the thought. His cock responded by twitching.

You leaned your head backwards, exposing your neck to him. His claws dug into the sheets and bedding beside your hips, clawing and tearing at them, he was trying to hold back from finishing. "I wanted you for so long. So long, my darling. The amount of seed I wasted when I should have been planting it inside your womb instead... it angers me."

Sharp teeth ticked your skin, feeling you gulp before they settled between your neck and your shoulder, "Please. I want to be yours Zhongli. In every sense of the word."

That firm tail now wrapped around your leg like a snake, pulling it to the side so that he could have even more room. You were right, the bite hurt, but the pain was pale when compared to the pleasure that flowed both in and out of you moments later. You were hot all over, hot as your body arched against his, hot on the inside as you would be impregnated by his seed tonight, the sheer amount spilling from you, making your thighs sticky.

Despite giving it your best shot you couldn't leave marks on his back, but you knew he felt that you tried, a pleasant rumble emanating from his lips as they pulled away from your neck. Zhongli rolled you both to the side, his tail trading being coiled around your leg to being coiled around your hips.

One of his hand pressed down against your stomach, his voice low, "I love you." It was almost too quiet to be a whisper. "I will keep you safe, I promise you. Nothing and no one will ever bring you harm again."

If you had enough strength you would have cried again at that very moment. There will be time for tears, both happy and sad in the future. For now you wanted to rest, to sleep your first night with him soundly. With him, Rex Lapis, Morax, Zhongli, your new husband.

[harmlesscigarette]

"There's a kind of hospitality found amongst squatters and punks that I'll never stop appreciating. When there's not enough to go around, that's when people share."

The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion, Margaret Killjoy

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

To Love You (Platonic Yandere!Child x Monster!Reader)

Chapter 1: This child needs me

[part 0, here, 2]

CW: femme bodied GN Reader, monster stuff, accidental adoption, description of nudity (non sexual)

Avery stood as still as the trees he hid behind while he watched the thing become a poor imitation of his mother.

If he barely closed his eyes it would have looked like her, but with his brown eyes wide open, staring at it's nude form, Avery wondered if the monster even knew what a human looked like. Their body was the right height, but the shape was off; it had no breasts, nor genitalia. The creature had taken a quick look at the clothed woman and guessed what her body looked like.

Everything about the monster felt off. Like a mannequin come to life. The skin had no texture or character, no discoloration or birthmarks. The hair was a slightly wrong shade and a little too long. But the worst part of the being was it's face.

It whipped around, staring at Avery with eyes slightly too wide, showing the whites above and below the iris. It's lips were an absurdly red shade, as though it thought the lipstick the woman was wearing was her natural lip color. But what made the face really off putting was the fact that it was too symmetrical. Avery couldn't verbalize that that was what was wrong, but it didn't have the same human inconsistency that his mother's face naturally had.

And for a moment, Avery remembered every single time his mother grabbed his arm a little too tightly.

She never would have killed him. And he told himself that she loved him. But it didn't matter how often she would buy him ice cream after a big fight, or how sweetly she smiled at him, it didn't stop him from flinching whenever she raised her hand.

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was the same reason he had grabbed the steering wheel earlier.

Avery rushed forward, and held the monster as tightly as he could.

(Reader) was filled with confusion. Not only was their disguise less than passable, but they were positive that the little boy saw them kill his mom. So why did he hold onto them as though they were the hero?

Their hand reached down and slid over his dirty back. Thoughts of ripping out his spine and eating him as well filtered through their mind, but instead they went on autopilot, as though their true identity had not been exposed already. "Let's go home."

Avery slowly released the monster, looking up at them with large, teary eyes. "Okay.. mommy."

(Reader) gently held the boy's hand in their own, and allowed him to lead them to the damaged vehicle.

It was much more advanced than the last time they saw a carriage, but this wasn't the last time they slept through major technological advancements. They would adapt. They always did.

Tiny frozen fingers squeezed (Reader's) hand to get their attention. "It's too broken to drive. But there's a coat in the back."

The monster looked down, remembering their nakedness. Unlike humans they did not feel the cold, and when they were in their true form they had no need for clothing.

Ripping open the smashed door with ease, (Reader) found a long winter jacket that when they slid it on fell to their knees. Avery still stood by their side, expectantly holding out his arm stiffly so he could hold their hand again. Although it always took a bit for the ancient one to get their mind in order after a long slumber, even they could see that the newly orphaned child was an odd one.

It wasn't customary to ask questions. They just killed people and replaced them. Those who learned of their true nature were also killed. And it had been that way for as long as (Reader) could remember. They had been both man and woman and those who were neither; they had spoken many languages in many skins and lived many lives. But this child was holding out his hand, knowing that they were not his mother.

"Which way is home?" They asked, their voice parroting the sound of the woman screaming her last words, calling out for her child.

Avery still held out his hand expectantly. "Down the road. It's really far."

The creature looked at his hand, then at his small legs, and realized how long it would take if he meant that they lived at the bottom of the mountain. They grabbed him under his arms and easily swung Avery onto their back. Perhaps they would keep him alive, just until they found a better family to cleanly assimilate into.

"Am I heavy?" Avery asked with a surprised tone.

"No." (Reader) almost found his question amusing. Did he not see them rip the car door off?

The six year old thought about when he was sick the year before, and purposefully acted more pathetic than he felt because he wanted his mother's attention. How he sobbed loudly because he was too ill to walk to his bed from the couch. So his mother left him to sleep out in the living room.

It was dangerous, but the idea that this creature was his savior, and not just a monster, gave the child more confidence than he should have had, given his situation. "Are you a girl?"

".. No."

".. Are you a boy?"

sigh "No."

"Oh.." The boy leaned down harder into their back, snuggling into their hair. They didn't smell like their mom's shampoo, they smelled like dirt after the first rain in a long time. "Can I still call you mom?"

(Reader) tried to recall if this had ever happened to them. Had there ever been a time that someone learned of their true nature, and still wanted to pretend like everything was fine? They remembered the last time someone figured out that (Reader) was a monster. The poor wife had snapped, months of little clues here and there had convinced her that her husband was not her husband, but no one would believe her. Not until she stabbed (Reader) in the chest, and the thing that looked like her husband did not die.

"Yes, you may." (Reader) didn't know why they were amusing the human like they were. But it felt very warm when he constricted his arms around their neck like a snake.

He smiled into their hair. Avery didn't know it, but he was just as confused as (Reader) was. "My name is Avery. Avery Jones. What's your name?"

The creature paused. They knew their name. It was the name of a human they took a long time ago. But they wouldn't tell that to this kid. That the only name they ever thought of as their own, was the name of a child who's life they stole, a child they lived as. It was the longest they pretended to be human. It felt nice. All those years ago. They couldn't remember now what that face looked like, nor why they were so attached to it, but they became (Reader).

"I am now your mother.. What is my name?"

"Luanne. Luanne Octavia Jones."

(Reader) mimicked a laugh, their smile equally as wide on their top lip as their bottom lip. "What a terrible name!"

"Oh..I'm sorry.." Avery tensed up.

"I think I'll prefer Mom."

They felt him relax again. The longer the two walked, the more intriguing the child became. (Reader) murdered his mother. They bit her head in half. They tore her apart, ripped off her limbs, and ate her while he hid not too far away. Perhaps he was in shock?

"Do you know what I am?"

Their eyes opened harder than what was physically possible. Why did they ask that?

Avery wiggled a little. "A hero? Like the Martian Manhunter?"

"What is that?"

"A cool hero from Mars! He helps Superman! And he can change into stuff!"

(Reader) could have scoffed. Them? A hero? But the situation was slowly starting to make sense. 'And so, I am a hero..'

His body was lighter than (Reader) remembered human children to be, and they wondered if it was normal. He wasn't much shorter than the average child, but his body was like a housecat's. "How old are you, Avery?"

"Six."

Older than I thought..

(Reader) carried the boy for well over two hours before another automated carriage passed by, slowing and pulling off towards the tree line behind them. Avery sleepily mumbled "It's the police.." as the monster halted their steps.

An officer stepped out, a younger man with hard eyes squinted in suspicion, and approached the two travelers.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" His green eyes glanced down at their bare legs and dirty feet.

His question woke Avery up, as though he only just then remembered that his mom was not his real mother. "We were in an accident." The boy stuttered out.

"An accident?" The officer looked up the road briefly. "Are you two alright?"

"Ye-"

"Ma'am, where are your shoes?"

He interrupted (Reader), and they immediately considered killing him. But it was a good question. What were they supposed to say? A mostly naked woman had been found descending the mountain with a child on her back, was strange, most definitely concerning and possibly nefarious. Could he tell that under the long jacket they were nude?

Avery was panicking. They could feel his breathing hitch and hear his heart speed up. "We flipped our car! And- and-"

"I hit my head." They responded more monotonously than they intended. "I don't remember the accident, and I don't know why I took off my clothes." (Reader) reached up and ran their hand across the back of their head. Obscured by their hair and the angle, only Avery saw as one of their nails grew quickly, slicing open part of their scalp, just enough to get blood on their fingers.

The policeman's eyes relaxed their suspicious gaze when they brought their bloody hand out. However, it almost instantly bounced back. "Have you been drinking tonight?"

"No."

"Have you taken any illegal substances? Any medications you've been prescribed?"

The questions were aggravating (Reader). "No."

"Any medical issues I should know about?"

"She's bleeding!" Avery cried out.

"Alright, calm down. I'm going to bring you down to the station. Do you consent to a blood test?"

The police were.. interesting. Having been so many people, the creature was not dumb to the inequalities humans forced upon other humans. They remembered how one body would be treated very differently than another body, but even with having experienced it, if they saw a naked woman walking along the woods, injured, it felt natural that sympathy would have been expressed. Or at least, sympathy for her presumed husband. It didn't matter. Luanne had not fully finished digesting. If they wanted blood for a "blood test" (whatever that was), they could easily supply it. They just hoped that Avery's mother hadn't been drinking. Which was another interesting development. Had the humans made alcohol illegal again?

No matter how unfair this treatment was, (Reader) knew it would get Avery out of the cold sooner. And if things went sideways, they could easily kill this man.

"I do."

Avery was nearly hyperventilating and his grip had tightened like a vice. "Why are you being so mean?!" Tears started to bloom as his voice wobbled. "We had an accident! My mommy was bleeding and took off her clothes! She was just confused, and, and, and that's why she can't remember!"

The man went rigid, and was almost uncomfortable. "Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

"YES!" The boy cried out, shaking against (Reader's) spine like a small dog.

He eyed their legs once again. "Why don't you wait on the back seat, and I'll grab you a blanket?"

It didn't take long for another, larger and brighter colored vehicle to arrive, with people who were much more sympathetic than the officer. One of the men even seemed to be berating the officer while another person checked (Reader's) body for injuries.

"She seems to have a concussion, so I don't know why you would jump to drugs-"

"Look are what she's wearing-"

"-I watched a young man take off his shoes and hide them in a cabinet when he suffered a traumatic brain injury, okay? People do weird things when they're in pain-"

"Still I think-"

"-She should be going to a hospital. They'll test her for alcohol there, but her head is still bleeding, and she has no signs of intoxication other than 'her clothes' and her lack of memory, both of which can be explained by trauma."

The blue clad worker shined a light in (Reader's) eyes, which (Reader) manually dilated to resemble a human's natural response. They continued focusing on their heart rate and breathing, mimicking Avery's as he leaned against their shoulder. "I think it would be best if we take you to the hospital." The person with short hair smiled kindly.

"I just want to go home.. I can't remember anything that happened today, but my son is tired."

"Well.. I can't force you to go to the hospital, but I can call someone to come get you? And recommend that if your memory worsens, or if you feel confused, if you start throwing up, can't sleep, randomly pass out, or develop a fever, you go to an ER as your concussion could be something worse, like an internal brain bleed."

"Someone you could call..?"

"Dad's still at work." Avery whispered.

Ah. So I am married. This new information didn't sit well with (Reader). They had been married before, plenty of times actually; but what kind of man was he if his wife was like Luanne?

Overhearing this, the paramedic chastising the policeman volunteered his services on the officer's behalf. "If you don't have anyone you can call, Officer Delaney can drive you home. But I do suggest you let us take you to the hospital."

"Thank you." (Reader) could see the two men shudder as they smiled at the both of them. "But I'm really tired. And I just want to go home."

"Alright then.. don't hesitate to go to a hospital if your symptoms don't improve." The man shifted his eyes uncomfortably.

(Reader) returned to the police car, Avery securely tucked under their arms and on their hip. Their attempt at human expression had frightened both the medical professional and the officer. "I will."

The little boy held on to (Reader) more aggressively than he ever remembered holding onto his own mother.

It was peculiar.

Had (Reader) ever felt this way before? They had felt attachments before. Held and loved, but those feelings were easily thrown away whenever their hunger reared it's ugly head. But this wasn't the connection of a family loving someone they assumed (Reader) was.

This little boy was not clinging to Luanne Octavia Jones.

Avery was clinging to (Reader).

[yaksha-lover]

cw: rook is down bad and unashamed, nakedness, bathing (together), kissing

Rook felt that he was born to worship.

His divine duty was incomplete, thus far, for he could show devotion to no one, despite fawning over them. A part of him refrained; a piece that never clicked into place, forcing him to wander in search of who he was truly made to serve.

Gazing upon your alluring flesh, presented like a blessed offering before him, a voice, angelic or otherwise, seems to whisper to him that this is his true calling.

Hands calloused from the handling of a bow smooth over skin that shivers at the touch. Rook rubs slow, gentle circles into your hips with his thumbs on either side of your sacred frame, savouring the dip of your flesh at his hand. He’s never felt so human.

The heat of your back against his chest, the two of you a mix of flesh and limbs, brings a heady feeling upon him, as though your skin seeps intoxication, making his head spin and his heart flutter at the contact.

The water ripples gently around you as you turn to face him, to give him his divine command. He’s ready for anything you would ask of him: to kiss, to kill, to die, to worship your body or merely the ground you honour by walking upon it. Everything he has, he lays before you.

As your touch smooths across his face, your thumb stroking gently at his cheek before trailing down to his damp chest, Rook feels you wash away all the others; anyone before you is pointless, the memory of their existence consumed and burnt up by your sweetened breath.

His breath catches in his throat when your honeyed lips ghost over his own. His gratitude is endless, silent vows of servitude echoing through his mind with each brush of your lips upon his throat.

He’s utterly compelled by your amorous touch, something euphoric stirring deep in his gut. There’s no choice, only something like fate stringing him up and pulling him along; falling inconsolably into your depths.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Lol stuck thinking about that SatoSugu Naga AU! Do you think they’d be curious to try and see reader naked? Especially since she’s completely new to them and they probably don’t see many other females their race.

(noncon touching, mentioned somno)

Omg but YES. they definitely would be. In that AU, the males of their species would be nagas (or snake men), and the females of their species would be sirens (or fish women). So either way, nakedness is pretty common in their species. Humans, obviously, are NOT that thrilled about being naked in the presence of other humanoid beings.

Eventually, Suguru gets it, and relents tugging on your pants when you slap him away for the fourth time. It's not like he couldn't pin you down and rip off your clothes to see if you're soft everywhere, but he'll be patient for now. He likes touching you in the night anyway, when your body temperature is a little lower than he likes. He tells himself he's just making sure you're still alive but he's always exploring a bit deeper than necessary.

Satoru understands, but he ignores it. He doesn't get why you're so antsy every time he touches you that's underneath the annoying barrier you wrap yourself in. You'll have to negotiate with him, let him touch the skin on your upper thigh or your waist for him to be sated. It will never be enough, he'll always want more. Sooner or later, the sparse number of your clothes will start to go missing.

In the end, to really make them see your point, you'd have to speak in their language. Scrunch your eyes and nose and hiss in the most threatening way you can. It'll work, but not in the way you want. They'll just be enamoured by how cute you are.

yall might not ever get a part two of Top of the Food chain buuuut i am thinking of making into a much longer fic and posting it on ao3.....MAYBE so dont get too excited lololol

(btw if yall are obssessed with naga!satosugu x reader like i am go read Caged by romanceisdeadbutimnot. so so good and it has smut!!!)

[lookinghalfacorpse]

human bodies and the many ways that they're weird. a guide by technoblade.

/dsmp /rp

dream and philza have flat faces, and little noses that don't connect to their upper lip at all. they have round, stunted ears on the sides of their heads, and teeth that are barely sharper than a deer's. they're omnivores, like we are, but we're much better at bitin' than them. they have no tusks and no claws. they look a bit like furless piglets, but they're kinda alien-lookin', too. their feet are flat and skinny.

dream and philza have thin, pink lips. they're plush and warm, and more expressive than piglin lips. phil chews his when he's focusing, and dream's will twitch when he's annoyed. humans see something romantic about lips. they use them to kiss, and even touching them with your hands is seen as intimate. they'll touch their lips to my snout or my hands or my forehead, and i know it's a big deal to them.

dream and philza are upright, bipedal, and have musculature like a piglin, but they're small and hairless. mostly. dream has a mop of course fur (he calls it hair) on his head, and phil's is straight, golden, and silky. there are little tufts of fur above their eyes, too, and on some other spots across their bodies. a light covering on the legs. between their size and their nakedness, they're always pretty cold. i used to ask phil all the time if he wanted to move to a warmer climate, but he never did. he doesn't mind wearing layers. they both feel safer in layers, i think. that's my running theory, anyway. if i were that small, i'd probably like it, too.

dream and philza have long, elegant eyelashes. piglins like those, too. pretty common sign of beauty in most species, i think. human eyes have a broad color range, and theirs are particularly bright. phil's eyes are icy, haunting blue. dream's are a deep, wild green. i've never seen colors like that before coming to the overworld. the sky, the sea, the forest.

dream and philza are way too small, way too delicate. i'll cup dream's face in my hand and know i could break his jaw if i squeeze too hard. i'll rub phil's sore shoulder and sometimes just hurt him more. they'll crawl on me when i'm in bed and they weigh less than some of the dogs, and if a limb gets caught under me when i roll over, they'll yelp.

there's a spot at the base of dream's neck that, if i nibble at it with my front teeth, he'll squirm and push against me and make all sorts of cute sounds. most of phil's feathers are sensitive, but you can be rough with the soft ones near the base of his wings, and his eyes will flutter closed. they both like when i run my fingers through their fur hair.

i imagine fairies are a bit like this, honestly. recognizably beautiful, but tiny and a little... off. bright and vivid; a creation of this colorful world they're from. two little fairyfolk who decided to love a beast like me.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, abduction, violence, intense gore, death, swords & firearms, angst, hurt/comfort, nakedness, etc.

A/N: Guys, whatever you do, don't imagine Price in a white tunic holding Mermaid you in one arm and weilding a sword in the other. I'm frothing at the mouth.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You sit on your black rocks once more, the darkening sky warning of an oncoming storm that you can feel seeping into your bones. In your loose grip, you fiddle with John’s necklace. 

He’d given it to you only recently as a gift, seeing as you enjoyed the shininess of it so much, and you’d taken great pleasure in keeping it around your neck. Out of all of your treasures and trinkets, somehow these measly metal discs had become your favorite. The necklace is smooth under your caress, and you look down at it adoringly, eyes soft and lips curved with delicate affection. 

The cove, as always, was quiet above the call of seagulls and the lapping of waves; the whispering ripples from your tail as it sways under the water. You had gotten content with this—the silence. Because you knew it would be filled by the low gravel of an accented voice soon enough; would be swept away by the chuckles you could wring from beard-hidden lips. 

John was something to look forward to, and you loved the way he looked at you. 

Water hits the top of your head. 

Blinking out of your honeyed thoughts you look up to the crying sky as small slaps of droplets slide across your cheeks. Lashes flinch at every motion, and you glance back to the empty cove before lowering the necklace to your scaled lap. 

Confusion slithers in like an eel to your heart as your eyes slide over the growing waves. The yawning mouth of the entrance sits abandoned of any small fishing ship. 

For three, beautiful, sand-covered, months, John had never missed a day to come and see you. Rain or Sun.

A prick of a sharp fish's spine enters your brain. The rain comes down now in sheets. Lightning and thunder fight, and if you look close enough, the remnants of ancient lightning birds battle overhead with a flurry of black wings and their insatiable need for blood. Yet, still, your eyes stay frozen on the cove entrance as the water rises and rises. 

With a thinning of your lips and the violent pushing from the torrent as it swallows your rocks, you clench your hands over John’s necklace and push off your perch with a shove of your palms. 

Water encompasses you, scales dull, and fins limp as the general calmness from the encompassing water holds you in a constant sway. Your brows furrow.

Why wasn’t he here? You ask yourself, sinking among the seaweed and the schools of quick fish. Concern mingles with hurt. Do…do you think he’s alright? 

Human ways were still confusing to you, even if John had been helping you understand them and giving little clam-shells of information. But they seemed…like violent folk. Angry and selfish, from what John had said about their wars and squabbles. The thought of your fisherman potentially being in danger on land was terrifying to you. 

There wouldn’t be anything you could do if that happened.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of his necklace as you stare at the surface, back lightly hitting the bottom of the cove with a puff of sand. Crabs scatter as your tail twitches, your lungs sighing in their own special way. 

John can take care of himself, you reason. He’s just a little late is all. 

John’s never late. Your face creases, but you stuff the thought down, twisting on your side and bridging the piece of jewelry to your lip—kissing it once as sand digs into your skin. Holding the fisherman's property to your pounding heart, you close your eyes and wait as any lonely and loyal Merwoman would; tail held in close and the reverberations of a rabid downpour above you.

—

You wake up to the darkness of night. Blinking, you sigh to yourself and move a slow hand to rub at your eyes. After a moment of fatigued confusion as to why you weren’t in your cave, you realized why you had been out here in the first place.

John. 

Arms pushing you up, your mind fights to wake itself, laced with algae and fatigue. How long have you been asleep? Has the storm stopped? Surely you hadn’t slept the entire day away. You pull the fisherman's necklace over your head as you stare at the sand below you. No fish were slipping past besides one that brushes your tail, which you found odd, but didn’t think much of it. 

Shaking your head, you feel sluggish and put the necklace back on with a huff. You worry what John will think of you perhaps missing his late visit and smile slightly in humor. 

The fish brushes your tail again. 

Scales shimmering, you turn with an annoyed pull to your lips, fins scraping something hard and rough even as it’s saturated by the water of your cove. When you spot it, not only the rope but the shadow of the large hunting ship above you, your body drains of any life that had once lived in your lungs. It wasn’t nighttime. 

Eyes widening at the loop that was parading around your tail, you don’t have time to move before it tightens with a force that leaves your mouth opening in a bubbled scream; ruthlessly jerking your body along the seafloor. 

Desperately, your hands rip along the rocks and weeds of the bottom of the cove, getting torn and shredded in their soft nature as easily as paper. Your body smacks into every little object with a rattling to your bones that makes you sob. Red saturates the water as you’re manhandled in long and steady intervals back and up. 

No amount of rampaging your tail does can break the rope, and with a last-ditch effort as the sandy floor gets farther and farther away, you twist around and tear at the woven cord with sharp nails. Adrenaline pumps, pupils tiny and panicked. 

No! No, not like this! You can imagine the pain of it now—the hooks and the ripping of scales from your supple flesh. Even now the tiny ones under the dig of the vice are peeling away in long strings of red to disappear behind you as you’re thrust upward. They’re delicate, don’t these monsters understand? They’re beautiful and treasured and they’re destroying them!

You scream in pain at the pulling of your spine; a large creaking in your muscles. 

But as you gain a small sense of feral hope when the rope begins to fray from your grip, the iron net squashes any belief of surviving. 

It slams into you as John would cast his own for his prey—but this one is larger and full of cruel, curved, spikes. Is this what your parents endured? What the harpies had meant? The iron sinks far quicker than rope, and it traps you in a dome of hell before you can mutilate yourself out of the maw.

Oh, Gods, it was going to peel your skin away.

True fear pounded in your breast, and with a cry of John’s name from under the water, you watched with horror as the net descended onto you and your bloody wounds.

They drag you above waves and the first thing you do is thrash and wail so loud the seagulls shriek in surprise. There’s crimson staining the waters sloshing at you with combative ease, the violent storm from before now a light slapping at add to your fear. In the wake of open air, the curved spikes dig into your flesh as easily as a unicorn’s horn can penetrate a wyvern’s armor. Skin everywhere is assaulted and peeled to a tautness of bodily torture. 

Oh, and your precious tail. 

It hurt so badly, like nothing you had ever experienced before. 

“John!” You scream as your body strikes the side of the large ship, voice cutting out and leaving a bawling yell behind. Your form was being pulled by steady hoists and barked orders. 

All around you can hear laughing—joking. Loud exclamations of approval. 

You’re sure they’ve dislocated your tail right at the joint, how could they not have? The ream of their strong arms and ruthless greed. Oh, your tail, your precious, beautiful tail.

Long streams of salty tears fly down your dripping face; arms pushing the spikes away from your neck and face with futile action. The net and rope were your earthly graves. 

They slam you to the deck like a fish. 

Jerking and slapping around, your arms hit the wood with a bird-paced heart. The iron rattles and keeps you down like a weight. 

Brokenly gasping through loud cries, the sudden jeering faces from all around leave your fear all-consuming. 

They were ugly—broken teeth and sun-destroyed skin. Eyes that bugged and scars that could be from either a sword or a Strix’s claws. More than likely it was from meager squabbles with crewmates. But you balk back nonetheless, terrified and bleeding profusely. 

They were going to rip you to pieces. 

Inside your chest, your lungs are rising and falling quickly, and the hands that glide along your form make you want to burn your skin off. They grip at you, yanking you around as your hair gets caught in the gaps between the iron. With nail and tooth your bite and claw, but how many were there? Ten? Twenty? 

There’s uproar and more jokes as you fight back; body lifted and spikes torn out of skin as you arch your back and howl in agony. Their hands are not John’s. They don’t caress your smooth skin with reverence or holiness—this is cruelty. This is a sadistic pleasure. 

“Isn’t it our lucky day, Lads?!” A high and grating voice bellows out, and finally free of the net, all you can do is cry and flip your tail uselessly along the polished wood as they throw you down. Your vision blacks and slowly comes back—hair matted and skin slick with more than water.

It hurts to breathe too much. Whimpering, your cheek presses itself into the deck as footsteps take someone closer.

“Holy God, would ya look at that down there, eh? A true maiden of the sea,” A thunderous belt of achievement from everyone leaves you flinching, eyes tight shut to try and focus on anything but the excruciating way your skin throbs and gushes blood. “Though we’d have gotten all of them by now!” 

Haggard laughs and rotted smiles. 

A hand snaps to wrench your face upward, and you yowl and grasp at your head as your delicate strands go tight.

“Now who’s the little beauty we have here?” Whoever this man was, he had no standing on John. On your Fisherman. 

Loose skin and an age-rotted tunic, a belt at his waist holding a scabbard with a gold sword and twin pistols. He had only one eye—brown as a pile of mud—with a black eyepatch over the other. 

Your fluttering lashes took in a cracked-lipped grin of approval; whether at your battered appearance or the nature of your species, you knew not. But you didn’t like the way he was glancing at your tail as if it was made of gold one bit.

“Lords above, did ya have to be so brash, Lads?” Spittle slaps your face and you fight again with the hands in your locks to get away. The man’s hold jerks your face back and forth until you stop with bile building in your throat. “Wrecked her silky skin, you did!”

Being thrown back, your skull slams the deck before you hurl your guts in a sputtering of air and crimson. Many laugh and kick at your already broken scales. You grit your teeth and refuse to cry out.

“Get ‘er tied up and in the Hold for storage. If the scales are good enough, we’ll peel ‘em tomorrow.”

“Peel?!” Your face whips into a twisted glare, and pain leads to fast anger; wrath, even. The men grow gradually silent at your outburst and the leader comes to a slow stop—his back to you. “How dare you?” You gasp out, hands pushing your body slightly backward until the agony makes you stop with a lip-bitten whine. “How dare you do this to me? What have I done to you and your men? You’re nothing but senseless cowards who shy at something that lives its life differently! Am I only a pile of coin for you?!”

Your blood runs over the deck and seeps into the grain. Staining it with your memory and presence like a ghost that’s not yet dead. Loose scales shimmer and drip red. They were damaged and dull—your flesh was mangled. 

The leader turns back and smirks with blackened teeth. “More than a pile, Little Dearie. Far more. And if those hooks had been kinder, the King would have loved a beauty like you in his collection.” A look is slid down your body with a knowing chuckle.

He stalks off and you peel back your lips to say more, but a stained rag is shoved into your mouth instead, shutting up your rageful screeches and any hope of a peep of potent song despite not knowing these devils’ names.

By the time they chuck you in the Hold, body bouncing along the wood, and shut the hatch with a reverberation of wood, you had managed to rip someone’s ear clean off and break another’s arm; but there was only so much you could do. They had bound your hands behind you with a blow to your spine.

Curled up and longing for the sea, for John, you hold the only thing you have left. 

Silver discs on a chain, the metal smooth and the only thing now shining. You feel it hit your breastbone and sob as the headache of blood loss begins to set in. Laughter echoes from above your dark prison.

—

John saw the blood in the water before he saw the scales being pushed back and forth on the beach. Caught in that gentle push and pull now that the storm had ceased beyond a light drizzle—bright and reflecting the misty sun; far more vibrant than a fish or a sea serpent. But the blood. 

Christ, there was blood in the water. 

Blue eyes stare blankly at the sea-foam at the shoreline, red and bubbling, John’s pupils small and the lashes held back even as a salty breeze hits them with a burn. At his sides, his hands slowly close into fists. 

Jumping off the side of his ship, the man lands in thigh-deep water, gritting his teeth before he shoves his way to the sand and black rocks of land. He doesn’t know what drives his actions, or why he’s doing this, but with quick hands, he snatches up what scales he can find and keeps them in his palm; mind on fire. 

Anyone could see the fury in John’s gaze—a growing hatred for what was just beyond sight. When he has all he’s able to carry, he wades back through the water and gets himself back atop his boat easily with one hand. 

Walking quickly and soaked, he pushes aside a small cloth atop a barrel; seeing a gold box hidden under it. He opens it deftly, and while he puts the damaged and torn scales inside, John glances at the expensive and elegant twin cuff bracelets that sit in blue velvet. 

When he had been away buying them for you, he should have already been here. Wasted time.

I left her here alone. Knowing what could happen if I did. A growl bounces under his beard, face going red with anger. The two of you had quickly become enraptured with each other—drunk off flesh and touch like non-sentient animals. 

And something had taken place while he was away. You were gone, the fisherman knew. The water wasn’t as clear, the fish were terrified, and the blood alone proved this—the scales. This wasn’t an accident.

And it had something to do with that ship he’d seen on the horizon with his narrowed eyes not minutes prior. The Captain was slowly re-taking over the man.

“Fuck!” John curses, teeth bared as he spins and readies his sails. With violent pulls at the ropes, letting the mainsail shift down in a flurry of white sheets, he turns the vessel around in no time at all. It was as if Poseidon himself was pushing the ship forward to that small dot on the ocean line, far, far away. 

Deadly purpose bled into his heart, and the early afternoon sun forced him onward with hellfire following at his heels. He re-wraps his gift in the meantime, only taking a single scale from inside and putting it in a small pouch on his belt before walking to another barrel and pausing. This one was older, more sun-bleached. 

John deserted the service years ago, but not long enough to forget how the world of men can be. With a grunt on his thinned lips, the brunette rips the top off and grasps inside. 

With an experienced hand out came a sheathed Cutlass, the leather of the handle worn and indented to his very grip. It found a place on his belt, and John wasted no time in making the Flintlock pistol follow. 

A fisherman he may be, but in his blood John would always be a killer. He knew how to fight dirty and fight well—carve skin and not flinch at the sparks of gunpowder. There was no hesitation as to what he would do to get you back. 

In his chest, there was a weight of rage and concern as he glared at the far-off Hunter’s ship.

“What the hell have you done to her?” He growls, beard back and eyes narrowed. His hands clenched and unclenched with loathing. 

John’s thoughts go to the horror stories he’d heard about Merfolk and them getting caught in the open ocean, when he’d found you he had been surprised. He felt his heart beat faster when you were around, his blood would spike with love and affection. 

It was strange, unheard of, but he can’t stop it now that it’s happened. 

No one touched you with their cruel hands and lived. 

John didn’t like it, but he hung far enough away from the Hunter’s ship so that the cover of night hid him. Dark stars hung at his head, tunic blowing in the chilled breeze when the waves took him close enough—all was silent. Asleep. 

Lantern light slid along the waves, and with deft fingers, John anchored his ship with measured efficiency a small distance away. Looking over the side, the fisherman grunts under his breath and sets his shoulders. Without a single glance in hesitation, he slips silently off the deck into the water. 

Immediately, John kicks his legs and resurfaces with a puff from his nostrils, whipping his head to the side to dispel water. Making no sound, the man swims the distance between vessels, hearing the creak of the still and bulky form of the Hunter’s ship ten times his own sitting above him. 

“Fuckin’ bastards,” he grumbles to himself and thinks of your condition intensely. His heart hammers even in the clutches of the frigid waters. But beyond the insult, no other words needed to be spoken—the prior Captain was a man of action.

Violent Action.

John wades to the side of the wooden structure, the waves threatening to smash him tight into the hull and skin him against the barnacles, but he braces himself and grabs ahold of the knife at his belt, next to his cutlass. In his stupor to get to you quickly, he’d forgotten that his Flintlock would be completely useless now that it had been submerged in water. 

Grunting and trying to remain as quiet as possible, the man sets his blade into the side of the ship into the thin slits available. In his free hand, he takes up his cutlass and does the same. In a feat of impressive upper-body strength that leaves his muscles bunching and tensing—veins visible from the side of his neck—John huffs breaths as he climbs the ship one panel at a time. 

He groans and sends the blades back in at opposite intervals, the firm thunk-plunk, thunk-plunk, bouncing off the dark air as the moon shines bright. But no one awakens.

The Fisherman pulls himself up the side of the ship and swiftly ducts behind a pile of large crates on deck to gather himself, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“C’mon Sweetheart,” he mutters, “hold on just a little longer.” Duel wielding both weapons, narrowed eyes look across the open area—the stain of blood all along the wood. Glimmering in the low light catches John’s fiery gaze. 

Scales. Your scales. Littering the deck and scattered all over. 

If possible, the man becomes even more enraged, knuckles going white over his blades. The man stationed on deck was asleep across the way; leaning back and snoring. John locks eyes on him and hides back a vicious smirk. Quickly sneaking over and staying near the edge of the lantern’s lights, the ragged-looking man awakens to a blade at the base of his throat and a voice in his ear.

“The woman,” John speaks slowly and deeply, accent rolling out. The watchman tenses in his grip, but John grits his teeth and grits out, “Where the fuck is she?” 

“W-woman?” Usually, the brunette could paint himself a patient man, like a flag fluttering in a breeze waiting for the next bout of heavy winds without care or concern. But this was different. 

By God, if these pathetic fortune-seekers had hurt you even in the slightest bit…

John presses the blade harder to the man’s throat, thighs shifting in agitation, glaring at the far-off water beyond this stranger’s shoulder.

“The woman.” Blood falls down the blade edge, crimson. A tiny whimper. “The one that you stole away like an fucking animal.” 

“The fish?” The tone was incredulous but with a snarl the voice continues, whispering pitifully out in fear over the night’s silence. “She’s in the Hold! I swear it, Sir, on God’s green earth I do—”

John slits the man’s throat and takes his leave before the body drops, blood spraying into the air with a garbled cry.

—

You don’t sleep so much as you fall unconscious from the lack of blood. Inside your head, your brain is fuzzy and light—everything swirling like a jewel’s many faces reflected onto a wall. The rocking of the Hunter’s ship, while something you should be used and accustomed to, made you sick at times until only the watery bile that fell from your lips hit the wood. 

At some point, you’d given into the call of nothingness at the lack of seawater and the violent shivering of your shoulders. Your tail had gone completely numb. 

Everyone knew that Merfolk needed the sea to survive—you couldn’t live without feeling its loose arms around you for long periods, pulling you in and filling your airways. 

This was torture. 

But whoever was ripping up cloth at your limp side was muttering you back into the darkness of the Hold. 

“I’m right ‘ere, c’mon, Love. Open your bloody eyes.” Hands pressed to your face, tilting it and hissing before a thumb slid along the swollen skin of a cut. “I’ll rip them to pieces…mark my word. They’ll not live through this.” 

It sounded like…

Gripping at your binds and gag, both items slipped away right before the larger cuts on your body were suddenly packed with strips of rough material. Occasional whispers of words and curses wafted out. 

“...J-John?” Your voice is rough, shattered, but at the same time you manage to force open an eye. 

Tight blue eyes meet yours immediately, and his voice softens to a painful degree as he addresses you. “That’s it, atta girl. Just keep focusing on my voice, then, yeah? Come back to me, Sweetheart.” 

Tears well your ducts, lips quivering. 

John was curled over you and had ripped up the bottom of his tunic to make strips of bandages to try and stop the bleeding. He came for you, gruff voice and large frame, all.

“How are you—” Your voice breaks into body-shaking coughs, but that doesn't deter the man. He carefully puts a hand forward and tilts you into his arms; head resting on his chest. Your ears twitch to the sound of his heartbeat, loud and fast. You cling to it like a lifeline as those calluses graze your skin once more.

How was he here? 

“What have they fucking done?” John’s voice is dark and volatile, his hand stroking your matted hair. “What did they do?” 

He’s not so much asking you as he’s asking himself. You breathe in a wheeze, not noticing the crimson staining John’s clothes—none of it his or yours in the slightest. The other men on the ship weren’t the Fisherman’s priority, only you; always you. But whoever had been in his path had met the unfortunate end of being on the opposite side of his blade. 

When he’d found you like this….it was like his entire chest had fallen still. His eyes wide with horror and fear. 

John had never felt something that visceral before, except when you hadn’t been in your cove. 

“Oh, my Beauty.” Chapped lips press to your forehead, breathing you in as arms curl around you. “Let me bring you home.” 

You shake and cry silently into his neck, weak hands coming to grasp at his neck. 

“They’re going to take my tail.” 

“No,” John’s answer is immediate and firm, pulling you closer until you might slip into his skin. “No, they’re not doing a damn thing to you. I promise, Love, not a single person will ever touch you again, you hear?” 

You burrow into his neck, this fisherman’s flesh soft under your force. Hands keep you to him, and with another kiss on your cheek, they tighten and gently move you into the clutch of his arm. 

John looks down at you with great distress, eyes flickering over every sign of abuse and hurt. The men whose throats he’d slit in their sleep deserved to be awake and see the blade descending for their neck, he thought. 

“I’m going to lift you, Sweetheart, eh?” He grunts to push aside the hatred in his tone, not wanting to scare you. He gazes around the Hold and at the low ceiling—the insistent rocking from the waves just outside. 

You suck down greedy breaths and nod slightly, shaking in his arms. John’s eyes crease in sorrow but has no option but to continue; the both of you can’t be here when the remaining men wake or discover the bodies. 

Your Fisherman frowns but does what he’s able to both quickly and effectively lift you, your tail hanging limp and dripping blood from the fins. When you tense and whine, John shushes you quietly.

“Hush, now, it’s alright. It’ll all be over soon, I’ve got you. I’m taking you back home if it’s the last thing I damn-well do.” Your teeth grit with held-back pain, every movement was agony and to think made it worse. 

Home? Home wasn’t safe anymore. Like taking a knife to the heart, the thought makes the torment all the worse. 

John holds you in one arm, head under his ear and rubbing against his beard as his muscles strain to keep you right to him with his torn tunic and blood-freckled skin. In his free hand, he wields his Cutlass and exits the Hold slowly, eyes surveying the scene. 

The scores of bodies were only a fraction of the men of this ship—only one side of the crew’s quarters that ascended up to the deck. John knew the anatomy of a ship well, certainly one like this. 

His only question was why such an unsavory bunch was living on a King issued hunting vessel in perfect condition. Was the bastard hiring pirates for his extermination game?

“If I ever get my hands on him…” John shuts himself up as someone groans in their sleep from the far wall. 

He glares in the general direction and puts his body between yours and the straight direction that he walks—sword parallel to the ground and knife at his belt as a backup. Ready and wound for a fight. 

“You..you came for me?” You ask softly as John carries on, your blood leaving a crimson trail behind the two of you; your mind is loose to all except the way your Fisherman’s thumbs run circles in your rent scales, fingers gripping under your tail joint which aches and hurts. His bicep is curled at the small of your back. 

John carries you like you weigh nothing.

“‘Course,” the brunette's eyes slide to yours, true honesty and firmness behind his words. You flutter your lashes at the fatigue in your body and his feet speed up, speaking into your scalp and nuzzling his beard into you. “No one messes with my girl.” 

“I’m not a…girl, John,” you remind, softly.

The smirk on your head gives you strength, fear steadily draining like contaminated liquid.

“No,” he whispers, “no, not quite. You’re something far more lovely, aren’t you?”

Your heart swells, tears dripping down your cheeks once more before lips slide them away with brushes of a kiss. He carries you up the stairs quickly, sword at the ready. 

Lantern light makes you squint, hands tightening around John’s neck. 

He hums to you, a small melody that you can latch onto to help focus—it keeps your mind working as everything else falls away. John’s warm flesh and his lungs, the sound of his pulse. 

He came for you. No man would do that besides him—no specimen of any species. No one except John. 

Your Fisherman. 

You’re halfway to freedom, feeling the sea air on your flesh and longing for the depths of untouchable waves. You peek from John’s neck and blink delicately, what little scales still intact shimmering, and fins aching for water. 

“John,” he begins to pick up his pace, but still glances in attentive question. “I need to be in the water. I can’t go long without it.” You already felt a bit stronger by just being by the open sea. The man nods and you smile deeply, face twisted. You kiss his cheek deeply. “You have my thanks, Fisherman.” 

His tight expression gradually loosens with care and love. “Doubted me, then?”

“Perhaps only a little,” he kisses your lips, cheeky smiles peeling his beard. 

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, eh?” The man’s face is lit by lanterns, stars like a crown above his head that illuminate the small scars and the sheen of sweat like a portrait of a good man. 

Perhaps humans were truly more magical than you had been taught to believe, for no mortal man would do this for anybody. 

In the midst of him carrying you over to the edge of the ship, he’s only three feet from the drop when the familiar sound of a Flintlock hammer being clicked back hits his ears. You feel John lock up, and your eyebrows crease in confusion; not common to the model of metal and wood. 

Looking over his shoulder, you strangle down a raspy gasp.

“John—”

“I know, Love.” He whispers, turning slowly with his sword at his hip. The stranger with the eyepatch has his weapon leveled with the brunette’s chest. “Easy, let me handle it. Keep focusing on me.”

“A thief in the night!” The leader calls, and alarm from below deck start to rise in question at the noise. John grits his teeth and his stance widens. “Thought to make off with my prize, did ya? I’ve not seen you before on this ship.”

“Hell,” John grits out, loudly now that he’s caught. You burrow deeper into him and he shields you, voice hot with rage. “Save me the fuckin’ monologue. She isn’t yours—to own or bloody take.” 

As he speaks he points his cutlass in the leader’s general direction, holding it aloft with a strong and pale arm. The leader smirks, and soon the pound of rushing feet enter the deck—men holding weapons and clubs. You make a noise of tension and John tries to shift you farther into his grip even more. 

Your tail hangs and brushes the deck, gaining some feeling back to it gradually. 

The leader laughs. “What that creature is, Mate, is enough gold for a whole moon’s time in rum and pleasure.” His single eye falls on you as the crew gets closer, crowding in and yelling. 

John shuffles back and snarls like a boar, pointing his sword’s tip from one chest to another. 

“Keep your bastard eye off of ‘er, you prick. Find your score elsewhere. She’s coming with me.” So sure he sounds that you yourself believe it. Your chest swims with pride.  

The crew closes in, but jumping at this stage was dangerous. The ones with firearms could aim in the water before you both could get away and John didn’t know if you could swim still. Your fins were torn and tail flinching with damaged nerves.

Eyepatch barks a vile laugh, “...I think he loves the beast!” John’s body winds even farther and your eyes slip to the side of his red face. He grunts stiffly, hair damp. Everyone follows in their amusement, mocking the two of you. “I knew that necklace around her neck meant something.” Your body stills and you glance down at John’s gifted silver. Blue eyes flash to the same, but as if suddenly realizing the nakedness of your top surrounded by such brutes, your Fisherman pushes on the back of your spine to shove your chest into his own with a panicked look. You grunt in surprise, but let him. “No greedy Mermaid would bother with a trinket like that! A piece of rubbish metal. It means something to her—and I’ll bet that something is you, Thief.” 

Me, greedy? Your eyes narrowed into slits. If you knew his name, you’d sing his death song in an instant. Your Fisherman’s face goes stiff, knowing the predicament the two of you were in. There was no way he was giving you up. 

But himself…

Tiny lids narrow on the arrogant leader.

“Do you trust me?” John whispers to you, suddenly, as all sides were surrounded and the water just as dangerous as the deck. 

Face creasing, you say, confused and worried, “Of course.” 

“...Then forgive me.” 

He throws you from the side of the deck, and whirs to run his blade through the nearest man. 

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[thetorturerwrites]

Hello... I need to get this out of my brain...

***

You never considered yourself particularly kinky. Sure, you enjoyed Eddie's handcuffs from time to time, but wearing them didn't really set you off. Props were fun and all, but they didn't really...work for you.

One day, however, your soft, sweet, beautiful boyfriend walked through the apartment naked, all chestnut curls and smooth skin, and it fell right out of your mouth.

"You'd better be careful. I'll snatch a baby right out of you if you keep walking around here like that."

You meant it as a joke. A pure, innocent joke. But once you said it, it was all you could think about. Not necessarily having a baby. But making one. Or two. Or 50.

The fantasy evolved each time you barged your way into Eddie's tight pants. You coaxed him into fucking you in the bathroom of The Hideout, telling him your hormones were running high and you needed him right there and then. You told him how good and strong he was and how great he would be with a whole gaggle of Dustins every time you sucked his cock. You started calling him daddy, particularly when he was balls deep inside you. It had exactly the effect you wanted. Yes daddy, right there, put it right there drove Eddie crazy.

Your frenzy turned ravenous, though, when you watched him lazily play with the very handcuffs you never really cared about before. His musician's fingers idly traced the hoop, and you snapped.

In less than 60 seconds, you had his delicate wrists bound and locked into the shiny steel and his boxers down around his knees. You weren't sure why you never considered it before, but he was goddamn beautiful in bondage, and it lit something in you.

"Told you I was gonna snatch a baby out of you if you weren't careful."

Breathless, you shucked clothes you didn't even remember wearing and settled your nakedness right against his. Your hips had a mind of their own because they immediately rocked against him, coating his entire pelvis in a shocking amount of your arousal.

There was a rush in your head, a roar in your ears. If he spoke, it was lost to the heady sense of power you had with him beneath you like this.

"You gonna be good for me daddy? Give me what I want?"

Delirious, you reached between you, lined him up, and sank down on his fat length. Your eyes watered, and your toes curled because your weight and gravity were on your side for once, shoving Eddie's cock even further up into you.

The world sat crooked, fucked up in the best possible way as you rode and rode and rode with absolutely no regard for the human beneath you. He was yours. Belonged to you. Existed to fill you up exactly the way you wanted.

His voice broke through the din, but you didn't understand his words until you found the wherewithal to focus on his face. His eyes were large and shining, watching you with what could only be called reverence. With each thrust, he nodded at you, and you finally heard what he said.

"... That's it. C'mon mama. Take it. S'yours..."

.... Turns out you were a much kinkier person than you thought..... And you were going to need a stronger pair of handcuffs.

[eepycrow]

she/her pronouns used for reader. takes place some time between s2 and s3!

even after moonrise, the humidity and heat of summer refused to waver. exhaustion was a given after such a long day in the sun, and humanity's strongest wasn't immune to the weight of fatigue seeping through his veins. the mattress beneath his tired form was uncomfortable. the plush duvet, while cosy most other nights, had been kicked lazily to the foot of the bed.

"do you think titans ever get self-conscious about not wearing any clothes?"

nothing brought levi back to reality quite like her unfiltered thoughts. there wouldn't be another person within the walls who'd ask him such a question, aside from hange. was this a question she had on loop while on expeditions too? in the face of death, would she look a titan in the eye and ask if it felt self-conscious about not wearing clothes?

when he didn't answer, she continued.

"they were human before they were titans, right? do you think any of that remains? are they truly mindless? do they have memories of their lives before? and if so..."

she rolled onto her side and reached out, bridging the gap to pinch his nightshirt between her forefinger and thumb in a desperate plea. as if for every titan brought down by his hand, a new bud of titan related knowledge sprouted in his brain and, amongst the endless garden, was the indisputable answer to her questions. but who was he to know the thoughts of those deemed mindless?

"...do titans remember they used to wear clothes? do they mourn the loss of their modesty? do they care that it's all on show? do they feel...undignified?"

levi said her name through a sigh, brows drawn tight as finally — through the urge to fall asleep at some point during this disgustingly humid night — the strength mustered in his arm, just a little, just enough, to place a hand over her mouth and muffle any more questions that dared to fall out. and eventually, when even insomnia called it quits against the summer's heat, they both drifted off into dreams of titans more civilised than those outside the walls; titans who wore clothes and spoke sorrowful words of their real-life selves severe nakedness.

[hellosweetie99]

Here’s a list of my fav fic tags I’ve seen…Enjoy

Chekov’s sex bag

SWORD IN ASS SATURDAY

Homoerotic fossil collection

Passive aggressive nakedness

Blatant misuse of watermelon

The mortifying ordeal of getting your head stuck in a peanut butter jar

This is set in America…sorry

Possessed squirrel

The trio suffers

The grapes are their own character

Dark Ratatouille

Whiny boyfriend doms the undead

Pranks are meant to be silly…like mpreg

New year new kink

Hahaha ouchie

Cock cage (romantic)

Being a lawyer is kinda gay like wdym your job is getting guys off??

Starfire strap color discourse

Science fiction written by a liberal arts major

Doing cute stuff with a decapitated head

HEY MONSTERFUCKERS PSPSPS FOOD FOR YOU

Jealousy as lube

Basically I took one good look at canon and went 'no'

he gets laid in FUCKING JORTS

Kink is just LARP that makes you cum

I wasn't even planning that but the bisexual gods spoke to me

Barry Allen is a human vibrator

Traveler, that Kavehussy got me acting unwise

Evil cuddling

CBT; As In Cock And Ball Torture In Case You Think I Mean Cognitive Behavioral Therapy

Women topping the fuck out of men

Pussy can't heal a broken man but pegging can make him rethink what he's done.

I'm about to slap him on his he/him pussy

Angelic Grace as Lube

Not a cinnamon roll or a war criminal but a secret third thing

Don’t YOU go adventuring with your pussy out?

Weird freaky cannibal sex

Fellas is it gay to receive a dick pic from your archenemies

scott pilgrim vs the 97 lost dr who episodes

10K WORDS OF FOREPLAY AND A BJ

Sorry, it’s for the vibes

Blood sacrifice? More like their wedding

This is true 2009 faggotry

DO NOT USE PAINT AS LUBE

He’s so stupid I need to fuck him

Vampirism or sodomy?

Viktor’s unfortunate foot thing

This is zero percent furry sorry

The ugly duckling but in a really freak way

The Doctor - - -> nest parasite

Accidental pet acquisition (dragon)

Stimming with a deadly weapon

Oh my god it’s fish porn

Clit reveal!

Petition to name it Lesbian Who

Eating a meal with the man you want to study under a microscope

Spydoc are pegging eachother in my Google docs

Psychosexually torturing an old man as quality time

Lan Wangji is a loser trapped in a hot man’s body

Is Xie Lian brat taming? He just might be

They don’t fuck. They do however get a bit bloody