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calcifiedunderland · 17 days ago

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I love your selkie Jade fic!! It’s so good and so creative! I need a Floyd courting fic like I need air, maybe where Yuu has no idea what Floyd strange behavior is, but the octavinelle crew is acting very odd and extra smug when they see Floyd and the prefect together

🐬💥💌Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~

THANK YOU!!! I’m glad you liked the Jade Selkie fic AH!!! I really wanted to write a Floyd version too hehe, hope you enjoy~

Floyd Leech, ft. Selkie

Jade! Azul!

Floyd was confident no one would dare take his pelt. It was easy to steal a selkie’s pelt when it was left unattended (like Jade’s) or hidden (like Azul’s). Floyd always knew where his was - always, always, on his person.

When he had to go to the surface to attend NRC, their father gave him two pieces of advice. One, always pay attention to your footwear. And two, always keep your pelt with you. Whether it’s in your bag, over your shoulders, or under your clothes.

People expected Floyd to be more lax with his skin, but he took the advice to heart more than Jade, who liked showing it off tantalizingly to those grubby landers. So, Floyd’s pelt was always under his clothes. He hated the feeling of extra layers, but he hated being parted with the pelt even more. The very thought of being taken away from the ocean made his human skin crawl.

Imagine his panic when he couldn’t find it once he returned to his dorm after club practice.

He’d tied the pelt securely underneath his basketball jersey, and practice went off without a hitch. He was fired up that day too. He’d won points left and right, and left the gym feeling great. Up until he realized his pelt was no longer snugly tied to his torso, and his heart dropped. He’d passed through the gym, the entire school, the mirror chamber, and through the Lounge up to his dorm. He could’ve lost it anywhere. To anyone.

Jade opened their dorm door to see Floyd flinging things around their room, and launching himself to Jade’s side to dig through his things. “What in the Seven’s are you doing, Floyd?” He didn’t even need to a response when Floyd turned to him with sheer panic on his face. Jade felt his throat tighten. Floyd lost his pelt.

Meanwhile, you stared at the… cloth? in front of you. Earlier today, you’d stopped by the gym while running errands for Crowley. As you made your way across, you noticed a teal heap amidst the basketballs. You knelt, curious, and picked it up. Wait, isn’t this what Jade and Floyd wear?

You didn’t really know what it was, only that it seemed special to them. You never wanted to be rude and ask him about it though, since you figured Floyd had his reasons for hiding it, while Jade has his own for flaunting it.

That thing was massive. You didn’t even see a zipper on it, so it couldn’t be a jacket. Not to mention, it felt kind of… leathery, almost. Like fish skin or something.

When you got to Ramshackle, you folded it neatly before tucking it in a spare shoebox you had. It had a few jewelry pieces in it with shells and pearls. You also chucked a shoe polish in, as well as some funky patterned socks you didn’t want. You decided to leave them in, tucked under the cloth. Maybe Floyd would like them.

The next day, you walked into Mostro Lounge with the box. You overheard some students freaking out, whispering about Floyd being in one of his moods, but this time it was even worse.

You frowned, suddenly nervous. Floyd’s freaking out? Why? You clutched the box a bit tighter. Was it because of the cloth?

In Azul’s office, Floyd was damn near about to blow the whole dorm up. It took Jade wrestling him down and Azul placating him, to get him to calm down just a fraction.

Even now, Jade had to keep watchful eye on him while Azul had a million contracts on his desk, hair wild from running his hands through it. Currently, Floyd was staring listlessly at the wall, bouncing his leg wildly. Who could have possibly been brazen enough to take Floyd’s pelt…? Jade and Azul had an understanding. They’d make them pay for this.

You overheard someone say Floyd was in Azul’s office, so you knocked on the door. “Hey, is Floyd in there?” You called, walking in. Jade glanced at Floyd, who seemed to at least compose himself in front of you. How interesting.

You stopped in front of Floyd, who looked up at you from the couch. He looked up at you, irritated. You cleared your throat, presenting the box to him. “I found your… belongings so I thought I’d give it back to you. It was in the gym, I figured you didn’t want to lose it.”

Floyd’s eyes zeroed in on the box, sensing the pelt, and he grabbed it from you. He nearly tore the top off, but at last he had his pelt back. He almost tore his uniform off then and there to feel it against his skin when he suddenly stopped.

You gave it back to him. You, gave it back to him. You gave it back.

Jade and Azul stared wide eyed at you and Floyd. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, “I also put some extra stuff in the box too, if you want it.”

Floyd lifted the skin a bit, and his eyes went wide. Glittering jewelry, shells, and pearls nestled in the folds of the pelt. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Jade and Azul gasped.

“Oho?” Jade said, grinning slowly. “Oho?” Azul looked shocked. Floyd lifted the pelt out, and more jewelry fell out between the folds. Jade lifted his hand to his mouth, looking sly, “how forward of you, (Name). And in front of us, too.” Azul rose an eyebrow, pleased, “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be the pelt thief. What an interesting development.”

Floyd was quiet, staring at everything in shock. He didn’t expect this from you, Shrimpy. You always were able to surprise him, but this took the bait. It was like everything started to make sense.

You had to know what you’d done. You gave Floyd jewelry, something merfolk did when they wanted to show affection. Not only that, you gave him things directly related to his interests. He eyed the shoe polish with interest, grinning widely. This was textbook courting rituals.

“Ne, shrimpy really is the best~” He stood, mood completely changed. You shrank back a bit as he leered over you. As he gazed into your eyes, you felt the acute sense that you just did something big.

“Don’t you worry Shrimpy, I’m gonna repay you back real good~” Floyd winked at you. You smiled nervously, conscious of the others’ smirks, “I-I should go.” You scurried out of Azul’s office, hearing Floyd’s raucous laughter echo behind you.

Floyd’s kinda weird today, you thought. You didn’t particularly mind it, though. Although dealing with Azul and Jade was a doozy.

Azul ran into you earlier, although you weren’t sure it was on accident. He’d hummed cryptically, with that sneaky businessman smirk he had when he knew something you didn’t. “I must say, it was incredibly forward of you to present Floyd’s pelt, especially with extra gifts. He was energetic all night, he hardly did any Lounge work,” Azul’s words somehow held little annoyance. Confusion filled you. His ‘pelt’? And the jewelry and shoe polish? Was it a big deal?

Azul continued, “You should find Jade later. He will want to speak to you, especially to go over your plans.” Your brow furrowed, echoing “plans?” Azul nodded, amused. “It’s more informal, since we’ve known you before. Just to discuss matters - the timing, ideal circumstance, your intentions, so forth.” He’d walked off before you could ask more. Your head swam.

You hadn’t been able to properly speak to Jade. He was all cordial smiles and, surprisingly, bowed to you multiple times. An amused smile graced his face, and he seemed to revel in your alarm. He’d brush past you just before you could ask him anything, and was always replaced by Floyd bounding up to you and taking you into his arms in giggles.

Ever since you gave him the box, Floyd was strangely clingy. His constant hugging and nuzzling you was borderline affectionate, and it made your heart stutter and stomach feel fluttery. You noted that he was wearing the jewelry you stuck in the box, next to the pelt peeking out of his shirt.

“Hey, (Name),” he said while leaning against you. You were both in the library. Floyd insisted on accompanying you everywhere, and seemed to be exhausted with how much he was yawning at you. “We should go swimmin,’ I’m bored here.”

You sighed, shutting your notebook. “I have work to do, Floyd.” You spied a couch nearby, “you could take a nap maybe, if you’re tired?” Floyd looked you up and down, before grinning. “Nah.”

He tossed you over his shoulder, and you shouted, making the ghost librarians shush you loudly. “Floyd!” He laughed and ran out before the ghosts could catch him.

He ran you all the way to the back of Mostro Lounge by the private fish tanks, where the tanks for the merfolk were. Finally he put you down, still cuddling you as the blue light from the waters washed over you.

Seeing the tanks, you suddenly remembered Azul talking about a pelt. Your mind flashed to the cloth you picked up from the gym. The skin-like texture. Floyd’s moodiness. The secrecy. You’d heard the word ‘Selkie’ being thrown around before, and you knew Floyd was a mer. The thought hid you like a truck - if the pelt belonged to Floyd, then was he a Selkie? Your heart pounded. And you gave the pelt back to him.

Jade walked in, holding a drink and potion in hand. “Ah, Floyd, you’re back.” Floyd grinned at him, shaking you side to side in his arms, “hey Jade~ me n’ Shrimpy are going to take a swim!” Jade smiled pleasantly, gaze locking onto you. “Could I have a moment with (name), please? It should only take a minute.”

Floyd pouted, but Jade gave him a look. Finally, let you go with a little sulk, but not before giving you a final squeeze. “I’ma be back, Shrimpy!~ Don’t go anywhere!” He flounced off, leaving you with Jade.

Jade handed you the drink and potion. “This is on the house, and this is an underwater breathing potion. I thought you may need one,” he said cryptically. You smiled warily at him, and you dumped the potion into the drink to mix it.

Jade sighed happily. “Mother and Father will be so thrilled.” You sipped your drink, throat feeling dry. “What do you mean?”

Jade continued as if he didn’t hear you, “please be gentle to Floyd. He’s never done this before, but I’ve never seen him so besotted with anything before.” Jade suddenly became serious, looking you in the eye. “You will not hurt him. And you won’t need to worry about him. I assure you, our parents took our lessons quite seriously where courting was concerned. He was always the one to wear his heart on his fins, so to speak. He’s quite romantic at heart, really.”

You nearly choked. “C-courting?!” Jade nodded, slowly grinning mischievously. “Of course. You made your intentions quite clear when you gave Floyd back his pelt. With some lovely courting gifts, no less.” Jade looked fondly at you, patting your shoulder. “You will be a welcome part of the family. Usually gifts such as jewelry come much later in the courting process, but I expect you’ll be betrothed quite soon with how taken Floyd is with you.”

Now you actually choked. “He- what?!” You couldn’t lie, you weren’t exactly upset about Floyd liking you, but courting? This was fast. Jade nodded. If he sensed your growing panic and confusion, he certainly ignored it (or found it entertaining) as he smiled at you. “Yes, he was quite pleased that you were the one who found his pelt. Ah, young love~”

You downed your drink as Floyd bounded back to you, sweeping you up. “Shrimpy~ I’m back!” He’d stripped off his outer garments. His pelt was draped over his shoulders like a towel, and he grinned down at you. “Let’s go~ I’ll keep ya safe, promise!”

As he waded into the waters, you decided to just accept your fate. You reached up and kissed Floyd on the cheek, pressing your face to his gently. He squished you against him as the water rose and his lower half meshed with the pelt, turning back into his eel form.

He rubbed his cheek against yours, “I’m happy you gave me back my pelt, Shrimpy.” You felt Floyd smile against your face, and you hugged him back. “Y’know what? I’m happy too, Floyd.”

THE MAN THE MYTH THE EEL!!! Floyd!!!!!

#calci’s 500 follower event #twst mermay #mermay 2025 #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst floyd leech #twst floyd x reader #twst floyd #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd x reader #floyd leech x yuu #calcified writing

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soupdweller · 1 month ago

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mermay day 3: pirates

#draw sun consistently challenge: impossible #what if he asked you to join his crew? what then?#mermaid creature yn as a treat #DCFPUmermay25 #my art #sun fnaf #fnaf sun #sundrop #fnaf dca #daycare attendant #fnaf daycare attendant #dca fandom #dca fanart #dca x y/n #dca x reader #x reader #IM DRAWING EVERYDAY HELPP AAHHH #mermay

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quarterlifekitty · 22 days ago

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Barracuda mer!Soap chasing and terrorizing the betta mer that’s been dropped in his enclosure (“‘s our tank now, pretty minnow”) because he’s been alone in there for months and the scientists that keep you wanna observe some mating behaviors

Him leaving the best cuts of the prey fish they fill the tank with right by your hiding spot (the one he’s too big to squeeze into). Cooing at you to come out as if he’s not going to grab you and use you like a little tropical fleshlight as soon as you do.

#mermay writing #cod mermay #cod fanfic #writing #cod #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #mermaid au #betta reader #barracuda soap

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lay-z · 12 days ago

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WALK THE PLANK | Part 1

Happy Mermay! 𓂃𓂁𓂃 ོ

— mershark!Simon Riley × fem!Reader — 18+ | Pirates of the Caribbean AU; magic; strangers to lovers; slowburn-ish; monsterfucking; possessive/territorial! Simon; breeding kink; time skips; loss of virginity; canon-typical violence; smut; fluff; dub-con (to be safe)

You have been drawn to the sea since your mother gave birth on a pirate ship.

Even though your father warned you to stay away from the Gems Cove many a times while growing up, told you to stop swimming there, stop feeding the fish, stop praying to Calypso, stop serenading the bloody sea at dusk when the last golden rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon, because you cannot even comprehend what lingers in the depths of the reef, sweet lassie, you never listened, and when your father left one last time to follow after his Captain’s orders one last time, there was no one left to tell you to stop going there.

And with your dear father’s disappearance, your feet only carried you towards the cove with more purpose—and a lot more spite.

Raised and fed by kind townspeople who took pity on your situation, you continued to spend your teenhood at Gems Cove, glaring at the horizon and quietly cursing ever ship that sailed by and didn’t magically take you away.

A warm breeze sweeps through your hair, swirls around your bare legs as you stand there in your flowy white undergarments, dress and boots discarded in a haphazard heap in the shade of a rock, salt curling the strands and sticking to your dewy skin, sunrays dancing on the crystal-clear water, sparkling like a million gemstones.

“Perhaps I’ll become a bloody pirate like you, eh? How does that fucking sound, father?” you sneer again, angrily flicking another broken seashell over the glittering surface as you stand on the rotten boards of the old jetty, gentle waves lapping against the jagged rocks and wooden pillars supporting the planks.

It’s what you’ve been doing for the past decade, whenever you realize once again how incredibly meaningless and mundane your life has turned out to be, like a ruffled feather blowing in the wind—working as a hierling on fishing boats to get by, helping out as a seamstress and barmaid, selling self-made jewellery to drunken travellers, and avoiding the local brothel at all costs like Davy Jones avoids dry land.

Your father had always promised to take you with him—“when you’re old enough, sweet lassie”—though it was too late when you realized that he was simply staving you off. You would have never been old enough, always his little lassie, too soft for the ocean—a pebble with no edges, smoothed by the current.

“Perhaps... Perhaps I’ll have a child only to abandon it, too, huh? Or even better, I bloody snuff it givin’ birth to it like mother did!” You scoff, and the sound ricochets around the enclosing cliffs sharply, like the shot of a well-maintained pistol.

A murder of crows and a few scattered seagulls feeding on a large mutt’s cadaver at the beach nearby, are startled by the sound and take off flight; distracting you momentarily as you glance over your shoulder, squinting against the slowly setting sunlight.

You barely register the gentle sloshing of waves behind you. The mass that heaves itself out of the water to peek up at the jetty, and the quiet, steady dribble of fat drops dripping off sleek skin, back into the ocean.

When you turn around again, you let out a surprised yelp and nearly jump backwards at the sudden sight that greets you, stumbling on bare feet, almost slipping on slick algae.

He’s huge, and it’s barely half his torso that’s sticking out of the water.

Black, beady eyes—marbles containing the depths of the sea—staring at you, with a rather curious twinkle, from behind a mask crafted out of what you assume must be a cracked human skull, secured around his head with a frayed string of hemp rope, its upper row of teeth twinkling with a gold tooth. It exposes a crown of short brown hair sticking to his skull, the sharp curve of jawline and a plump, rosy bottom lip.

His skin is pale, with a silvery shimmer and faint grey stripes along his upper arms and ribs, depending how the light catches it. Paler than the white sand on the beach, like it has never been kissed by the afternoon sun.

Blessed with wide shoulders, a bulky chest, chiselled abs, and large arms with bulging muscles and protruding blue veins running along the inside of his forearms. Half a brown leather harness is secured around his upper torso, a short and tattered sheath attached to it, the blade’s ivory handle seemingly carved from some great fishbone.

You’ve never seen a man quite this large, not even on your father’s crew, but once you spot the row of gills on each side of his neck, you know that you’re not faced with a man, but a beast—and suddenly, all doubts you once held vanish.

As it turns out, your father didn’t lie in his bedtime stories, didn’t exaggerate when he warned you all those years ago: “There are things–beings–lingerin’ below the surface that might not make sense to us, but it don’t mean they’re not real. Aye? If ye feel like ye’re bein’ stalked by the water, chances are bloody high tha’ ye are, lassie.”

“Who–Who are you?” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes on wobbly legs to make sure you’re not dreaming again.

He doesn’t answer at first, only regards you with those dark, soulless eyes, head tilted like a puppy experiencing something new while his chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, until you find your footing again, slowly backing away from the edge of the jetty, holding your breath despite the salty air scratching in your lungs.

“Wait!” He calls out firmly with a voice like gravel coated in oil, barking like a captain yet pleading like a lost boy. You freeze, exhaling a shuddering breath while your sweaty skin pebbles with goosebumps.

The water parts as he glides through it with ease, closing distance while your eyes flicker to observe the large silhouette of his lower half moving below the surface, causing your eyes to widen in fear and disbelief—and curiosity as it begins to tickle you in the back of your mind.

You should grab your clothes and run far away, but you stay where you are, mesmerized by the creature who is now pulling himself out of the water, bracing his forearms on the edge of the first planks while they creak under his added weight.

For a moment, you’re distracted by his body and the sheer power emanating from him; his hands so brawny and veined, he looks like he could crack a coconut without any effort.

“My name,” he takes a deep breath as if it strains him to speak, “is Simon.”

“Simon,” you repeat, and something splashes sharply behind him, breaking the surface like he’s excited to hear you utter his name, and you wonder if your eyes have deceived you—or if you’ve truly just seen a shark tail.

There is a brief yet tense pause, then he speaks your name, loud and clear, and your heart throbs inside your chest. “Why are ya so angry again?” he asks casually, as if he’s talking to an old friend.

Simon belongs to the mythical merfolk.

Different than the mermaids and men you’ve heard of through legends and lore, and the heresy fishermen and pirates alike love to spread, the creatures who call the territory around Whitecap Bay and Isla Sirena their home, he’s a maverick, a lone sea ghoul.

Unlike them, he doesn’t belong to any pod. He’s been on his own for most of his life.

Mershark, they call themselves. “Aye, stronger than those pretty fish,” he tells you one day two, chortling when he adds, “smarter, too.”

He does look like a ruthless tiger shark, his lower half nearly twice as long as a human body, with tough skin, criss-crossed with battle and other scars. And when he catches how your gaze lingers on his unique body, a rare smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, nearly preening under your attention.

Simon lets you inspect and learn as you please, answers your questions about his tail, and why it doesn’t look like any of the merfolk drawings you’ve seen in books—his large caudal fin like a shark’s, undulating from side to side rather than up and down whenever he swims.

And you start spending more time at the cove and less at your hometown, ignoring your lack of money and possibilities in favour of being with him—your scarily handsome sea beast.

After five days, you bring what is necessary, along with a tattered pillow and thin blanket as you stay more nights at the beach, reading aloud old books to him as he can neither read nor write, and sleeping in the sand while Simon prowls his territory underwater, hunting at night.

You’ve never had a friend quite like him, if any at all, but neither ever did he, from what you can tell.

He gets terribly restless when you do end up leaving the cove a couple of hours a day, pacing while the big trademark fin of a shark swims circles in the bay until you return, and Simon ends up bringing you fish to cook over an open bonfire and fresh clams to slurp with lemon juice to keep you from having to leave him again; always making sure you’re fed while he lingers; sometimes sitting awkwardly in the shallows with you, when the tide is lowest, and the temperature burns too hot.

It’s peaceful, being with him.

“Everyone always told me to stay away from Gems Cove. Said it’s too dangerous and cursed,” you remark, kissing your teeth in snide as you gaze out on the calm water. “Nothin’ ever happened, and they stopped pestering me eventually, though.”

There is a pause after you tell him, and you wonder if he’s even listening to you, but then he opens his mouth to speak, and you realize that he’d been hesitating.

“I’ve watched over you whenever ya swam here. Nothin’ would’ve ever happened to you, because I never allowed it,” he admits sheepishly after barely ten days of knowing each other, as the late afternoon sun inches towards the horizon. He points a finger at the span of the cove. “F’all these years, y’know?”

Simon looks straight ahead as you gaze up at him, his skull mask resting in your lap after taking it off for him, and you use the moment to admire how the sunlight makes his dark blonde hair shine, the unruly strands now close-cropped, thanks to you, exposing the three deep claw marks at the side of his skull from a fight with a merman.

Then his jaw clenches and his cheek ticks as if he regrets telling you now, but your heart skips a beat at his admission, utterly touched by it.

“Why?” you croak, and your eyes sting with salty sea spray.

His head tips down at your hand now resting where his hip should be and where his body turns twisted, abnormal. Still, your thumb rubs soothing circles on his sleek looking yet rough skin, sharp like sand and fine glass shards.

Reaching out, he takes your right hand, turns it over to look at your palm, tracing the jagged scar in the middle of it, and huffing through his nose at the memories flooding his mind, before he speaks: “Because you saved me and almost bloody died doin’ it.”

You don’t remember it, but Simon recounts that you’d lost consciousness back then. He could never forget it—stuck and tangled up in a net, thin ropes biting into his skin while a fat hook was piercing his dorsal fin, his own blood attracting more sharks.

You’d jumped into the dark water without hesitation, the full moon the only light illuminating the restless waves, and you cut him free with a rusty pocketknife before pulling out the hook. And Simon remembers your sharp cry of pain, the one that made his heart drop heavy in his chest, then the sweet and copper scent of your blood as it dripped onto him and into the sea, when the hook went through your palm.

Barely a decade old the both of you, when he had to watch from afar how loud men hauled you out of the angry water, pressing down on your still flat chest with force until you sputtered and coughed gallons of salty water while death kept clinging to your complexion.

Simon still wishes he could’ve kissed you back then, protect you from drowning like that, but he was still a silly pup—oblivious to his own powers, because nobody close to him was still alive to teach him.

His shoulders slouch, dry skin pulling taut over his muscles after spending too much time out of the water.

“I never even got to say ‘thank you’ back then.”

The sourness of lemons from supper is still sticking to your lips as you lick them, the taste of seafood lingering in the back of your throat as you listen and watch, barely breathing while Simon paints a vivid picture in your head; lifting the fog of a sad, lonely childhood for a smidge to teach you how you got that nasty scar on your hand.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, not moving your hand as he keeps cradling it in his. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Then, your father’s words come to your mind: “Whenever the sea calls out to ye, ye walk the plank and take a jump, lassie.” He’d always laugh fondly. “One fearless minx, ye are. Every pirate cap’n would fear the lass who’d cheated Calypso of another innocent soul.”

It makes more sense now, but before you can think about it, Simon turns to you, his eyes dark pools of nothingness, swallowing up all the molten golden brown in his irises.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, love. Bloody reckless y'are.” There is no malice in his baritone voice, just a hint of exasperation and fatigue, as if he’s done with your bollocks after years of playing guardian angel and keeping himself hidden in a desperate attempt not to scare you away, but then there’s a faint smile lifting the scarred corner of his lip—a gnarly scar caused by another fisherman's hook, he’d told you.

A genuine smile graces your lips when you entwine your fingers with his, feeling the smooth, translucent webbing between his fingers, while his body tenses, nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale of breath.

“Wouldn’t have met ya if I was some prudent, Si.”

It’s still a foreign feeling for him to feel air burn in his lungs for so long, but Simon can’t help the way his breath stutters and hitches whenever you’re close to him—whenever you touch him so effortlessly, just as confidently as when you’d jumped into the water to save him from a cruel death.

And Simon is almost sure you don’t know, not yet anyway, but you’re doing things to him he’s never experienced before.

The naturally fearless mershark continues to crumble under your gaze, your voice, your every touch, like a delicate sandcastle blown over by the breeze. He’d endure the burn of air in his lungs, of sunrays on his sensitive skin, a thousand times over if it means he can spend another moment in your bright presence.

“Aye.” He returns your smile, squeezing your hand lightly as you hold his gaze. “Guess ye’r right.”

For the first time in his pathetic life, Simon doesn’t feel that cold and crippling kind of loneliness, and unbeknownst to him, you feel very much the same.

After two weeks, when the Caribbean sun burns too hot at noon, Simon steals you away from the Gems Cover, has he listened to you hiss and moan about your townspeople and the desire to leave the island one too many times in this short amount of time.

“Bring water,” he keeps calling out to you like a mother hen, bracing his arms on the jetty as he watches you fussing about in your makeshift camp at the beach. “Can’t have ya faintin’ on me,” he adds with a teasing lilt, and you roll your eyes, stuffing your flask into your old leather rucksack.

When you sit down at the edge of the jetty, bare legs swinging while the hem of your yellowed tunic flutters around your thighs, Simon feels a different kind of warmth stirring in his chest that spreads down to the tip of his tail, pooling and pulsating low in his gut.

His hands twitch below the surface, clenching into fists to keep himself from reaching out to feel your supple flesh give under his brawny hands, nose twitching as he gets a whiff of your scent—luscious sweat and salt coating your skin, a trace of coconut water on your hair, a whiff of your heavenly womanhood when you squirm on the rotten planks and your knees spread apart.

His mouth fills with saliva and the urge to shove his face between your thighs becomes unbearable as something wild claws and thrashes behind his ribs, razor sharp teeth tearing him apart from the inside while he tries to tame his instincts.

Simon exhales slowly through his nose, dark eyes flickering up to observe your gorgeous face from behind his skull mask as you secure your rucksack on your back, so unaware of this predator—lusting, wanting, adoring you so openly.

Sometimes he wonders if you know that you’re his salvation, and he hates himself for not bracing that surface sooner, for not taking that leap and show himself to you.

“Now c’mon, little legs.” He clears his throat and water splashes as he lifts his arms up, waiting for you to make the final jump. “I’m takin’ ya for a swim.”

Your pearly teeth flash with a grin and then you slip off the edge, right into his embrace before he cradles you close to his buff chest while a pleased rumble bubbles up in his throat at the weight of you finally in his arms, legs wrapping around his midriff where man meets shark.

“Fuckin’ hell, ye’r squishy,” Simon mutters under his breath, earning a glare as he snorts in amusement and slight embarrassment, pale cheeks flushing under the bone of his mask. “I–I mean... soft. In a–a good way.” He adjusts his grip on you, cupping the back of your thighs, squeezing involuntarily.

You squirm against his body, lashes fluttering against the spray and breeze whipping around your body, while your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, overwhelmed by the closeness to him, not having expected nor ever experienced this effect from a anyone.

“Hold on tight now, aye?”

Adjusting your grip around his neck, you nod, and Simon eases himself into the water, floating on his back while he has you lay on his broad body, keeping you secured to his chest while he starts moving his tail underwater, gliding through the waves as he manoeuvres you both out of the familiar cove, past the colourful reef where the sheltered bay opens up into the vast ocean.

“Haven’t been out in open water in so long,” you start shakily, eyes darting around, but the sun’s reflection on the surface blinds you too badly. “What if someone sees us out here?”

Simon shrugs. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout that. I know these waters better than anyone,” he assures you, sounding proud while his chest puffs out.

“Sounds like you expect a pat on your head for that,” you quip as you play with the hair at his nape underwater, and there is a brief pause before his tail breaches to splash a cold wave of water on you.

You squeal and Simon smirks triumphantly at the sound you make, and he can’t stop his hands from roaming over the curve of your back, the thin fabric of your drenched tunic now clinging to your body like a second skin. His fingers twitch to rip it clean off and shed the barrier between you both, but again he pushes the urge far away into the darkest depths of his mind.

The secret he’s so determined to show you turns out to be a cave halfway around the island; unreachable from land, its entrance hidden behind large lumps of boulders covered in moss, seaweed and barnacles. An old smugglers hideout he had discovered in his years of calling this island his territory, though no one has returned here since the Royal Navy has been patrolling close to the island occasionally.

As Simon takes you farther inside, the pool of turquoise water ends in a U-shaped landmass of dark glimmering stone, surrounded by a solid rocky wall with large cracks at the ceiling where daylight spills inside and illuminates the cave. It smells sweet and clean, like a source of fresh water is nearby.

When he sets you down on a dryer spot of stone, you push yourself up slowly, your gaze wandering around the cave in awe, head tilted back, while Simon watches, eyes crinkling deep in the corners with a pleased smile at your reaction.

“You like it?” You nod eagerly, a breathless laugh erupting from your lungs. “Yes! This place is beautiful, Si!”

The water ripples around Simon’s midriff while his tail swishes below the surface, like a mongrel wagging its tail.

A few hours later, Simon is lounging on his back on a larger, flat rock in the middle of the pool while listens to the gentle padding of your bare feet echoing around the cave, enjoying the shade and warm, damp air, while you continue to explore each nook and corner curiously, letting him know whenever you find something worth mentioning. The sound so soothing to him, he nearly dozes off with one arm propped up behind his head.

You’ve found the pile of driftwood that he’d brought to the cave a few days ago, when he’d shoved them into place where the sun shines the brightest through the cracks in the ceiling to let them dry, and you’ve been trying to build and start a fire for a while before you call out his name suddenly.

Simon cracks one eye open, waiting. “Is this your home? Uhm, I mean... Is this where you stay when you’re not at the cove with me?” He lifts his head up and catches you standing at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the water tentatively.

“No,” he answers eventually, his tone curt. “I don’t have a home.” You are his home, but he can’t possibly tell you that now.

“So,” you start again, and Simon props himself up on his elbows as he notices how you suddenly avoid his eyes. “Why did you never,” you shrug, pulling your toes from the water, “y’know... try to find a–” You make a vague hand gesture in the air, and his stomach twists into a thousand tight knots.

Simon utters your name, though it comes out as a growl. “A what?”

Your pretty eyes snap up to meet his and you look so innocent, he can barely endure the sight. His chest heaves and his tail slashes briefly before he speaks: “A pod? A family? Come on, say it.”

You lick your dry lips as your cheek warm up. “A mate, Simon.”

His tail swishes, stirring the water. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth tightly. This question alone nearly offends him, especially coming from you, and he doesn’t quite know what to say while the truth is already trying to claw itself through his gills and up his throat, burning in the back of his tongue as if he ate something rancid and rotten.

Then he huffs. “Why don’t you have one?” He doesn’t even want to know the answer, and fear clogs up his veins when he briefly imagines that you already have one, that you’re simply spending time with a lonely bastard like him out of pity and kindness.

You kick a tiny seashell into the water as you shrug, looking like a child that doesn’t know how to explain itself.

“Never liked anyone in my town. The men are all just–” You sigh, shrugging again, unaware that Simon is already seething at the mere mention that you’ve looked at males in the past.

But the truth is mundane—you feared you’d end up like your mother, with a man who loved his freedom and a life of piracy more than her, only to die scared, giving birth to her child during a storm on a pirate ship.

“Not bloody good enough for you.” He finishes your sentence with a frown on his face. They’re not the words you would’ve used, but deep down, you agree with him.

A dreary smile tugs at your lips as you finally look at him, regarding him lolling about in the rock, muscles stretching and flexing in a way that twists and turns your insides warm and your smile more bashful.

“Perhaps, aye,” you agree, and Simon perks up at that, heart fluttering with hope. “Perhaps that’s it.”

Yes, I planned this as a oneshot, but things got out of hand and I'm having way too much fun in this universe. 🙃 I hope you've enjoyed the first part! If so, I'd always appreaciate your feedback, likes & reblogs. Thank you so much! 🧜🏼‍♂️🩵

#walk the plank 𓂃𓂁𓂃 ོ #mershark!simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #cod mermay au #mermay #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod smut #simon riley smut #cw dubcon #cw monsterfucking #simon ghost riley x reader

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 month ago

Note

Hear me out, HEAR ME OUT:

Ok so imagine Mer!Au right, what if Mer!Reader gets injured by some intruder and manages to scurry away and hide, but in the process of escaping leaves behind a cloud of blood and scales,,,how would mer!141 react to what could be interpreted as their untimely demise?

(Also, just wanna say, love your work its wonderful and keeps the serotonin pumping <<<3)

took liberties :)

73 / remora reader and shark!141

...

You dart into the reef to hide, tail flashing silver behind you. You're not taking chances again yet.

Soap pivots and locks his gaze on your hiding spot instinctively. Before he can chase after you, Ghost speaks up.

"Quit terrorizing the cleaner fish."

Soap snorts. His body relaxes, but two beats of his long tail carry him down to the reef anyway. He's never been able to resist his overactive prey drive. "Wasn't me." He circles, fingers brushing multicolor spines and blooms as if testing for weaknesses. "Thought we agreed no games before breakfast."

"I'm not playing," you mumble.

Soap finds your hiding spot. He braces his forearms against the reef above your head. His shadow engulfs you completely, cool and safe. "Aye? Your wee tail's still twitchin' like bait."

Embarrassment prickles across your skin. You look away from him and smoothe your palms down your tail, cleaning your scales nervously. "Never mind."

Soap tilts his head. He winds his arm around the sharp edges of broken fan coral to skim the curve of your tail with his knuckle. You settle his larger hand in yours and pick at the grit under his claws in silence. Soap's turns his hand palm-up so you can fuss with it properly. His knuckles are split from sparring with Ghost, and his forearm bears faint bite marks from that same rogue barracuda mer who picked a fight. "C'mon. Out you pop. I won't tell Price you're still jumpin' at shadows if you clean my teeth."

You startle. Price? "Is he mad?"

Soap smirks and flexes his fingers in your stilled hands. "Nah. Just grumpin' that some arsepiece’s scarin' off his favorite wee perch." His teeth flash in the dappled light. "Unless you'd rather he hear how you've been hidin' scraps from him again."

"I have not!"

Soap leans in. His broad shoulders completely block the light filtering through the coral. The faint scar on his cheek creases with his smirk. " Then why's there two cuttlebones and a clamshell picked clean under that brain coral?"

An irate twitch prickles down your spine and makes your dorsal fins stand up. He knows for a fact that you never ever steal food. You just like to collect the trinkets sometimes. You're saving those bones for something specific.

"That's what I thought. Come, come, out ye get."

You let him use your grip on his hand to pull you out of your hiding spot. He could never wedge his way inside, thanks to the sharp stone and broken coral around it. Your much smaller body glides through easily. The coral ghosts past your scales but leaves red nicks on his bicep. He doesn't seem to notice.

You curl into his chest and cling there as he settles onto the sand beside Ghost.

Ghost doesn’t lift his head from where it’s pillowed on his scarred forearms, but you feel his eyes. Sunlight catches the jagged edge of his fin, freshly torn from the same skirmish. His tail flicks once as you settle against Soap’s chest. “Quit dragging her out into the open. You'll just make her more skittish.”

Soap’s chest vibrates with a laugh that curls your fins. “Nah, she likes havin’ someone bigger to cling on. You’re just jealous it’s not you.”

Ghost glares at Soap. Then the weight of his gaze drops squarely onto you. The more you pretend to busy yourself with cleaning Soap's scratched arm, the longer it leaves Ghost to stare in silence at the puckered red lines down your back and remember how they billowed with fresh blood.

He's been quick to anger since that fight. You're sure he blames you for inciting the whole thing.

"Just as well the bastard took a chunk out of you," he mutters. "If that's how you learn to keep away from threats you can't suck up to."

You tense. Soap’s fingers tighten around your waist. "Leave off." He tilts his wrist to brush one of your knuckles with his thumb. It's a patient gesture from a beast like Soap toward a nervous bottom feeder like you. "Don't know how you've still got so much sand in your gills. It's been days since that fight. The rest of us might as well have forgotten it already."

Ghost doesn't answer. His gaze drags again over the half-healed claw marks striping almost to your shoulders. His stare lingers too long on the deepest one—the one that nearly snagged your spine when he'd been too slow to intercept the barracuda's strike. You've not cleaned them as well as you should. He has half a mind to yank you sideways from Soap’s grip and make you take care of yourself better. Stupid little good-for-nothing.

You wait in the crook of Soap's arm until he and Ghost settle into silence again. Then you shift yourself up to Soap's shoulder and begin busying yourself with cleaning his teeth. You keep your gaze trained down on your work.

Soap tips his head back and slackens his jaw to give you better access. His incisors glint in the filtered sunlight. The metallic tang of old blood clings to his molars. You work methodically, plucking shreds of kelp and bone fragments from between his teeth with your smaller fingers and ignoring the way his throat bobs when your thumb grazes the corner of his lips. You feel him begin to shift in playful arousal under you.

Ghost’s tail flicks again. Closer this time. “Fuck’s sake.”

Soap’s throat rumbles with a laugh before you can react. “Bet she’d fix you up just as nice if you stopped glowerin’ long enough to ask. I swear you’re just sore ‘cause nobody’s offered to clean your fangs or your cock since the last time Gaz and I—”

“Finish that sentence,” he growls, “and I’ll tear out your spine for a toothpick.”

"Clean him next, then," Soap tells you mildly. "Teeth and everything else. Good n' proper." He shoots Ghost a cheeky look. "She’ll fix ye up right if ye just ask, see? Then again, maybe ye’ve forgotten how to ask for anythin’ that isn’t a knife to the ribs.”

You nick your knuckle on Soap’s tooth. A bead of blood wells up, swirling crimson in the water between you. Soap’s nostrils flare—a shark catching scent. He laps the cut with a rough swipe of his tongue before you can pull away.

Ghost’s tail slams into the sand. The force of it sends a shockwave through the water that scatters a nearby school of damselfish. He’s between you and Soap before you can blink. One rough hand grabs your tail to pull you backward off Soap’s chest. His grip is mean, but the way he angles his body between you and Soap’s nipping teeth is protective. He clamps his other hand around Soap’s throat and shoves him flat against the sand. “Don’t play with her like food.” Then he turns on you. “You’re a liability.”

You nod and lower your gaze.

It only seems to piss him off more. “Stop flinching. You’re acting like bleeding chum in open water. Do you want another mer to take a bite out of you?”

Soap shoves Ghost away. "Pick on someone higher up the food chain, ya fuckin’ weapon.”

“No.” Ghost’s gaze snaps back to you. The predatory stillness in him is worse than Soap’s chaos. “She’ll keep being jumpy until she fixes herself up.”

Soap’s grin sharpens like he’s enjoying toying with Ghost—distracting him on your behalf. "Aye, there's his old soft spot. Makes a right pretty nurse, eh?”

Soap grins when Ghost lunges at him—but you scrambling to get clear of their tussle is what actually stops both short. Ghost freezes, watching you retreat toward the reef again with a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

Soap blinks. Then groans. “Christ, Simon. You’ll never get her to trust you if you keep snapping like a—”

Ghost silences him with a rough shove before swimming off toward the deeper trenches.

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more mer au / more Soap / more Ghost / masterlist

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bunnis-monsters · 17 days ago

Text

Let me teach you a lesson

PREVIEW

Yandere!Octopus Merman x Mermaid!Reader

warning: yandere, tentacle sex, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, Octavian is manipulative but Reader likes him

Yandere!Octopus Merman that dabbles in witchcraft. Because most mermaids avoid dark magic and the murky depths, he’s spent most of his life alone.

That was, until you came along.

See, you were a cute and curious thing. There were rumors a wizard lived just past the shallows, and you were more than excited to explore and find out if that was true.

After all, what could go wrong? You loved making new friends?

Well, seeing such a cute thing swim towards his lair had him flustered! You looked so soft and pretty, with your shimmering tail and curious eyes.

“You’re Octavian, right?”

He nearly sprayed ink when you poked your head into his den. “Y-yes, who’s asking?”

You puffed out your chest before swimming in. “I knew the rumors were true! You’re a wizard, aren’t you? Show me some magic!”

This was a first. Octavian had been an outcast since childhood, even to other octopi merpeople, so being asked to perform the very thing that drove others away made his heart race.

Everything about you made him feel… strange. The scent you carried, how you stared in awe at his magic, and even the cute squeak you let out when he showed you the supplies he used in potions.

There was no way he’d go back to the lonely life he led before.

“Taviii, I’m here!”

He looked up as you entered yet again, his tentacles feeling around until they felt your soft tail. You smiled fondly when one of the tentacles softly caressed your cheek, and you gave it a peck causing it to shrink away.

“You’re back… here for another lesson?”

You nodded, not noticing how he moved to block all of the exits. “Yeah, have something new to teach me?”

One of his tentacles managed to get around your waist, carefully pulling you closer. “In fact, I do…”

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merakiui · 1 month ago

Text

coastal conversation.

yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader cw: (soft/subtle) yandere, nsfw, breeding, obsession, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight delusion, floyd's kind of a pervert in this one note - everything is in bloom in spring: the plants, the incessant rain, romance… for floyd, it means mating season.

In the most unfiltered way, Floyd feels like utter shit.

He tossed and turned all throughout the night, drowning in an ocean of his own sweat. One minute, he was hot all over, thus the blankets were cast off, and the next he was chilled to his marrow so badly he had to cocoon himself in those same drenched sheets. Even though it’s early spring and the unpredictable forecast has hammered NRC’s campus with floods of cool rain, Octavinelle Dorm is kept at suitable temperatures for its residents.

Therefore, it shouldn’t be much of an issue. He’ll regulate and bounce back…or whatever it is human bodies do when throttled with wild weather.

Floyd has an innate sensitivity to everything, so it’s no surprise he’s able to immediately zero in on it—the creeping suspicion that something’s wrong. He knows he’s falling ill, but there are way too many human ailments for him to recall and some of them aren’t even worth pitching a fit over. He takes pride in his human immune system, which the doctors have observed is healthy every year he’s had to sit for his medical exams, so, really, he has no reason to fret.

And he’s not. It’s more inconvenient than anything. He has plans today—plans he’s not exactly thrilled about—but plans nonetheless. This mounting sickness is the perfect excuse to ditch them and sleep the weekend away. If he believed in all that universe-speaking-through-signs crap, he’d say fate is on his side. It’s destiny telling him not to go on this blind date.

That’s right. A blind date. Those are the plans.

He’s not even sure why he agreed to it in the first place. Maybe because it sounded interesting at the time it was proposed, but now he has to actually execute everything he once marveled at in theory. And dates are so much work, even more so when you’re not feeling it.

But Jade—the professional provocateur that he is—went and blabbed about this development to their mother, who was so thrilled on Floyd’s behalf and wished him all the best. If she wasn’t stuck in the sea with her own business to handle, she’d come up there to visit and cheer him on—something Floyd was quick to veto. He loves his mama, but sometimes she can be excessive in her affections. Any other day he’d be pleased to bask in it, but not when he’s feeling so volatile. It’s like the four seasons are at constant war within his body, each one battling for sole control over his temperament.

Still, he’s a little curious.

He’s never been on a blind date before. It was arranged through an app he’d downloaded for the sake of slaking his boredom. Find your next Charming Darling. That’s what the app advertised—purely fairy-tale experiences. True love and princesses and all kinds of lovey-dovey stuff Floyd scrunched his nose at. Azul had said the app itself seemed “dubious at best, but most certainly a scam,” as it worked only by pairing two anonymous users together for online chatting. It was a location thing, apparently. You wouldn’t know who you were talking to and neither would the other person—each profile kept private for suspense or some other stupid reason—but you’d both know where the other was in proximity to you.

And it just so happened that Floyd’s Charming Darling was close. On campus close.

He wondered which small fry had matched with him, and it was his theorizing that convinced him to melt out of bed and into clothes for the day. He can handle a few hours in town. He needs to pick up some things anyway, so if the date is a bust the trip won’t have been for nothing.

After confirming the meeting place with his so-called ‘darling’, he pulls his sneakers on, stuffs his wallet in his pocket, and then sets off to catch the bus into town.

Even though the sun is high in the sky, the would-be heat is chilled by the gentle breeze rolling in from the coast. His head is pounding and stuffed full of crackling static and wires, and he feels an impossible itch deep beneath his skin. But the pleasant weather manages to lift his spirits enough for him to let his date know he’s arrived at the café. He finds a table outside and plops down, content to wait after receiving an enthusiastic almost there text.

He smells you before he sees you.

Suddenly, the sticky-sweet aroma of candy and pastries and every other saccharine thing invades his senses. It’s thrilling like blood in the water, widening his pupils until his eyes are nearly twin pools of the deepest black, but instead of iron and injury he catches the floral notes of arousal. Or maybe it’s a scarily strong perfume.

Either way, it has his hunting instincts switched on, that predatory hindbrain of his prickling with the urge to chase and capture prey.

Just before he can sift through the other scents slamming his nose and narrow in on that very specific one, someone speaks up.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re my Prince Charming?”

Oh, he knows that voice. Immediately, whatever bad mood was sitting on simmer in the back of his head shuts off and is replaced with a burst of positive energy. A malicious smile curls on his lips, one he’s all too eager to flash at you when he turns around in his seat.

He almost falls out of it.

You look different. It’s a good sort of different. In your pretty blouse and skirt, stockings pulled up to your knees, you look ready for a date. You’ve even styled your hair and done your makeup to match your outfit. It’s a stark contrast to how you normally look at school: perpetually exhausted, too lazy to do anything more than simply pull your uniform on and attempt a semi-presentable attitude. Enough to get through the day. But this… This is a genuine effort.

You got all dressed up for this little date. Even put on a pretty scent.

All for him.

Cute.

If this was the sea, you’d attract all sorts of predators.

Thankfully, your scowl is evidence enough that you’re too miffed to notice his uncharacteristic silence. He beams up at you, the picture of innocence.

“Heya, Shrimpy. Looks like you’re the one I’m s’posed to meet.” To prove it, he holds his phone up for you to see. The chat log glints back at you.

“Unfortunately.” You fix your purse strap and eye the surrounding area with a frown. Floyd can tell you’re searching for your real date because you don’t believe it could be him. When you check your phone for confirmation, your expression sours. “So it really is you.”

“In the flesh. Sooo. You gonna sit?”

“I guess. I already made the trip here, might as well.” You slide into the seat across from him.

“Ya look good.”

“And you look like you just crawled out of a cave.”

“Nope, not a cave.” He rests his elbows on the table and leans in, a giggle tickling the back of his throat. “Bed.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you.”

“If I’d known it was gonna be you, I woulda wore somethin’ nice.”

“Can’t get much nicer than this.” You gesture at him vaguely and he laughs. He’s glad he didn’t miss this. “Whatever. I’ll just get some cake to go and be on my way.”

“Whaaat? That’s lame. Aren’t ya gonna stay a bit?”

I’ll make it fun, so don’t go.

“Why? Are you?”

He nods.

“You don’t even like me. Why would I make myself—and you—even more miserable by staying?”

“Cuz,” he replies with a noncommittal shrug, like that answers it.

Instead of offering him a response, you pry the menu open and hide behind the flaps.

“Didn’t think you were the dating app type,” he tries, aiming for small talk.

You lower your menu to look at him. “Tell me, Floyd. What’s the ‘dating app type’ supposed to look like?”

He leans back in his seat, amused by your annoyance. “Dunno.” And then, before you can recover, a rapid-fire question: “Who were you hopin’ to meet today?”

Tell me so I can beat ’em into the ground.

He snaps out of the sudden territorial jealousy and, like the waves, feels the violent urge ebb away.

Weird. He’s not looking to start a fight today. So then why is he so…restless?

“Not you. You’re the furthest thing from my ideal Prince Charming.”

And he’s back in the ring, ready to swap verbal vitriol until someone succumbs to the blow. “Well, what’s your perfect, li’l prince look like?”

“I don’t know.” You huff and retreat behind the menu, and right then he knows he has you cornered. “Anyone but you.”

“Aww. C’mon, Shrimpy, ya gotta have an image of ’em, at least. If you’ve spent so much time thinkin’ about it—” and he knows you have because he was present for all of those midnight text exchanges, trading details on future partners like they were cards— “then you’ve gotta have an idea.”

“It’ll never be you, so I don’t see why you’re so interested.” But then you slam your fist against your palm. “Oh, I get it. You just want dirt on me.”

“What? No way. That’s boring.” He pulls a disgusted face. He’s not the type to rely on psychological warfare and mental manipulation. So not his style.

“Isn’t that your whole angle?”

His mood promptly nosedives. “Just cuz I’m in Octavinelle and I hang with Jade and Azul doesn’t mean I follow their flow by the letter,” he snaps.

Rather than flinch back, his irritated tone seems to smooth out your stiffness and he watches you visibly relax. He thinks that’s strange. Why aren’t you scared? Not that it’s his intention to frighten you. The last thing he wants is to chase you off. He’s waited so long for a moment like this one; he isn’t going to ruin it.

That’s why he’s so thrilled you’re you. The other small fry would just quiver like a bunch of babies, but you’re different. You meet his mood swings head-on, unflinching and unbothered. Patient, that’s what he’d call it. You’re patient. Not surgically so like Jade and definitely not meticulously like Azul. Your patience is like a tide pool. Calm and transparent. No ulterior motives.

It’s just you. That’s why he likes you so much. No elaboration needed.

“In that case, I could turn the question on you,” you continue, idly scanning the menu. “What does Floyd Leech’s ideal partner look like?”

Fuck. He wants you to say his name again. It pokes at some dormant part in his brain, the one that’s just starting to wake, humming with a queasy sort of desire. He fidgets with the menu, more focused on the extensive list of treats than the contents of your question.

He could say his ideal partner is you, but you probably wouldn’t believe him. And because of that it’s not worth using as a shock factor. Too predictable.

“Someone fun,” he says after a beat of quiet.

“So it was you… I can’t believe I didn’t realize that while we were texting.”

“Wasn’t obvious for me either. You talk so casually over text. It’s like a completely different Shrimpy.”

Equipped with this new information, it drapes another layer of context over your conversations. Because now he can associate your face with all of those flustered messages. He’s proud of that—of teasing you and eliciting such sweet reactions. To think it was you on the other end this entire time. He wonders if he made your heart skip a beat. Or maybe you stuffed your face in a pillow to hide your embarrassment. He pictures you holed up in Ramshackle, vibrating with nervous excitement.

Cute, cute, cute.

Refusing to dignify that with a proper retort, you fold your menu, pass it to the waiter, and voice your order. Floyd follows your lead, rattling off the name of the first dessert that caught his eye.

Just beyond the umbrella shielding both of you from the sun’s searing gaze, storm clouds begin to darken the pastel sky.

To shake off the ache that’s beginning to brew behind his eyes, he asks you about your plans for spring break. He must have won the small talk lottery because the suspicion in your stare disappears and you launch into a full-blown lecture about all the things you plan to get done. A whole grocery list. You’re going to be one busy Shrimpy come next week. A shame he won’t be around to witness it.

He’s keen to listen because it’s really all he can do with his waning focus. Your voice reels him in when his attention drifts. He doesn’t realize he’s admiring your mouth as it sounds out syllables he can only just register. Suddenly, it’s like he can’t even parse human speech. You’re looking through him, brows furrowed.

He’s always thought about kissing you. It’s in a moray’s nature to lie in wait, shrouded in the shadows, patiently waiting for the opportune moment. He doesn’t have anything to hide behind now, though. And if he kissed you here he thinks you might slap him. That would be invigorating.

Something stirs in him.

No. Actually, it’s…

The world.

The world is being stirred. Someone’s stuffed a spatula into the fluffy mixture and given it a steady whirl, and now everything’s a blurry mess of shapes and colors. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision.

It’s too hot. He needs to peel himself out of his skin and soak in the abyssopelagic zone.

Is he sweating? He must be. He’d lick at the liquid gathering between his armpits to determine that, but he’s on a date with you and human courtship dictates that he must impress you. So he can’t do things humans consider ‘gross’ or ‘indecent’. He has to leave a nice impression. He has to prove to you he’s just as good, if not better, than your lousy Prince Charming.

So he wipes his palms on his pants. Not that he’ll hold your hand. He thinks you’d sooner chop your own hands off than willingly reach for him, and the image of this extreme aversion is too funny to offend him.

Floyd swallows thickly. Your smell is so strong. Have you always smelled like this? Now that he’s looking at you, you appear…softer. He can’t explain it. Your skin looks healthier. The darkness sitting under your eyes isn’t nearly as sunken in as it usually is. Your lips shimmer with a beautiful shade of pink-red. It’s almost like you’re glowing.

If you were a mer, he thinks you’d be an ornamental fish. A pretty thing kept pampered, fins flowing like skirts, scales bright like individual chips of glass. A beguiling beauty who is just as fierce as she is stunning.

Maybe, he wonders, his gaze trailing down to your chest, you have eggs. Maybe that’s why you look softer.

“oyd… Floyd!”

He snaps back to himself. “Hmm?”

“Are you listening?”

“What part?” he asks without missing a beat, still smiling even though it hurts to do anything more than simply breathe. “Shrimpy’s got lotsa plans. You’re gonna be all diligent and hardworking. Hey, you should stay over at Octavinelle. We’ll keep ya nice and busy there.”

You roll your eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

He giggles. Oh, if only you knew of all the things he dreams about. Nothing can compare to the real Shrimpy, though. The one who glares at him like he’s an insect. The one who puffs up like a pufferfish when upset or angry. The one who always has such fun reactions to his teasing. How could he possibly stay away?

Just then, the desserts arrive. Floyd can’t find the appetite and is instead satisfied watching you eagerly receive your fruity drink and cake. He scoops a bite of pudding on his spoon and holds it out to you. Unsurprisingly, you scowl at it.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a date, ain’t it? Gotta live up to your expectations.” And then, because he’s itching for your hands on him, whether to hit him or choke him out, he adds, “Shrimpy’s got some reeeal high standards.”

“Ugh. Gross. You’re the last person I’d want to feed me. And I’ve got my own food, thank you.”

“Ya sure? Should I manta it?”

“Should you what?” You fix him with a critical look, but he can see the interest bubbling beneath the thin veil of confusion.

“Y’know, manta it. Like this.” He moves his arm so that the spoon glides along an invisible current, moving smoothly like a manta ray. “Mama used to do that all the time when I didn’t wanna eat somethin’.”

“So the fish version of the airplane.”

“Eeh? That’s what humans do?”

You shrug. “It works.”

Floyd thinks he still prefers the manta. “Sooo. Wanna give it a try?” He’s itching to prove he can provide for you, even if it’s just pudding and not heaps and heaps of fish or an entire shark carcass.

You eye his spoon warily. “What flavor is it?”

“Secret,” he hums, delighted.

“Fine. Just one bite.” You reach to grab it, but he moves his arm up and away.

“Nuh-uh. You gotta let me do it. Defeats the whole purpose if you do it yourself.”

You submit, albeit with a stubborn pout.

“Now say ‘aah’,” he prompts, thinking you might really swing your fist.

Begrudgingly, you lean in and open your mouth wide. “Aah.”

Floyd straightens up in his seat, his eyes the size of plates. He swallows thickly, curling his free hand into a fist. He feels his nails pierce his palm, sharpened points drawing the tiniest pricks of blood. You crack an eye open, all while your wide, impatient mouth gapes back at him.

“Never mind,” he mutters, stabbing the spoon into the pudding and shoving the dish at you. He avoids your searching eyes and instead burns quietly in the flames of his own embarrassed arousal.

“Ugh. I can’t believe I fell for such an obvious trick,” you scoff around a dainty bite of cake. “Honestly… Life was so much better before I found out you were my match.”

Awkwardly, he rubs the back of his neck. He could make dozens of home runs out of the depravity that’s become his thoughts, what with how frequently he’s batting them away. When he looks at his hand, he finds a thin membrane webbing between each of his fingers.

That can’t be good.

“You can have mine,” he blurts, nudging the pudding towards you. “’m not hungry.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t suppose you want something in return for your generosity?”

“What do ya have to offer?” he asks, swallowing the bucket of saliva pooling on his tongue. It coats his dry throat on the way down. He can’t think like this. Maybe he really is sick because you’re all he can smell right now. It’s like he’s zoned in on it, a shark drawn to blood. Nothing else matters. You’re the only Shrimpy in his sea.

Predators, he remembers, the reminder tacked onto his mental bulletin like an afterthought.

Restlessly, he glances about. He flexes his fingers, curling and uncurling them. Deep down he’s aware this doesn’t mean anything. You’re not his mate, but he wants to protect you anyway. That’s probably the last thing you want, though. You’re a capable Shrimpy. It’s one of your many strengths.

Still… It’s nice to pretend, if only for the moment.

“An actual date,” you say, sipping at your drink.

The way your lips close around the straw is so unintentionally erotic it brings him back to a few minutes ago, when you opened your mouth at him. He should’ve reciprocated, but then it wouldn’t have meant anything. Not to you, anyway.

To clear his head and hopefully cool his boiling temperature, he stuffs a spoonful of pudding in his mouth. It’s sugary but not nearly as much as he’s certain you are. If he licked a stripe up your neck, perhaps he’d know your taste for sure.

“Since we’re here, we might as well, right?” you add and he’s brought back to the present. “And then after that we never have to see each other again.”

“Uh-huh…”

He remains unconvinced. No matter how much you push him away, he’ll still be there to pop up and surprise you on campus.

He’s a bother, and you—sitting beautiful and shimmering in the glow of spring courtship—are everything he’s ever dreamed of.

So it’s definitely eggs, he decides, his mind made up. How else can he explain the smell and the softness, all tell-tale signs of a mate in waiting?

Floyd has never been one to pursue smooth seas, preferring the euphoria of a hard-earned success. But Sea Witch below does he wish today wasn’t so challenging. How is he supposed to express everything in his heart if you can’t even read his body language? He’s not even sure if he can gauge yours. Do you want to mate with him? That’s why you prettied up your fins and…

No.

No, no, no.

He has to remember this is a blind date. You had no idea it was going to be him and neither did he. He wants to come out and say it because the complexities of moray courtship are struggling to get through the muddiness of your own human signs.

It occurs to Floyd he could just cast a spell so that his thoughts are broadcasted to you and he can read yours. But that’s a dirty trick, one that would be heavily frowned upon in the sea and perhaps even on land as well. It’s all so complex. He doesn’t have the energy for all of this thinking.

With a petulant whine, he melts onto the table in a puddle of pouty Floyd.

You raise a questioning brow and finish off the rest of your cake. “I’m eating your pudding so it doesn’t go to waste.”

He waves you off. “Don’t got much of an appetite for it anyway.”

“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, you take a bite and hum in delight. The tiny smile that traces your lips stuns him.

Oh.

He’s never seen you smile like that before… Usually, if you’re smiling, it’s one of malice—directed at him and accompanied with the threat of a clenched fist.

From where his head rests against the table, he’s free to admire you and your gluttony. Will this be enough? If you have eggs, you need to eat so much more than a measly slice of cake and some pudding.

But before he can call the waiter over to order everything on the menu, there’s a loud tearing sound and then a heavy flop. He glances behind him and finds his tail is protruding from his lower back like a thick, winding snake. It thumps against the ground in anticipation, almost as if it’s wagging.

That’s fun!

“So,” he starts, lifting his head to look at you properly. He remembers something you told him over text, when it was well past midnight and the both of you had strayed into more private discussions. “Shrimpy’s never had her first kiss, hm?”

“And it’s not going to be with you, so don’t even try,” is your scathing comeback.

Fuck, he wants you.

A wild grin breaks out on his face, sharpening in time with the fins that pop out from his ears. Crisp sounds rush in all at once, as if the cotton has been tugged out. Traffic, nearby conversations, the shush-shush of the waves crashing against the rocks. He pulls a face at the cacophony assaulting his hyper-sensitive ear-fins.

You stare at him. “You’re…green.”

“Huh?”

But then his fins shred through his sleeves and it becomes apparent his mer features are starting to poke through his human disguise. Teal flashes across his skin in speckled patches, swallowing up what’s left of his previously pale coloration.

This is odd because, as much as he despises it, he choked back that nasty potion just a few days ago to avoid this exact scenario. What gives?

It’s in this transitional stage, the space between half-human, half-mer, that the haze really settles in. Floyd staggers to his feet, rifling around for his wallet, and slams a fistful of bills down. It’s getting bad. He needs something he can’t have, and if he spends any more time here…

“We should go,” you say before he can, already out of your chair. “You need to get back to school or… Well, I guess if it comes down to it we can go to Craneport and throw you in the water there. It’s not too far from here.”

“Aww. Worried I’m gonna dry out?” He manages a casual tone despite the heat bubbling in his blood.

“As if. I just don’t want to haul your heavy eel ass around.” Scoffing, you step out from under the shade of the umbrella.

Just in time for the first few droplets of rain to come pattering down. You and Floyd glance skyward before sharing a quiet look. He extends his hand to catch a few drops on his palm.

“Look at that. The weather wants us to stay together,” he remarks, delirious.

“Even the universe wants us to split,” you speak over him.

“Hee-hee. The universe’s gonna hafta try harder than that. This is nothin’.”

As if in response to his challenge, lightning flashes across the sky in a crackling arc. It’s quickly followed by deep, rumbling thunder. Again, you and Floyd eye each other. His wide, toothy grin makes you frown. But that becomes the least of your worries when a smattering of rain comes pouring down on both of you.

You gasp, your hands flying up to protect yourself. “My clothes! My hair!”

Floyd watches you fall into a panicked sprint, his tail swishing to and fro. He doesn’t care about the many stares he’s starting to draw when he takes off after you, his obnoxious laughter echoing down the path. His clothes are already ruined. A rainstorm isn’t going to make any difference.

You take shelter in an alley, beneath an awning shared by conjoined buildings. Just beyond, a steady curtain of rain falls. Floyd marvels at it with a whistle. What a downpour… The forecast didn’t say anything about rain, but then he supposes that’s normal for springtime on land.

“As if this day couldn’t get any worse,” he hears you mutter. Floyd’s gaze pans from the slick street to you and finds you’re shivering. Your arms are wrapped around yourself and his mismatched eyes travel down, down, down.

Your blouse is clinging to your body and through the sopping fabric he can see the frilly outline of your bra. Unconsciously, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He tastes sweat-tinged rain as it trails down his face in salty streaks. When he brushes his matted hair out of his eyes—and it feels more like he’s draped a mop of seaweed over his head—he finds you’ve lowered your arms and are now attempting to check your makeup with a pocket mirror.

“Nooo. I spent so much time on it, too…”

Can you get any cuter? If he could afford just the smallest peek, maybe he’d see what type of panties you’re wearing. Are they as lacy as your bra? Are they thin like it, too, allowing him to see the pebbled peaks of your nipples poking through?

Damn it all to the deepest trench! Floyd can’t take it anymore! He needs to know.

“How big is it?” he blurts, grabbing your shoulders. He’s careful not to dig his claws into you, even though his instincts are telling him to shred that silky blouse to ribbons, snap through the strap of your bra with a voracious chomp, and make you his. But you’re precious, not prey, and so he’ll try to exercise some restraint.

You blink back at him in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“You know…” he trails off in hopes that you’ll fill in the empty space.

“No, I don’t.” You shake him off, but he’s quick to latch onto your wrists next. “Seriously, I don’t! What’s gotten into you? You’re acting weird.”

Floyd inhales through his nose. A bad move because your pheromones or perfume—whatever the fuck it is—invade his senses all over again. He can’t keep swatting the inevitable away. It’s only a matter of time before his biology incapacitates him. But while he’s still semi-coherent he’s going to take this opportunity to tell you everything that’s been on his mind ever since he first saw you.

That’s the plan, at least. How much of it he intends to follow, good question.

You’re staring at him like he’s lost his mind and maybe he has, drenched and looking like a teal Godzilla. He pulls back to rake his hands through his soaked hair.

“Y-Your clutch,” he mutters. “Can never tell in human form.”

“My…clutch. You want to know how big my clutch is. As in, like, eggs?”

“Mhm.”

He avoids looking at you out of sheer embarrassment—this sort of thing requires tact and sly communication, not direct fumbling that could be borderline begging—so he can’t imagine what expression you might be making. There’s a long, drawn out silence. He prepares himself to be slapped or berated—maybe both.

You touch his arm gingerly. He peers at you.

“If you were struggling, say so. Gosh, you’re so stubborn.”

Warmth and concern are hidden in those criticizing eyes. Even though your tone feels more like a scolding, it lifts his mood to know you care. He’d tease you for it, but he’s just not feeling it right now.

Floyd shakes off his reservations like a dog drying itself. For once, he doesn’t know what to say or do as he watches you through lidded eyes.

“I don’t really understand what’s going on, but you don’t feel good, right?” At that, he offers a small nod. “You were forcing yourself this entire time. Why didn’t you just leave? Why stick around and suffer?”

“Cuz Shrimpy was really lookin’ forward to this. Didn’t wanna disappoint ya.”

He wanted to impress you, show you that he’s a worthy mate, but that feels impossible now. With his back to the wall, he slides down until he’s sitting on the wet pavement. He’ll probably change back into a moray mer soon. Maybe the rain is delaying it. Maybe it’s the magical properties of the potion regulating what’s left of his human form.

You step into his line of sight then. His gaze travels up your stocking-clad legs. Before he can picture what’s beneath your skirt, you’re crouching down to view him. “I don’t think it matters whether you disappoint me or not.”

Yeah, it does. It matters cuz I like ya and want ya to have a good time.

“So you don’t have eggs,” he says, switching topics.

You sigh. “Yes, Floyd, I don’t have eggs. I’ve never had eggs. Not in the way you’re thinking. Humans don’t lay eggs.”

He knew that. Learned it in land boot camp. A shame. You’d look adorable saddled with a clutch or two.

But if that’s not the case, what’s with your smell? It can’t be perfume. Even the strongest of scents can’t compare to this. This is a sweetness that’s coming from between your legs, he’s sure of it.

You’re reaching into your purse now. “What’s Azul’s number? I’ll give him a call. Don’t push yourself.”

His tail moves without thinking, coiling around your waist to drag you closer. The force of it knocks you forward. With a startled yelp, you shoot your arms out to brace yourself against the wall, unintentionally caging him in. He gazes up at you, an unfocused stare that you hold with newfound intensity.

“Floyd,” you breathe, and he can see you’re scanning his face for answers.

Gently, you run your fingers over the dark swirls on his cheekbones. He gives a full-body shudder in response, biting back an enthusiastic trill when your touches trail to his ear-fins. He flexes his tail and squeezes your waist. He shouldn’t let it go further than this.

But if he does he could finally have you.

“I’ll help. Whatever this is, I’ll…do my best.”

Now it’s his turn to be confused. “You sure?”

You glance at his lap. Floyd follows your line of sight to find his cock pressed prominently against his pants. You swipe his hair back and hold your hand to his forehead.

“You’re burning up! Why would you even come out in the first place if you’re so sick?”

“Didn’t think it’d get this bad.”

You huff. “You’re unbelievable. Aren’t you scared?”

“Course not. How can I be when Nurse Shrimpy is takin’ good care of me?” He tries a playful smirk, but it falls short into a grimace.

“Whatever.” A serious look passes over your face next. “I’m not sure what to do, but… But I think it’s safe to…to do it. That’s what you need, isn’t it?”

Floyd drags you into his lap. “More or less, yeah.”

He doesn’t have to get into the details. That’s for future Floyd to explain…or not.

“Okay. Then… Hurry up and get it over with. The rain’s cold.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll warm ya up.”

“If I get sick from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Hee-hee.”

You shift awkwardly, searching for the right rhythm when you press down against his erection. Floyd hisses through his teeth. It almost doesn’t seem real. He thinks he can feel your pussy through your panties, and he wonders if they’re just wet from the rain or from something else. While you roll your hips, his hands move up to fiddle with the buttons on your blouse. It’s significantly harder to undo them when his claws are long and curved, and in a fit of impatience he grabs hold of the fabric and yanks it open. It comes away with a rip, buttons popping off and exposing your rain-slick skin and bra, much to his minacious delight.

“Floyd!” You yelp as he tips you backwards, pressing you against the cobbled ground. This new position allows him to slot himself between your legs, where he ruts like a mindless animal.

“I’ll get you a new one,” he promises, his mouth laving over your neck.

He just barely remembers to tug his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock, now more moray in structure, the shaft tinted teal and peppered with dozens of nubs. He nearly shreds through his underwear when his claws catch on the waistband. All you can manage is an aggrieved whine, which soon tapers off into a low moan when the head of his cock bumps against your clit.

“Off.”

“Wait, wait! I’ll do it. This is my nicest pair—don’t you dare ruin them.”

He’s sure they’re nice, but right now he doesn’t have time to appreciate them in full. He needs to be inside you or else he’ll pass out. The want is unbearable. Fuck, he wishes this was the sea. It would be easier to entice you there, with colors and scents and shows of strength. It’s way too complicated on land.

Your panties aren’t even halfway down your legs before he’s burrowing himself between your soft folds. It feels better than anything he’s ever known before. You’re warm and gooey inside, squeezing him like you’re intent on snapping his dick in half. And suddenly he can’t think or speak. Everything is blank as he grabs your hips and pulls you down. Your pussy swallows him up in one reckless thrust, and you squeak in surprise when it knocks against your deepest part. He feels your arms wrap around his neck, your legs twisting around his waist, and you cling to him like you’re afraid the storm will sweep you away.

He can’t muster another second of patience or restraint, so he slams in and out of you at an erratic pace, chasing the euphoric bliss that’ll finally satisfy every instinct buzzing beneath his skin.

“S-Slow down, Floyd! I ca—aah—can’t! S’too much,” you babble and dig your nails into his back, which only serves to embolden the brutal snap of his hips against yours.

“Shorry,” he rasps against your skin, his mouth watering with so much drool it drips in fat, warm drops and puddles in the slope between shoulder and neck.

He’s a pathetic moray. He can’t even offer you a nice cave to curl up in. He can’t even manage the patience to prepare you, to work you up until you’re glistening with desire. The best he can do is this filthy alley during the worst weather ever, and even then it’s far from romantic.

To offer you a modicum of comfort, he slides his tail beneath you to raise your ass for a better angle and provide a pillow for your head. You cry out a string of incoherent words. He pants against your pulse, the little heartbeat pounding in time with his own.

It’s wet and filthy and desperate. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing. All he knows is that he needs to fill you until you’re heavy with his seed, until your pussy weeps nothing but cum. You can’t walk around with your fins all prettied up, smelling like a sweet treat, attracting the worst kinds of predators with each step. If you smell more like him—if every inch of you is marked by him—no one else would dare to approach you. He’ll make damn sure of it.

Oh, that’s what this is.

Mating season.

Perhaps he could’ve gotten it out of his system if he stayed on campus and swam laps in Octavinelle’s special pool. He’s not used to feeling it in spring, but then his cycle has never followed any set schedule. It’s only this bad because he saw you—because he caught your scent and it flipped the switch in his brain, the one that’s screaming at him to breed his mate.

Because that’s what you are, even if you don’t know it yet.

That’s what you’re going to be. Biology won’t give you a choice.

Floyd grits his teeth, his pace mostly uneven now. He won’t bite. He’s not sure he can control his strength, and if he sinks his teeth into you what’s stopping him from tearing the flesh from your bones? Instead, he presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the space above your heart. His arms twist tightly around you to keep you trapped in place.

It’s fine if you think he’s scum or the worst moray in the Coral Sea.

Nothing is more titillating than a challenge.

Wrapped up in you and your hypnotic scent, your breathless voice in his ears, he cums so hard his vision whites out. You seem to have done the same, for your pussy clenches like a vise, rendering you boneless beneath him.

The haze in his head is dizzying. He blinks until color returns and that’s when he tugs your skirt up to see where you’re connected. He’s buried snugly inside, keeping all of his cum plugged deep. Your chest rises and falls with every wheezing gasp, and in this moment you are so fragile he thinks you might shatter if he fucks into you without warning again.

A feral smile widens on his lips.

“Hey, Shrimpy.” He nudges your cheek until your head lolls to the side. He knows you’re still conscious because your eyes, ringed with ruined eyeliner, find his. “There you are. Don’t fall asleep on me, ’kay?”

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

He leans in close. “Didja know? You came to this li’l date smellin’ suuuper sweet and I came sick.”

It takes a moment for you to register his words, but when you do all you can provide is an intelligent: “Huh?”

His hands settle on your spread legs, claws digging shallowly into the meat of your thighs. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wha… I don’t…” You shake your head. “Don’t get it.”

“Hee-hee. Did I fuck all the brains outta ya? Oops. Guess you’ll figure it out later then.”

We’re each other’s cure, he thinks, his form shadowing yours.

And now a mated pair.

#HAPPY MERMAY FLOYB LOVERS!!!!#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd x reader #n/sfw #tw: breeding

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