#price x orca

[2oosterr]

on the rare occasion both of them get dressed up <3

been rotating this one in my mind for a while and keep forgetting to post it lol

[mx-pastelwriting]

Writers block is really killing me right now and I'ma need it to STOP!!

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story I

a/n: I have... not much to say, although you should read the warnings. But I need you guys to know that this is 7.666 words long. I didn't make it this way intentionally, but if that isn't devilish, I don't know what is :')

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Nothing explicit yet just drug-induced neediness and description of a cock doing what a cock does, Size... adoration, Begging), Violence (Thrashing, Breaking of bones, fighting machines, Verbal threats, mention of medical tools, syringes), Getting drugged non-consensually, Description of being drugged up, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Mention of Slavery, Mention of Abuse, Depiction of spoiled Food and Seal Meat, Very long post

"It truly is an impressive recovery of such a valuable resource! Being able to compare the exact date from years ago with now makes for a great opportunity in our research, and now we have two of them! This is your chance to recover from your mistakes all those years ago!"

With pep in his step, your supervisor led you through the long, cagey hallway of the facility, making it almost hard to follow him with all the enthusiasm he was displaying. You, on the other hand, felt nothing but dread as you held onto the notes you had been giving about your new project, almost feeling scared to glance at the papers.

You already knew what they'd say. The mistakes they'd speak of.

Because you were already familiar with the mermen, who had recently been caught by the facility. You freed them all those years ago out of shame and sympathy. And you paid the price, your unpaid labor bordering on slavery. Your choice had been death or continuing their research, and after looking down a gun barrel once, you decided to invest in your studies instead, the company willing to further your education and allow you to continue testing and working with the poor creatures they kept here—albeit with supervision.

"Talent like yours shouldn't be wasted," your supervisor recited the words of the facility owner, but they sounded like a warning coming from him rather than encouragement. 

When he finally stopped at the door farthest down the corridor, you were appalled to see the number on it, finding it less than funny that they'd assigned the same room from years ago as your new laboratory again. All these little digs they made at you never let you forget that they were still angry about what you did to sabotage the facility—as if you could ever. These digs were just there to make you miserable and establish who your life belonged to. You were replaceable, but you wouldn't get out of this alive. If you wanted to survive and have even the slightest chance of escaping this place of horrors one day, you'd have to obey. 

"So do better this time," your supervisor said, smiling down at you smugly as he pushed the door open, the heavy metals screeching with cold, metal bitterness. Bastard, you thought, walking inside the laboratory. The grate floor spread above the large pool beneath your feet throughout the whole room, making your steps audible as you entered. The water was calm, undisturbed—suspicious.

"Oh, also, this one's been really angry ever since we brought him in. Better not let your head get bitten off! Would be a waste. You're too pretty to be a corpse just yet."

You whipped around with a glare, but all you saw was the smug grin on your supervisor's face before he shut the door with a loud bang. A mechanical lock slid into place with a whirring sound before everything became quiet around you. It was strange that they'd leave you here alone after what you did, but then again, there was no way you'd be able to recreate the mistakes you made. Even though you'd never receive any respect or sympathy from anyone in this cursed place, you couldn't help but stare at the metal door, plastered with warnings and reminders to leave equipment in the laboratory before leaving, wishing it would open again and let you out of here.

But that wouldn't happen.

It was ironic that they'd leave you alone with the merman you helped escape before, but the only way out was that door, and it needed a passcode to leave. One you didn't have. You'd eat, sleep, and work as they intended; there was no escaping this, even if the hope never left you. They didn't think you'd make it out alive unless they let you. Much less would you be able to help anyone escape again. Slowly, you turned forward, raising your head to look at the workstation on the opposite side of the room. You couldn't help from glancing downwards every few steps; caution was the only thing that kept you alive in this place.

But even as you made your way over to the station, your shadow undoubtedly making your presence known to the water, everything remained calm. The sound of machines running, keeping the pool intact, and the water bubbling from the pump were all that matched the sounds of your steps and breaths. For a "really angry" merman, this was suspicious. He must have known you were here, yet neither came to watch nor to attack you? You sighed inwardly, thinking about how much of a hassle it would be to actually get him to your examination area if you couldn't fish him out of the pool.

Once you reached the counters with the equipment, you set down the papers you had been given, spreading them out to scan over them. Even if you didn't want to interact again with these pitiful yet obscenely fascinating creatures, you knew that without any results from experimenting on them, you'd be stuck here for all eternity. The expectations were high that you'd find what everyone was looking for, even though the experiments were nothing short of cruel and disgusting. Drugs, surgery while awake, mutilations—those were just a few things you had watched the researchers do to these creatures. And for what? 

Eternal life. 

A fantasy.

How did you know? You were the one finding out that even if their life expectancy was closer to that of turtles, even the merfolks would die one day from old age. There was no such thing as living forever with the help of a mermaid's flesh, tears, or blood, and researching them brought forth interesting facts but not the results that this facility had been constructed for.

And yet, here you were, doing as you were told, trying to find anything that would be deemed interesting enough. 

You heard a splash behind you, making you whip around, trying to make out a sign of life. Even though the floor was raised a few meters above the surface and the partition was closed so nothing could fall in or jump out of the water, it was still unsettling to hear but never see the creature you were locked up with. You knew better than to show fear openly to apex predators like the mermaids, but it had been so long since they let you near one that you could feel its presence—or the lack thereof—frightening you to the bone.

But you had to keep going, no matter what. Turning back to your papers, you spread them out with shaky hands, scanning over the information the first-contact team had collected. A large species, presumably orca-related, male, mature, and chipped. The last fact had been underlined twice, emphasizing the importance of it. This merman had already been in the facility, and they tracked it back to when you had been foolish enough to think you could save them. It had been years. Yet he and another one, as you heard through the grapevine, had come back against any better judgment, making you wonder about the intelligence you knew these creatures possessed.

However, no matter how much information you could absorb through the notes, you knew you were only stalling time. The next step would be getting this creature out of the pool and proceeding with your experiments, but the fear made you hesitate. This merman had been starving for a week in preparation for his exams, and although hunger wasn't a good state for anyone to be in, it was thought it might help to be the one feeding them when you needed their cooperation. Like you'd do with an animal. Unfortunately, they were too clever to fall for these ruses most of the time.

You still had to try. 

Picking up some gloves, you went to the extensive double-doored fridge, pulling out the trays with seal meat on them. However, someone placed dead fish-heads between the pieces in varying states of decay. You took a deep breath, unwilling to give spoiled meat to the creature, even though you'd have to rely on it if you wanted to get anywhere. Picking out a slab of seal meat on the furthest corner of the tray, you just hoped it was mostly uncontaminated as you carried it over to the buttons that would part the floor into an opening from which the merman could be caught. 

You hated pushing these buttons, everything reminding you of the biggest mistake of your life. Sure, you saved three mermen from this cruelty, but look what your efforts got you. 2 of them came back, and you were nothing more than a slave. Nothing turned out to be as heroic as in the books you read.

The metal grated against itself as it parted wide enough to allow feeding. Smaller species could have stuck an arm through the gap, but you knew from the past that it didn't work for any of the large specimens. At least that meant you were safe from an attack for now, though it was debatable how long. The meat sunk further and further down into the blue, but nothing happened. You leaned forward over the gap in anticipation, waiting for any kind of appearance in the wet. However, when the water finally stirred, causing slight waves to appear, it wasn't a shadow that moved through it, and neither did it give any mind to the food. 

You jumped back in surprise, your body hitting the wall next to the buttons, when fingers lurched out of the water, gripping the ends of the partition and pushing them apart. Water splashed everywhere as the merman tried to widen the gap. The metal resisted initially, but even such a strong material bound to an even stronger machine relented under constant pressure. 

As the cool water hit your face, you finally snapped out from the shock, slamming your hand down on the buttons that would close the floor and set the machines into motion to work against the abnormal strength of a merman. The two forces rung with each other for a few seconds before the machine finally did its thing and closed the gap, but it felt like minutes of struggling, of holding your breath in anticipation. 

The merman held onto the metal for as long as possible, and you listened to the gut-wrenching sound of something breaking before he finally let go, the splashing of water dying down. The floor never fully closed, leaving a small gap not even your hand would fit through. Still, you were unsure if the merman succeeded in the end by breaking the mechanical device or if it had been his fingers that broke from the pressure. You wished you didn't have to find out. 

Sinking to your bottom, you took deep breaths, calming yourself. Heart racing and head spinning from the lack of a constant airflow, you watched the water, terror, and anticipation mingling. If the floor broke, it would at least delay your second encounter with this creature for a while. But if not, you'd have given it one more reason to be angry. You watched as his dark shadow—no, body moved through the water, his movements agitated, restless. All you felt was misery, knowing you were causing this distress to him again.

You still had no clue which one of the three it was, although the body was too large to be the smallest of the three "Lyr". Due to the experiments, he had lost a significant amount of body weight and muscles, as well as his mental stability. They would have put him down had you not freed them, as he became a risk quickly. You thought you were doing them a favor by saving them, but you had no idea if Lyr ever made it out in the wild. Judging by the quick thinking and the strength of the orca roaming below you, it was more likely to be either "Nerrocan" or "Krill". Their names were burned into your mind like silent reminders of your biggest mistake and greatest accomplishment alike. 

But the secret was quickly revealed when the merman finally seemed to calm down, swimming out into the back of the room for a moment and giving you time to collect yourself, too. You were still sitting on your ass, none the wiser, when you noticed black and white hairs emerging from further down the pool, slowly, cautiously drifting back towards you. As if on the prowl.

Surely he was waiting for another chance to wreck the floor open and try to escape. There was no reason for this creature not to be out to harm you, and you were such an easy prey, caught in this room with him. Your death wouldn't be mourned, but you also couldn't help pitying this merman, not knowing that your death would probably be his, too. Soldiers wouldn't hesitate to shoot something that was stronger, more deadly, and had too much freedom if they had to, even if it was a valuable species to study. You wondered which merman it was, and feeling a little safer with the floor closed, you leaned forward, trying to make it out.

The most brilliant of red spied out of the water the moment you looked down at it. Unmistakably, like polished rubies, these eyes followed your every move. You watched your own muscles tense and the horror in your expression as you realized which of the three mermen it was before you saw your own gaze fill with sadness in his eyes.

Krill.

The reason you risked everything.

His brows furrowed, then lifted as if surprised, too, although his body stayed submerged, tense and ready to act. There was no way he'd remember you, was there? Despite your doubts, you raised a hand, giving him a silly little wave before addressing him directly. 

"Hello… again."

He said nothing, and you realized he must have forgotten you. It was better that way for now… even if it stung after all you did to help him. 

Holding onto the wall, you got back on your feet, not wanting to be such an easy target and so close to him. He could try something again, and you'd be at a disadvantage if you couldn't even walk. "I'm sure it's uncomfortable, but I need you out of the water for a while. You remember it, right?"

You held your palm above the button that would activate The Fisher, a machine that could detect and catch unwilling mermaids by itself. But you were still close to the opening, so any reassurance from the merman would have been nice to have.

"Go ahead, open that gate again. See where that gets you," Krill threatened, and you believed him. His brows furrowed, teeth gnashing as his anger returned, and you had to realize that he was no longer like the sweet merman you once cared for. Sure, he had been drugged and broken into submission back then, but he had still treated you somewhat kindly, gifting you rocks and following you around the enclosure like a lost puppy. If you didn't know it better, you two had been somewhat close back then, having come to an understanding despite your differences. That was not the case anymore, you could see it.

"You'll see, I'll get out of here, and you'll regret capturing me again."

That hurt. It hadn't been your choice. If it had been your choice, you'd have helped all those poor souls confined inside this facility, making sure that neither merfolk nor humans suffered the consequences of the greed of some rich people. But you had no choice in this matter. You never had. 

Pressing the button, you stepped aside so The Fisher could do its wonder. You didn't want to, but you had to. Didn't want to put him through the same torture again at your hands. But Krill had been foolish enough to get captured again, and you were foolish enough to still hold on to the hope that you could make a change in your life if you obeyed. This time, the machine parting the floor stuttered, and although The Fisher descended from the ceiling, it couldn't open. 

"You are a fool if you think you can capture me with that. Force me to play your little games again, Human!"

Even though you tried to ignore him, it was hard when Krill paced around the opening, taunting you. You had to watch the machines work and fail as the floor was stuck. The Fisher was unable to move as it detected the closed floor, and you wondered how you would proceed if the location became unsuitable to work with. 

With a loud crash, Krill threw himself against the floor, and you gasped as a wave of cold water splashed over you. As you sputtered, you heard the floor grating, the sound painful to both of you, evident by Krill trying to escape it by dropping below the water. But with the sudden opening appearing, the metal claws of The Fisher snapped forward, scanning and detecting where they had to go. 

Until you saw it with your own eyes, you could have never believed such a flimsy-looking machine could restrain the apex predator of the sea, effortlessly capturing him by his wrist, neck, and the space between his fin and tail. Sure, he could throw his weight around despite being restricted, but there was little he could do to hurt you unless he broke free. However, no mermaid ever broke free from The Fisher in your years of working here. It was that effective.

You watched as The Fischer pulled Krill out of the water, shiny droplets of wet falling off of him, elevating every muscle, every toned ab on his belly. He was glistening in the unnatural lightening of the laboratory like a precious gem, and your heart clenched with sadness, knowing there was nothing you could do for this beautiful creature. You had to cover your ears as he began shrieking and cursing, most of it in a language that you never bothered to learn as you'd be incapable of ever speaking it. Siren was more of a singing rather than talking in the first place, and though you liked to sing to yourself, you'd never learn it on a level that could match the skill that his language required.

As you watched him, the first thing you noticed was his size. He had grown, although the rough weight and measurements would be taken by the machine holding him in place. The time in the ocean seemed to have done wonders for him. His fins were intact, and the tag on his tail was blinking despite being such an old model. Since then, there must have been at least seven upgrades over the years, and you'd be responsible for changing it eventually.

Once he was dragged onto the research area, he finally seemed to calm down a little, although he glared at you, fury revealing in his eyes. The Fischer restricted his head movement, but his willpower remained. "You are truly the worst," he sneered. "First, you let us go, then you capture us again. What do you think we are? Your little playthings? Is it fun to mangle us? You enjoy this?"

Testing his strength against the shackles, Krill twisted and turned in the hold, but you tried not to give his words too much attention. He was different from how he was years ago, and you had to say goodbye to the semi-good relationship you two had before, the precious image you had held onto of him. Both of you were fighting for survival, as pitiful as it was, and you had a crapload of tests to run before they'd let you get away from him and pity his fate and yourself. 

With new-found confidence as you watched him rendered immobilized, you returned to the fridge, luckily not encountering any more poor attempts at making life hard for you as you opened the drawers full of tranquilizers. There was yet one to be found that could entirely knock out these creatures, but they had a significant calming effect. And—as you hoped—pain-relieving. Because there were a lot of things you had to do to him that wouldn't be easy for both of you. 

Gathering the tranquilizer shots, various test tubes, tools, and your to-do list on a tray, you carried it over to a table closer to him, taking deep breaths to brace yourself. You were tense, your fingers growing numb from anxiety. You had been assigned to the labs for most of the years, rarely encountering a merman again after what you did. And although you trained for this, the thoughts of hurting him were twisting your stomach. 

"You might think it's fun for us humans, but I wonder what you were thinking coming back here. Maybe you enjoyed the treatment more than you let on, hm?"

Your voice was feeble, even when you tried to act superior. Bantering wouldn't magically develop a relationship between you two, but you couldn't endure the silence when no one spoke. It felt wrong—like he was going to attack you again any second. You needed to keep yourself anchored to reality, or you might have fainted. After everything you went through, you couldn't remember the confidence you had to allow yourself to do something as drastic as release three orcas from a highly secured facility like this. A shame, really. You deserved confidence as you were one of the best, after all. 

Even if you couldn't let him know, you still felt anxious about something happening. You returned to the original counters, providing you with everything you needed, put on new gloves after wiping your still-wet face from being splashed with a towel, and proceeded with a mask and apron to achieve even the smallest amount of cleanliness. You'd be unable not to hurt him at the end of this session, but you at least wanted to avoid him dying from sepsis as well as getting his blood all over yourself. 

"I do not," he snapped, watching as you prepared everything, seemingly having given up fighting the machine but not you. "I came back for Nerrocan."

"Huh…" you mumbled, intrigued by this information. So it was Nerrocan who came back here, not Lyr. Interesting. "Risking it all for your cousin?" you asked, and his eyes narrowed.

"I see you still remember us," he snarled, his lips parting in a cocky grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. Krill looked… uncomfortable almost. You couldn't blame him. This all must have been beyond uncomfortable for the merman. 

"And you, me."

Silence befell you two again as you picked up the tranquilizer, wrapping your hand around the container, surprised when you realized what you were doing. It had been so long that you thought you wouldn't remember your old habits. You used to always warm the drugs so they wouldn't be so bitterly cold when applied on the mermaids. 

Krill flapped his fin despite being restricted, and you looked up at him, catching a glimpse of worry as he looked at the syringe in your hand. "Ran out of the good stuff, eh? I remember it being purple, not that icky color," he mocked, but he didn't sound as confident anymore as he was before. 

"Should have come earlier if you wanted that. I heard this one has interesting side-effects when applied."

Rounding the table, you noticed his fin flap again pitifully, almost making you hesitate. He seemed nervous, muscles spasming in the tension of his restrictions. Stepping up to his hips, you felt his eyes follow your every step, almost making you feel reminiscent of the past. You took the integrated step upwards at the side of the research station, effectively standing above him now to see better. Everything was perfectly laid out so that your work could be done effectively. That's how you had to see it, too. This was work, nothing personal.

"You don't have to do this," Krill suddenly said, unusually calm but determined. "You're not a bad person, you saved us before."

This time, you did look directly at him, giving him your full attention for a few seconds of silence. His gaze didn't waver, didn't move away. He meant what he said. At least, that's what you were supposed to believe. Sirens were prone to lying to get what they wanted, and Krill did not want the drug in your hands, warmed up by your palm wrapped around it. But it wouldn't stop you. You gulped, inhaling deeply. It couldn't stop you.

"And now I have to save myself. Please hold still so I don't hurt you."

Diverting your attention back to his hips, you drove your hands along the slick surface of his body, trying to find any space capable of being squeezed. He jerked once when you touched him, trying to get away but ultimately pressing his hips up into your palm. Eventually, you found a soft spot, pinching the skin between your fingers. Krill shuddered, his body twisting, but The Fischer kept it in place. You'd be safe, even if you hated yourself for doing what you had to. 

The syringe punctured his flesh with only a bit of resistance, and you injected the liquid tranquilizer quickly, stepping away when you were done to watch what would happen. The medication used to be a fickle thing, sometimes agitating, sometimes drugging the mermaids out of their minds. But it usually took a while before it worked. Not this version, though. So many things changed since the last time you worked with the mermaids. But it was cruel all the same.

You listened to Krill groan in pain and relief at the same time. Pressure built, his body twisting and arching, with his spine bending uncomfortably for you as the drug spread throughout him before every muscle seemed to suddenly give out, relaxing him completely and making his body sack in his holds almost lifelessly. Worried, you stepped closer, searching for a pulse. It wasn't for another half a minute before you noticed the even rise and fall of his chest, his gills flaring even though he wasn't using them. The seemingly calm state of the merman made you bolder, although the fear of him faking something never subsided. You walked up to his face, staring into the clouded rubies of his eyes, surprised to find them moving around still, searching for something or someone, despite being slower, less alert than before. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you, but you felt terrible seeing what you did to him. Even if he was a creature that wouldn't hesitate to kill you, he didn't deserve to go through what the facility wanted him to. Reaching up, you brushed the hair out of his face, the strands gently gliding through your fingers without any resistance, almost as if they were a liquid defying all the physics you knew. 

Even after all this time, you remembered he used to have longer hair. It used to float above the water, coating it in strings of glossy silk. But now he sported a wolf cut that fitted him just as well. Part of his hair had turned white, with only the top remaining in the same black you were used to. You wondered if it was because of the experiments or just a natural change of color over the years when his head suddenly turned, his cheek feeling heavy as he rested it in your palm. Krill seemed as unaware of his actions as he should be after being forced into surrender by the drug, but it seemed to make the forgotten part of him that felt safe with you submerge again, the feeling almost the same as from the past. You quickly caught yourself falling back into thoughts of things long gone and got to work, cutting off both black and white strands with small scissors, hoping it wouldn't suddenly agitate him. But Krill remained unresponsive, and you pushed away your guilt to quickly store your samples.

Focusing your mind on your work, as there was so much to do, and you didn't want him to recover his strength before you had completed most of the preparations you had to make. You measured and cut down his claws, trying your best not to cause any harm to him and quickly storing the talons for further research. The size of his hands was massive, and you marveled at their humanness for a moment, driving your finger gently over the ridges and joints. Unfortunately, as expected, some of his fingertips were broken, smashed by the struggle with the floor grates. You wanted to clean and wrap them securely. But when Krill let out a long sigh, sounding almost pained just by your touching his hands, you immediately stopped, fearing his wrath upon regaining mobility.

You did further measurements on smaller areas like his hands and fins, everything that could be deducted more thoroughly by hand than by machine. Every time you came around to his head, you looked into his eyes, the guilt threatening to wash over you when they locked with yours, steadfast despite him being out of it, so you quickly moved on. 

While you were at it, you connected his chip to a reader, interested in the data that could be found on it, and removed the jewelry that hung from his body. It would only be a hindrance to your experiments, and perhaps remnants on the metal could determine where the merman was originally from. However, the weight of some of the decorations he had prided himself with—like his necklace of teeth—weighed so much that you needed to drag them over the floor, wondering how this could be efficient for a predator.

"So far, so good," you mumbled as you let the program run its course, wiping off some sweat from your forehead with your sleeve and looking at the situation for a moment. It had been too long, you couldn't really remember the exact procedure to which you should have stuck, but instead of giving your to-do list the attention to find out, your eyes fixated on something else—scars. Albeit not uncommon, there were a lot more now than you remembered, and you raised a hand to his tail, sliding your fingers over the scarred tissue, putting slight pressure on it.

Krill's body jerked immediately, and you jumped back from him, observing the merman. His head rolled forward in the restraints, tired eyes searching for you but unable to focus. 

"Not there… touch..." His speech was slurred, another effect of the new drug, but you couldn't help but smile faintly at him, seeing how he still resisted. 

"I need to count them," you explained, hoping it would soothe his mind. If he could understand it. You couldn't be sure it had any effect, but if you were in his position, you would have wanted to be told what was going on, you thought. "It won't hurt, I promise."

Measuring tape in hand, you placed your clipboard with an empty page on top of his body, moving from his fin slowly upwards and jotting down your findings. There were a lot of prominent scars standing out from his body markings, but even more smaller ones barely visible. It felt quite intimate to search his body so thoroughly, but it had to be done. Krill moved pitifully against and into your touch as if unsure where to go and unable to understand what was happening. Even if it made you lose your balance a few times, you let him, feeling bad for all you were doing. It was the slightest bit of freedom you could give him without risking your own head.

By the time you reached his chest, some clarity had returned to his eyes, and he couldn't control the sounds coming from him. You tried not to agitate him with pressure and touch, but you had to do your work. An arrangement of chirps and sighs, some grunts, and nervous jittering rang out, echoing through the rooms. Deep breaths pushed his chest out, and sighs bordering on moans shivered through his whole body. But you were content as long as he didn't throw his weight around and push you off the step and into your medical equipment. 

"Must you be so thorough," he slurred as you examined his chest, following the curve of his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You looked up at him, his head crooked to the side, still too heavy to hold up on his own despite the metal neck brace, but his eyes were clearer now, following you more intensely. 

"I have to, I'm sorry. I don't want it to be uncomfortable, but I have to document them."

Writing down your finds on your clipboard, you must have pressed it down a bit too hard on his chest because Krill's head fell back, a long groan escaping him, back arching again. "Sorry…" you repeated, the guilt beginning to eat you up, but he only rolled his head in the restraint. 

"No…" he muttered. "Not uncomfortable... I feel weird. It's hot. Make it stop."

You were unsure what to do, but there were only a few more scars before you'd have to move on to his arms and, eventually, his backside. You wanted to at least get the chest ones down before you would have to give him another shot of tranquilizer, as Krill was growing more restless every time you touched him. You wished the examination could have stopped there. That you could have released him and put him back into the cold wet, but you needed to finish this. Even when he started gnashing his teeth and twisting in his restraints again.

"What are you doing?!" he suddenly snapped, much more coherent than before, his head jerking forward, ruby-red eyes glowering at you. You tried not to let it get to you, tried to make it quick so he wouldn't have to suffer, but Krill wouldn't let it go. 

"Stop it!" he demanded as you inspected another small scar around his nipple. It was barely visible against the lighter-toned skin there, but you found it, grazing over the nub a few times while working out the details of the scar you needed. Krill was getting more aggressive with his protests, lashing out at you while many different kinds of sounds escaped him, and it was almost amusing to think that it was because of your touch. You couldn't help spreading your palm over his nipple once, letting the elastic of your gloves weigh down and rub over it, causing every muscle in his body to harden instantly. You shouldn't have abused this situation like this, but seeing him react so sharply, his breath coming out in a drawn-out hiss, was somewhat a relief. Knowing it wasn't all terrible, all cruel and painful. But you caught a grip on yourself quickly, working efficiently until you could finally step away once you had found every last scar on his chest.

"All done," you assured him, unable to keep yourself from grinning a little as he let out a strained but haughty hmpf. He was almost back to his new normal, which made you glad. The drug was awful, but it was good to know he wouldn't be broken down this easily. Your back was turned for only a second when you heard him rattling in his restraints, more clear in his mind again as it seemed. It caused you to want to tease him a little.

"I liked it better when you were quiet, Krill. You didn't react to every one of my touches as if I was trying to seduce you."

"How dare you! I can't believe I am back here with you as if you are…" The word seemed to elude him as he bit his tongue, and you turned to look at his face, so much tension in his expression that you thought he was going to burst. Krill wasn't looking at you for once, focusing on his own body. Walking up to him again, his gaze shifted from straight down back to you, a spark of something you couldn't pinpoint washing over him. Insecurity? Fear? No way. 

"Don't come closer again!" he hissed, tossing a bit more in his restraints, and you stopped in your tracks, subconsciously listening to him like an idiot. But Krill wasn't being malicious; something was wrong. Even though you two weren't on friendly terms, you could tell something was off. His gills were flared, pupils blown wide open. He looked mostly like the monster you had to believe he was, but there was a sense of panic that an apex predator shouldn't ever display unless something terrible was happening to them. And you couldn't ignore it, or him for that matter.

"Hey!" you called out, hoping your voice could ground him from whatever he was going through. Stepping closer despite his body thrashing wasn't easy. You had to be careful, but you weren't heartless enough to leave him to his own demons after you caused them. The drug could have had hallucinogenics, which would not only have put you in danger but Krill too. You needed him if you ever wanted to regain some recognition or freedom in this place, and he needed you since you were probably the only person in the whole facility who would do anything to make the experiments at least a bit more humane. You couldn't abandon him like this after all he's been through.

Instead of putting yourself at risk of being thrown across the room by Krill accidentally slamming his body into you, you stepped up to his head instead, waiting for the moment that you could grab onto him and hold on with all your strength. You expected a struggle that would leave both of you wounded, but the moment your hands clasped around his face, Krill went rigid, suspiciously still. Another wave of fear overcame you, your instincts telling you this was wrong, but you tried your best to stay strong for both of you. "Shh, shh," you mumbled, calming him, and finally, the strength in his neck gave way, and his head fell back. 

You two stared at each other for some silent seconds, and you rubbed your thumb over his cheek comfortingly. "It's all your fault," he uttered, exhaustion washing over his expression. You couldn't blame him for feeling this way, and you made sure his hair wouldn't sting his eyes by swiping it out of his face gently, still shushing him like a parent would to their child. He looked like he was in severe pain, as if he felt fear for the first time in his life. You couldn't believe it was true, but you felt heartbroken for him all the same. Even if he was called a monster, even if he was a killer and a creature or an animal. Even if he wasn't like you, he didn't deserve any of this. 

"Why are you doing this to me again?" he asked, his voice cracking as a wave of sadness washed over his expression. You had never seen a mermaid actively being sad. Angry, panicked, drugged, yes. But sad? You didn't even think that was possible. What could you do to soothe this whale of a man to the point that you weren't suffering the consequences of other people's decisions? Nothing came to mind, and it was awful.

"I haven't done anything yet, just precautions," you assured him. "You're okay, you're safe. I can't change what I have to do, but I promise I'll try to make it as painless as possible. I–"

"No," Krill interrupted you. "Not that. Not the experiments. This." 

You heard the restraints rattle, causing you to look up at his hand, his cut-down, broken claw pointing downward at his body. You halted your comforting, leaving your palms on his cheeks while looking at Krill with a confused look before you stepped away, fully aware that he looked after you, even forcing his head forward again to watch what you were doing as you stepped around him. 

A loud gasp escaped you as you watched the tip of his cock exit from its slit. The moment your attention was on it, it shot out inch by inch until its massive size stood proudly, pulsing and jerking above his hips, having emerged fully within seconds of horror and amazement. A glistening drop of pre-cum collected at the tip as you stared at the massive erection, the bubble popping and spilling onto his chest as you watched it, unable to look away.

"I tried to forget," Krill lamented from behind you, his body sacking in the machine holding him up before tensing and straining again, a pained groan escaping him while his cock flopping in the air, unbothered by its owner's distress. It only produced more pre-cum and jerked ever so often, the shaft pulsing with need. 

"I wanted to forget you so badly."

You forced yourself to look away from his cock, and Krill let out a brief trill in response, sounding almost disappointed. But he didn't shy away from your eyes, gazing at you, defeated and a little… desperate. 

"Help. Me," he breathed, and you let out your own shuddering breath at his request. You only ever wanted to tease him. You didn't want to cause any pain or suffering, especially not the sexual kind. It was unheard of that the drug caused the mermaids to act this way. But you were about to learn what caused this.

"Why me?" you whispered, knowing now he could hear you. 

"Because I remember every touch of you. Every moment we spent together. Every little piece of memory we made in this godsforsaken place, and I need you. I already feel like I'm losing my mind, and I can't take it anymore. At least take responsibility for what you're doing, this is your fault."

"Krill…"

"It's useful for you, isn't it?" he suddenly changed his tune. He looked angry, but the twisted desperation was unconcealable. "My seed. You can have it. Take it all if you must as long as you do something." 

His words were followed by a groan, sounding in so much pain, and you watched his cock jerk, hips lifting, trying to reach an unavailable source of comfort, a connection to something that wasn't there. "Fuck, I held it back for so long. You and your shitty drugs! I had it under control! I didn't need you at all—didn't even think of you!"

Another long howl escaped him, head rolling from one side to another. He looked completely out of his mind when his gaze fixed on you again, needy and desperate. You had no way to find out if it was because of the drugs, and that worried you. 

"I lied," he confessed, his breath leaving him ominously. His admission was completely out of character for a creature like him, which took you aback, but when Krill looked back at you, there was a different kind of determination in his eyes. A savage one—mad even. You wanted to run away, far, far away from him, but his eyes, full of drugged madness and terrifying adoration, didn't let you act on your whims. As if he hypnotized you.

"I thought about you constantly. You were always on my mind. I thought about coming back so many times, but I couldn't leave the others. But now they don't need me anymore, and I have you back. You're the only one left for me, please. Please help me. Help me, my mate."

His voice was sugary sweet as he pleaded with you, your heart skipping a beat when you watched this destructive, dangerous creature reduced to a begging mess. It wasn't what you wanted for him, and you didn't want the kind of control he was hovering over your head. But you felt the heat spreading throughout your whole body as he called you his.

"We're not mates," you tried to deny it, shaking your head, the implications too severe. "That's the drugs speaking."

"Gods," he groaned loudly, licking his lips as his eyes scanned over your body. "I wish they were."

His hips jerked again, impatient and in desperate need of release. If you were truly mates, that would be bad. It would be an instant invitation to be locked in this facility forever until you passed away. If anyone happened to check on you, seeing the state Krill was in, they'd assume the worst, delighted by these new possibilities. You had to find a solution before that. 

"Fuck," you muttered, and Krill groaned in agreement. "We're not mates!" you insisted, moving towards his side again. This was absolutely bonkers, but every touch seemed to send him further down the spiral—and so were you, even though you refused to admit it.

"This is strictly professional."

"It's whatever," he rejoiced when he felt your hands back on his chest, a little too happy about this smithereens of body contact for it to be just because of the drugs. "Help me, mate."

"Do me a favor," you asked, rolling your shoulders and readying yourself for what you had to do. You couldn't believe you were going to do it; jerking off a merman was definitely not in your job description. But if it would help with not being confined for all eternity as a pathetic mating buddy, then you had no choice. You just needed the push to actually do it.

"Say 'please' again."

Krill's lips parted in a disturbingly wide grin, red rubies sparkling as he looked at you, filled with a sickening hope and adoration that made you shudder.

"Please."

[yeyinde]

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go."  "Why?" You asked, blinking at her.  "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore. 

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach. 

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap. 

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement. 

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it. 

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him. 

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home. 

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear. 

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz. 

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores. 

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches. 

Gaz was unique, different. 

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community. 

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood. 

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright. 

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it. 

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant. 

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him. 

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear. 

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head. 

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon. 

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten. 

You think about him often. 

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name. 

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play. 

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull. 

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere." 

You leave, and you don't look back. 

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed. 

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat. 

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead. 

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to. 

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you. 

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses. 

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed. 

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing. 

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her. 

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror. 

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away. 

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay. 

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea. 

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet. 

It's a dangerous place to get caught in. 

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock. 

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen. 

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst. 

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil. 

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head. 

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock. 

All is quiet—except the sea. 

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea. 

Another step. Another. 

For a moment, you're free. 

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality. 

It's peaceful. 

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back. 

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing. 

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine. 

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue. 

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love." 

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself. 

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw. 

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic. 

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue. 

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat. 

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?" 

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face. 

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet." 

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time. 

You blink. Blink again. 

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before. 

They didn't say anyone new moved to town. 

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?" 

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him. 

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar. 

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard. 

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway." 

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty. 

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins. 

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay. 

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do. 

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm. 

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north. 

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company. 

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think. 

You wonder if he was expecting you. 

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question. 

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts. 

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water." 

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big. 

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body. 

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders. 

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory. 

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly. 

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice. 

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh. 

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath. 

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you. 

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush. 

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud. 

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you. 

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire. 

You should. 

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer. 

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own. 

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest. 

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words. 

"So I did." 

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil. 

"Got some time tonight?" 

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read. 

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love." 

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?" 

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead. 

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of." 

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

And so, you kiss him. 

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest. 

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw. 

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm. 

You never want to let go. 

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left. 

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth. 

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking." 

Price shudders. 

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips. 

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you? 

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls. 

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver. 

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no. 

It can't happen. It can't.  

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together. 

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out. 

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor. 

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag. 

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more. 

"Waiting for a ride?" 

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears. 

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead. 

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat. 

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision. 

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe. 

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark. 

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you. 

Like he knows. 

And maybe, he does. 

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell. 

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard. 

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom. 

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror. 

You can't remember if it's you. 

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic. 

Stupid. 

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths. 

The door rattles. Clicks. 

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke. 

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror. 

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him. 

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared. 

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders. 

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price." 

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so. 

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out. 

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter. 

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear. 

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees. 

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner. 

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does. 

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much. 

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern. 

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend. 

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know. 

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers. 

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter. 

The woods are dangerous. 

You don't want to go. 

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together. 

"You want to, don't you?" 

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway." 

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering. 

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea. 

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion. 

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato. 

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision. 

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry. 

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase. 

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head. 

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it. 

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge. 

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge. 

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed. 

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave. 

One slip, you think. Just one. 

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince. 

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him. 

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest. 

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go. 

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces. 

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to. 

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet. 

Two more. Two more. 

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go. 

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside. 

You don't know why you're here. 

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body. 

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead. 

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived. 

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic. 

You are—

"Foolish." 

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug. 

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb. 

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear. 

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped. 

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves. 

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure. 

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?" 

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw. 

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love." 

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all. 

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears. 

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know. 

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep. 

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers. 

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. 

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams. 

"Did you ever give me a choice?" 

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head. 

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine. 

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin. 

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you. 

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair. 

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance. 

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood. 

When he speaks, the world falls silent. 

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go. 

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins. 

You don't know what you're doing. 

The whispers in your head go silent. 

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go. 

You think of him, and you know. 

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there. 

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems. 

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go. 

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee. 

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly? 

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul. 

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever. 

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm. 

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home. 

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting. 

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow. 

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver. 

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow. 

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin. 

"Welcome home."

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." 

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her. 

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name. 

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse. 

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me? 

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

[blood-grove]

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 5 -> WIP

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn.

a/n: hehehhehehe finally new update :3 got rid of the rude reader tw cuz reader is gonna be annoyed at the world at best angry at worst plus i dont think ive been writing them rudely so also forgive me if the writing pov changes weirdly idk i have a hard time staying focused and consistent ill try better

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv  @kaoyamamegami

What the hell was this place.

It seems all they did was stare at you and when you would clearly get sick of the mumbles and looks you'd splash them and they'd fucking laugh.

They were weird and the Gaz guy was weirder.

You found later his name was actually Kyle and he meant to clarify earlier.

But you found the silly nickname funny.

But this wasn't fun.

Being propped up on a large mat next to the side of the pool the leather felt uncomfortable under you, You also felt way too exposed as a few humans looked over your stitches and wrappings.

It felt weird there hands weren't rough but no one besides a few have touched you like this they were talking about something you'd care less to pay attention too.

As they examined you, Gaz kept trying to pull your attention away from the other humans.

Oh?

Was he jealous?.

Humans are so fickle it's funny.

-

Christ.

Even working with merfolk in the past Gaz still never got used to the bigger ones like you.

Scarface as you've been suitably nicknamed for the moment been alright and cooperative so far no biting or thrashing.

He'd likely guess the wounds were causing you to be so irritable they didn't look good when they first arrived problem had a couple of parasites on them along with other infections that are still being treated.

Price was observing the whole check up process.

You didn't speak much at least not to any of the other staff.

There were a few problems though.

Firstly they found you solo but there was still likely you belonged to a pod but which is the question.

Secondly, they couldn't keep you in the medical pool forever you were wild to some extent it would be cruel to keep you from you family.

Thirdly during your surgery, they'd found a piece of metal that didn't look important it was kept to be looked over in case it helped discover why you were in such a state, Price already guessed territorial fighting but you clearly (no offense) couldn't pick your battles.

Some of these scars and bites could have been lethal.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as you shifted clicking in annoyance he was quick to reach over for another fish from the bucket nearby by offering it up in an attempt to distract you.

"Are all humans this pokey?"

"No Scarface we just..need to make sure your healing okay..Then we can release you."

Kyle huffed as he gave you an honest smile ignoring the glare and grumble he received in return, You still took the fish though idly crunching on it.

They eventually finished the examination without much fuss except for you not so subtly tripping the newest volunteer who honestly should have been starting off with a much smaller mer than you.

But you start off somewhere.

Speaking of which it's about lunch time for them now and his break time, Kyle oversaw you getting back into the pool without much struggle before he left your area visiting by Price to mention he was going on his break before grabbing his lunch and heading to the docks.

He'd usually not have to wait long before they'd show but it'd seemed they were late.

It wasn't long till a familiar face popped up flashing teeth and all.

"Hey, Soap!" Kyle grinned as he looked to see the shark mer propping up his elbows onto the dock.

"Ghost comin'..?"

"Ah in a bit he's still getting his bearings.."

Now he was confused the last time he'd seen the pair and given them there updated shots and tags they'd been great.

The pair were unusual a Shark and Orca together seemed unheard of but yet just a few years ago now when Kyle had fallen overboard during an solo observation trip Ghost saved him from drowning.

Both of them were odd in a good way, Simon having been outcasted by his pod but he doesn't like to talk about it.

He had lots of scars all telling of countless battles of either for his territory or from just fights.

As for Soap, Sharks were solitary regardless but Soap had his own set of scars from fights some he shouldn't have tried starting.

"Bearings? What happended?.."

"Another fuckin' Orca smaller not as experienced grabbed me a few days back, Si really fucked em' up till the bastard clocked him on the head with there tail-"

Wait.

"Jesus , Where is he? I can get a team out and-"

"Ah ye know how he feels about humans..Plus he seemed to be swimming straight.."

"But Soap , He could have a concussion or maybe a facture-"

Soap sighed as he glanced back to the water before back at Kyle.

"Look..You can try convincing em'"

Soap frowned as Simon finally surfaced propping himself up onto the dock as well the wood creaking slightly under the weight of just Simons upper half.

"Ghost"

"Kyle."

Kyle huffed as he didnt even need to say anything as he went up to him giving him a look before he huffed grumbling quietly adjusting himself better so that Kyle could assess him.

Taking his time looking over the newer injuries they had healed well enough fishing out his little hand held flash light from his keychain in his pocket he checked Ghost's eyes.

After a bit of checking Kyle felt satisfied ignoring Ghost annoyed clicks.

"Mm..Now Soap you said it was another Orca right..? Did it come back?"

"Nah..Fucker swam off after bashing Ghost head..Pretty sure I could smell em' bleeding though for a bit till they got too far."

Right this was looking to be way too convenient and fitting to not match up with good ol' Scarface's condition.

"Mm..Alright..Anyway I brought some-"

"Treats?!" Before Kyle could even move his lunchbox away Soap had snatched it and Kyle let out a exasperated sigh not even fighting for it risk of being pulled into the water.

"Jesus Soap my lunch is still in there be careful- And dont eat the plastic!"

[curawrites]

Fantasies

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Warnings: probable ooc Ghost, perverted thoughts, uses of she/her, boobs, nipple piercings, nipple play, breeding kink, fingering, jealousy, sex, horny stuff.

Note: I am back after taking the winter break plus an extra week off. Exams are coming up so posts may or may not happen. Reader’s call sign is Orca.

VERY HORNY POST

Ghost sat awake in the safe house the 141 were staying at. Price was on watch duty while everyone was supposed to sleep. He was watching Orca sleep, she was in the weirdest position, feet at her pillow, hair everywhere, and laying on her side weirdly. He couldn't imagine how that was comfortable.

It was weird seeing her so calm, Orca was an apex predator on the field, earning her call sign, she was tough, eyes fixed in a permanent glare almost all the time. 

He watched her chest rise and fall, one of her breasts was out of her tang top, bare to the cold air, nipple hard around her piercing. 

She mumbled quietly in her sleep, but he couldn't make out what she said to focused on her bare tit.

He's herd Soap and Gaz talk about how hot she was, how if they had the chance they would fuck her. He agreed obviously but never admitted it, only chastising the men about their perverted behaviour and reminding them she was their superior who could absolutely body them easily.

He couldn't help having his mind wander, couldn't help imagining how adorable and submissive she could be under him as he split her pussy open with his cock, watching the bulge in her stomach move with his thrusts, her soft mewls and moans as he played with her pierced nipples, how she'd squirm against him as he fingered her little pussy making her squirt around his thick fingers, how pathetic she's look struggling to ride his cock, how he could fold her in half and breed her little cunt, how if he got her pregnant maybe just maybe he'd retire.

He was snapped out of his fantasies as she rolled onto her back tugging the blanket over her chest before quietly mumbling, "König..."

His eye twitched at the mention of the name of the 6'10 Austrian man from her former squad KorTac. Laswell had been paring them up recently as both their savage way of fighting complimented each other and got the job done quick.

He rolled his eyes and got up, deciding to start his shift early as there was no way he'd be going back to sleep this peeved. He needed to get her out of his head...

[punkzines]

hi, first of all i wanted to say that i really like your writing style! i don't see many ghidorah x reader and yours was perfect! could you write more ghidorah x reader? i don't really have anything specific in mind, i think i would like it to be angsty or something like that? have a nice day/night! <33

HEYY THANK YOU SMM Im just starting out so this means a lot. so sorry for taking such a long time to finally answer this I kept redoing the whole work.

Im not sure if this is angsty be ghidorah and reader dont have a relationship like that but I hope this is good enough

and you're right there should be more ghidorah x reader. i need it in my bones.

anywaysss lets get on with the video!

NO HAPPY ENDINGS

summary: reader is crazy and delusional. ghidorah isn’t even concerned about them.

warnings: planning for suicide and death

word count: 1.9k

────────────────────────

They called you crazy.

Crazy for believing in what was right.

For believing that humans— the source of suffering, a virus to the innocent— were nothing but Gods of Destruction.

Destroying everything on their path, not caring about all the bad that happens around them— no. It only mattered that their own selfish needs were met. The world which was once so great, was now dying. The titans weren’t enough to help it. Earth was at the brink of collapse. Everyone knew it— they just weren’t brave enough to admit it. They never were.

But you were. From an early age, you were exposed to the chemical that is hatred. How could someone be so evil? So inconsiderate? You knew something needed to be done.

You were there, when Ghidorah finally rose from his deep slumber—( or was he ever sleeping? painfully aware of his surroundings…a fate worse than death).

It was perfect, he was perfect. Although you almost died getting out of the base at Antarctica, it was worth it. You saw the way he fought Godzilla— which you did feel a bit guilty about, Godzilla wasn’t a bad guy— it was a small price to pay. He fought so…it was simply breathtaking. Ghidorah would be the one to finally put an end to this so-called Human Race. He would be the one to finally bring peace.

When it was time to escape into the bunkers, for safety after Godzillas death— you betrayed your supposed “Leader” — a person you had no interest in following, you had only stayed for said objective and now that it has been accomplished, you will escape and abandon your crew. Because you weren’t going anywhere. You would stay outside, and die. It was your choice. You couldn’t live with killing half the planet’s population. That was impossible, as much as you wanted to pretend you could. You really thought everyone should have done the same, die for what they worked for. Because, they weren’t exempted from what they had done to the planet. They too had contributed to this mess. You would have killed them all, if you weren’t just one person. You’ve made mistakes before, but not stupid enough to make the mistake of taking on hundreds of skilled fighters with guns— as one might say. They would all die anyway.

Nevertheless, Boston was a shitty place to fall into your impending doom. The place held no sentimental value to you and since you had no accessible way to travel— which in this case would be an airplane— to a place where you did hold dear, you would just…die here? Yeah, you will. It was just a matter of where in Boston you would, well, shoot yourself.

There were people on the street, running towards refuge— ones that hadn’t been evacuated— for some odd reason (maybe they all came to understand what this is all for)— families. It’s hard to look at, but... This would all be worth it in the end. You could only look at them as they passed by—

“Watch where you’re fucking going.”

Your legs were beginning to grow tired— after aimlessly walking through the city, it was dark—

An odd sound— which wasn’t odd at all, but it was odd that you heard it all— captured your attention.

It was the Orca.

You furrowed your brows— turning around aimlessly, trying to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. What were those guys doing?! You were in on their plan for a long time, but…this was never discussed. Not to mention how much of a stupid move this was! This was bad. The whole plan was set on— and promised that it would happen slowly. Another place being set ablaze would be devastating. Since Godzilla's death, and the Titans turning their loyalty to Ghidorah— Ghidorah would have no reason to wreak havoc on Earth unless challenged. This would quite literally, not be good at all!

Ghidorah— although a risky one to rely on, because of his alien nature— would surely deliver if he isn’t challenged. He wouldn’t be challenged though, no titan would take on him and win. But the orcas here! It was close— not too far away. You needed to find the Orca and eliminate whoever was that had it turned on. There was no other choice, someone this stupid couldn’t roam the Earth.

There was a car nearby, you ran towards it — broke the glass and opened the door like the universe was depending on it. Dropping the gun on the other passenger seat, you sat at the driver's seat and began to mess with the wires — of someone's abandoned Toyota — after seeing there were no keys around. Damn it. So much for going out peacefully.

You were halfway through driving— getting closer to the call— when you heard something much more chilling. Such anger, something you felt deep in your bones. Ghidorah was approaching— he is going to be here at any second. You grit your teeth— there’s going to be blood on the walls as soon as you get your hands on whoever turned the Orca on.

Turning the wheel in a dangerous way a few times, the ground was beginning to shake— you turned your head around and you saw a giant cloud coming your way— a giant cloud that you mistook for a Tsunami for a few seconds longer than you’d like to admit. Ghidorah was here. Looking for the Orca was starting to feel useless now— but you had to keep going — he would find it wherever it was. Ghidorah would go away immediately if you were to destroy the device.

Steering the wheel was harder than ever— especially when there was a giant cloud of disaster coming right behind you but you were finally where the Orca was turned on. You practically jumped out the car, and ran towards the broadcast booth above you were sure the Orca was being held at — but you were too slow.

The storm enveloped your entire surroundings— hugging you tightly, there was no way you could escape this. You were at the eye of it. Your eyes were drawn upwards and through the veil of the harsh winds— much like a Tornado— that’s when you caught a glimpse of him flying towards the ground. Oh, fuck. You had forgotten how fearful you had been the last time you were in his presence. As great as he was, he still scared the shit out of you— that sense of panic caused you to run away towards the entrances of the stadium— close to the benches where you were sure he would not see you, lest he confuse you as the one emitting that alpha call. Not that he’d spare your life if you were not. It’s still good to let your God know that you weren’t the one causing him trouble.

It takes Ghidorah no longer than a mere moment to jump down onto the ground with a low set snarl. His wings created winds so strong, they would be considered natural disasters of their own.

You pressed your hand onto your mouth— trying to stifle your cough as you watched Ghidorah scanning the building, until his eyes landed on the big glass window. He knew it was in there. His body illuminated— lightning rising up his chest and that’s when you knew you had to go back away— but once again you were too slow. And too clumsy, because amidst the darkness of the storm, you tripped on nothing. Really, where was your survival-

You gripped your head—having hit it hard on the ground, as you sloppily got up from the destruction going on around you. But— No! You couldn’t get up, your ankle was broken. So you tripped back down onto the floor with a grunt— could this day get any worse?

Somehow evading the destruction around you— you saw something— someone— running out the demolished building. That child— Emma Russels child. She did this. Of course. How could a child— a fucking child— steal the Orca? She caused all of this? Upon seeing who the person was, your anger grew. If Ghidorah doesn’t manage to get her…Turns out, Ghidorah was about to kill her. She tripped—dropped the Orca, and was now cornered by him. Could you be any more thankful? If only Ghidorah knew you would have done the same. If you— a mere human— were to bow down to him, would he accept you? You knew you wouldn’t, after all— you would die by your own hand. But…If there was a chance that maybe you were accepted by him— that your devotion was —

Ghidorah was struck down in the blink of an eye by something you recognized. By someone you recognized. There was only one being capable of doing such a thing to Ghidorah himself— turning around, you saw him. Godzilla.

Godzilla.

Your heart dropped— ignoring the child running away from the scene— your heart was sinking to the bottomless shell of yours. How could he be here right now? How could— why? How? He was dead! He was supposed to be dead! He was supposed to be asleep for another— you weren’t the one who kept tabs on his hibernation time— but surely longer than just a few hours! What the hell happened? Pressing your back to a broken wall— your eyes stared at the fight in disbelief. There was nothing— worse than this.

This had to be a prelude to hell.

—Suddenly, a giant piece of rubble fell on your lower body— tearing your muscles and fracturing every bit of it with a sickening crunch. The impact sent shockwaves of agonizing pain— you were helpless. There was no one who would help. Not Monarch who has taken their leave after realizing that child wasn’t here.

Was this— Was this— was this all for nothing?

No! No! It wasn’t. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Ghidorah will win this fight. Just like the last time. It didn’t matter that Monarch was with him. It didn’t matter that Mothra was with him. It didn't matter because— because you worked hard for this and Ghidorah heard you— your prayers— and he would answer. He would be the one to bring peace because— because you did this.

You did this. Not Ghidorah— you.

Your lower body was broken— you couldn’t move. I can’t move. This was all your fault. This was all my fault. You deserved this. This death— this painful and pitiful death— you deserved it. The fight that was going on around you— you couldn’t see it— everything going on around was— it wasn’t happening. Everything was— dark. The chaos— everything— it couldn’t be real. It was real.

You— How could you ever think you could change things? Place all you had to this— You became the same thing you sought to destroy. You’ve always known that— you have. That you promise. You thought you were doing the right thing but you weren’t, were you? Instead of trying to be a hero you should have died from the moment you realized there was no salvation— at least the people who died for this wouldn’t have died for nothing. For nothing at all. Any chance of dying with the certainty that the world would be restored— has left.

You were crazy— you laughed. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down.

A small part of you wishes there wasn’t an afterlife at all— because it would be worse than what you will experience in Hell.

────────────────────────

a/n: ill just put the fries in the bag😞

[thegnomelord]

Chomp

- 🦈

(Mer soap fic when? )

Probably after I finish the HHABF, the reader x orca hybrid you asked about that I'm maybe 70% finished and the ftm reader x price fic I've been thinking about. Also might do the zussy soap before it soooo yeah

[uk3d]

Original Orca sketch | Limited edition fine art print from an original drawing. My sketches start life as hand-drawn graphite images made on cartridge paper. I often work on these with charcoal, oil pastel or Caran d'Ache to create the look I'm after. The artwork is then scanned and finessed digitally ready for fine art printing. This process often referred to as Giclée printing uses the highest standard of printing methods to give gallery quality results that maintain all the details of the original sketch. The graphite pencils I use are Faber-Castel, the oil pastels are Sennelier and the china-graph is Caran d’Ache. The inks are pigment based archive quality (100years+). The heavyweight specialist papers I use are of the best professional quality having a wonderful surface designed specifically for fine art drawings and illustrations. Very limited editions with only ten per size printed. All artwork is signed and includes a certificate of authenticity. The A5 are 5.8" x 8.25" (14.8cm x 21cm) The A4 are 8.25" x 11.7" (21cm x 29.8cm) The A3 are 11.7" x 16.5" (29.8 cm x 42cm) The A2 are 16.5" x 23.4" (42 cm x 59.4cm) Originals are A3 11.7" x 16.5" (29.8 cm x 42cm) Frames not included in price. Free shipping on artwork to all destinations. https://www.seanbriggs.co.uk/product/orca/?feed_id=5126&_unique_id=6707752f658ab

[myhero20]

Gang orca X Reader 18+

you guys are gonna ignore this so watch your back

Im not giving warning but yes there are a couple

Little backstory “Tatakai“Shirakima ☜︎ look up

She is a 17 year old that was kicked out at age 15 for not sharing her paycheck with her parents for rent making her fight and scrounge for money and life for survival making her cautions

Story time

You were looking for your 7th job sick of men thinking they can control you as a woman   

You walked to the train satiation when you saw the train was broken when you said there goes that interview

Sitting down for a while you smelled the ocean when you stood up going wanting to take a walk

You walked through the smooth sand watching the waves crash when you looked around seeing nobody you took off your dress getting into the water to your chest

After swimming for a while you wanted to get out but felt ripples when you heard a deep close voice say getting out already

You turned around punching him hard he knocked into the water when you quickly ran out of the water running home never looking back

Next Morning

You got a call from gang orca's agency when you said oh no

You still answered saying hello you heard a British voice say hello madam is this Tatakai Shirakima you panicked but said yes this is she

He paused saying would you be available to meet with Mr.Orca this evening at 11 you nodded realizing you were on the phone saying yes thank you he sighted saying excellent hope you have a wonderful evening

You were down the street seeing the masculine whale on the big building getting courage you walked the rest of the mile waiting in the lobby

You were waiting when you saw the whale get off the elevator walking towards you when you got your stress ball squeezing it lifeless

You guys were up in his office when he said you want to be my secretary you looked at him shocked when you said no I can't you went to get up to the door

Gang Orca slammed the door shut saying you're not leaving unless I say you can and you haven't told you the weekly paycheck

You turned around looking up at the giant saying how much he smiled saying $1,300 you gasped saying absolutely not that's weekly I don't need that much

He laughed saying I'm also paying you so I can look at you so you ok with the price now you were unsure when he said what's wrong you signed saying I don't have clothes for a fancy job like this he smiled saying don't worry I got it covered

You nodded saying you also can't touch me in any private space he smiled saying ok you nodded leaving Gang orca watched which ways you went when yelled Vinca I need a outfit by tomorrow but not for me

You walked in the elevator going up everyone was looking when you went into Orca's office he stood up saying here's your suit he held it up when you said that's pretty thank you sir

You guys were trying it on when you saw your thighs were stretching out the pants you felt your stomach twist his assistance took your clothes away and put them in his office

You were about to break down when Gang orca said Tatakai you ok you said no you're voice breaking when he said what's wrong you held your breath stopping tears saying I can't get my thighs in the pants

Gang orca sighed saying can I see not in a weird way I promise you opened the door when he looked at your head down and the tears running along your face he wiped them saying can I have the pants you took off the pants hanging them when he said for now you can wear your jeans

You walked out to gang orca's office hearing him yell I don't care I want the damn pants in a wider size

You flinched when he slammed the phone you sat down in the fancy black chair when you said sir

He looked up saying yes you looked down saying I'm sorry I started trouble already he got up saying no you're fine my assistant is an idiot my old one was better you nodded looking up

You walked around with a binder when you sat at your desk giving you a perfect view of Gang orca him seeing you as well

You were typing when someone popped in saying hi your new right well be careful Orca has a thing for the fleshy ones you smiled saying ok thank you they smiled leaving

You looked at orca's office seeing it was new blacked out you looked at your computer feeling a tear fall as you wiped it quickly

You were swamped everyone piled stuff on you because you were new till Orca said if I see one more person put something on the secretary's desk I swear you're fired do your own damn work

You did some of the work since it was easy till you heard two people talking I heard orca only hired her just to fuck and look at

You wanted to cry everyone said these things when you were near they knew what they were talking about and you were a doll

You had your final straw when someone said Orca has been protective of the new girl bet you they're fucking

You waited till you went to Orca's office in tears you closed the door seeing he was working you yelled at him saying you don't actually want me here do you

He stood up saying you better lower that tone little girl you sniffed saying do you know what everybody is saying about me and you they don't even care I'm sitting right there he looked at his windows when you looked seeing he could see everybody you gasped when he said who said what I'll fire them you wiped your tears saying no I'm sorry but I don't have a shield around me I'm sensitive so I quit

You went to walk away till Orca grabbed you saying Tatakai please don't leave I'm sorry I'll protect you I promise just don't leave you cried saying I can't Orca everybody here hates me you can keep my paycheck but I'm leaving

You sat at home laying in bed thinking of orca he was a big man protecting and maybe sweet even but those people were toxic

You were about to get ready for bed when there was a knock you looked seeing Orca you opened the door when he looked down at your baggy shirt and shorts when you said come in

You and orca were on the sofa when he said I really did miss you today you hummed saying what about everyone else was there a party he sighed nodding when you said I didn't belong there

Orca growled saying you didn't I'm sorry I was selfish you belong with me you backed away saying I said what I said before don't touch me in personal places he sighed saying I know but can I once

You were on his lap saying I think this is enough he gripped your hips saying I think not you whined saying Orca stop let go this isn't ok stop you screamed

He let go saying I'm sorry but I just want you so bad please you're driving me crazy you got off saying maybe you should go

Orca got up I should but can you just tell me you don't feel anything for me please you sighed saying I can't he looked up seeing you looking at the ground he held your hands saying then let me at least show you how much I love you

Orca picked you up laying you on the couch he took off your shorts till you stopped him saying wait no I didn't shave he kissed your thigh whispering I don't care

He looped his fingers around your shorts when you said I smell down there I try fixing it but it doesn't work he inhaled saying I'm a whale I love fish and anything ocean related he pulled off your shorts not listening to you when he dove in eating you out while you squirmed and yelled out

Orca reached up grabbing your hand when you said I can't take anymore please stop Orca please you squirmed one last time till Orca got up laying next to you when you felt his silky hand go up your body you whined saying Orca he curved around your boobs when he pinched your nipples you moaned arching your back

He let go saying I'll be right back you grabbed him saying where are you going I'm sorry I'll be better he rubbed your sensitive clit saying I'm done with you yet darling

Orca washed his mouth coming back seeing you crying he laid next to you saying hey hey it's ok I'm back you looked at him when he noticed your arm moving around he moved the blanket off your knees that were up seeing you thrusting your fingers in your hole he saw you crying from being overwhelmed but you couldn't get your finishing spot

He put in two finger when you cried out saying to big please Orca stop Orca put one finger when you said wait you passed it please go back

Orca dragged his finger back when you said right there please you moved around Orca held you down saying you're gonna make me lose the spot you looked at him saying I'm sorry just please make me cum one more time

Orca rubbed into your spot when you arched your back saying please stop I can't take it it's to much please Orca held you don't and kept going when you started grabbing the couch when you said I think I'm gonna cum

You cum dumped on the couch when you said I never did that before he stroked your face saying good let's get you cleaned up you whined saying I'm to tired to walk he kissed your neck whispering I never said you had to

Orca picked you up putting you in the tub saying what type of water you groaned saying warm a little cold he nodded saying bubbles you nodded

You felt the bubbles around your body when you fell asleep till you heard Orca get up you grabbed out for him saying get in please lay with me you like water right

Orca undressed till he got behind you laying out you turned around looking so fucked drunk you got on his lap laying on his chest when he rubbed your back saying how sensitive are you right now huh

Orca touched down to your clit when you put your hands on his chest crying out when you said no I'm to sensitive Orca stop saying sorry darling I wanted to test if you could handle this Orca put your hand on his cock and let you feel the whole length you gasped saying that would not fit way to big Orca stroked your hair saying it's ok darling go to sleep

Next morning

You woke up in different clothes and alone in your bed you got up saying Orca you checked your phone seeing is was Thursday 3:58 P.M getting up you went to the kitchen grabbing a juice when you heard a knock at the door you walked over you opened the door seeing one of the people from Gangs Orcas agency you looked at him confused when he said fuck you throwing a pie in your face that had lemon in it making your eyes burn

[2oosterr]

happy halloween!!!! 🎃🦇🍬

frankenstein and his monster (affectionate) <3

orca is the monster because she died that one time how funny am i. guy its so clever you can laugh. also yeah i was making that face while drawing this lmao

[ajayhealthtip]

Shower Steamers (8 Scents) with Eucalyptus Shower Bombs, Shower Steamers Aromatherapy Shower Bomb Menthol, Stocking Stuffers Gifts for Women and Men, Shower Steamer Christmas Spa Gifts Shower Tablet

Price: (as of – Details) From the brand At Orca Beauty, we champion every woman’s fearless beauty by providing personal care essentials created with diversity in mind. Our beauty products are made for your every need, empowering you to feel confident and embrace your individuality. Package Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.43 x 2.28 x 2.28 inches; 1.06 Ounces Item model number ‏ : ‎ ORBA0005 Date First…

[watermanwater]

Wood stoves for traditional sailboats

Navigator Wood Stoves: For safety reasons, the stoves should not be used with propane or on a gasoline-powered boat.

The iron stoves are cast in the northeastern United States and then shipped in sections to Navigator Stoves (NS) on Orcas Islands. The stoves are sold as plain iron with a traditional stove polish, but a customer can opt to add one of six porcelain enamels -grey, black, mint, deep mariner blue, dark green, or classic barn red.

NS prepares, polishes, and smooths the iron on each stove at his workshop, and then tweaks and assembles those ordered as polished iron. Stoves that are ordered with the porcelain coating are sent to the Midwest for coating, then flat-packed back to NS for polishing, tweaking, and assembly. Lead times vary from one week to eight weeks, depending on availability.

All three stoves are designed to burn natural wood and charcoal. The two smallest models are best for heating 300 square feet or less. The largest model, the Halibut, is able to burn coal. The stoves are not intended for use with any other fuel sources. For use in warmer months, Navigator has designed alcohol drop-in burners. The drop-in burner literally drops into the stove top and burns denatured alcohol. The burner element is self-pressurizing and is located in the cast-bronze burner housing to minimize fuel spills. One 2-ounce filling will burn for 20 minutes. Running in simmer mode, the burn time is doubled. Tests show it takes 8 minutes to boil a liter of water. The alcohol can be refilled for longer cook times.

Navigator Stoves also sells many of the accessories associated with installing and maintaining a wood burning stove, including stove pipes, deck heads, and heat shielding. Heat shielding can be a critical issue, and Navigator offers custom-made shielding panels made from either 20-gauge stainless steel or 16-ounce copper.

Sardine

The smallest and most popular model, the Sardine is a mere 12 by 12 by 11 inches, and weighs 35 pounds. The heat output is 7,500 to 18,000 BTUs.

Navigator Stoves suggests using this rule of thumb for determining required BTU: 15 x volume of space to heat = required BTUs. If extreme cold temperatures are expected, one might want to use a factor of 20. This compact Sardine is best suited for small boats or sleeping cabins aboard larger vessels. It is two-thirds the size of the Little Cod and costs $699 for plain iron and $1,199 for the porcelain enamel option.

Little Cod

First produced circa 1917, this solid-fuel stove was initially designed to keep fishermen warm and well fed as they jigged for cod. Simple and reliable, it is economical to run and maintain. It is intended for use in the galley, cabin, or pilothouse, or small spaces on land. By adding one or two of the alcohol drop-ins, it can essentially replace any alcohol stove onboard. The Little Cod measures approximately 13 by 18 by 14 inches and weighs 55 pounds. It produces 10,000 to 28,000 BTUs. It has a stainless-steel sea rail to keep cook pots in place, and has holes in the legs for securing stove to a platform. It is priced at $1,125 for iron and $1,675 with porcelain or $1,875 for red porcelain.

Halibut

The Halibut has cast-bronze sea rails and corner posts. It has a glass firebox door, stainless-steel ash pan and oven rack, an oven thermometer, and a Halibut relief on the door. The Halibut doesn’t come up to temperatures as fast as the little stoves, but it does offer the oven for onboard cooking of bread, potatoes, and pies. It can also burn coal, whereas the smaller stoves are designed for wood and charcoal only. The platform size for the Halibut is 26 inches wide minimum, and 18 inches deep. The oven is 9 by 9 by 8 inches, and the stove weighs 175 pounds. The approximate heat output is 25,000 to 35,000 BTUs. The stove costs $2,850 with porcelain.

Herring Prototype

Navigator Stoves is also currently working on a diesel/ biodiesel prototype stove. It is intended to be 28 inches tall with a 12-by-12-inch footprint, and weigh 55 pounds. The Herring will have a glass-plate front and a herring relief on the front plate. It is designed with a “blue flame” natural draft burner from Europe and no fan or electricity is required. Tests by Navigator have shown a very clean, steady burn. The expected BTU rating is 16,000. Navigator is also working on a design for a water heating loop.

Conclusion

The stoves can be installed by an involved do-it-yourselfer with the lions share of the time dedicated to thinking and planning, rather than installing.

[eventually--darling]

Crochet Commissions! (+ Etsy)

hellooo, im finally making a commissions page!

small animals: $15

birds are customizable! send a pic or description of your bird and i'll do my best to match their colors/patterns

(shown: birds, opossums, rats, jake the dog)

mid-sized animals: $36

(shown: appa, dairy cow, cat, wolf)

gargantuan orca: $100 + shipping (last time it was about $20 shipping so prepare for an investment)

i am also super down to do other patterns and custom requests! if there are color changes you want to make for any of these, or an animal not listed here that you want, just dm me and we can discuss it.

disclaimer: the color changes will be limited to what i actually have, and though i like to say i can make anything that has a decent pattern i do reserve the right to refuse.

pricing for patterns I've never done before will vary based on difficulty and time but will probably be pretty much the same, but i may ask you to pay shipping.

source patterns for pictures:

x x x x x x x x x

i also have an etsy now with a few more items!

[blood-grove]

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 4 -> next

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: THERE MEETING THERE MEETING :3

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv 

Waking up again you were once again heavily confused shivering as you took a breath inhaling that familiar chemical scent.

Chemicals.

Chemicals?

It wasn't as strong as you remembered it the more you woke and regained feeling in your body you saw a fucking pool.

You were just nearby laying on a plastic hangover on the edge of it your tail hanging off the edge into the water.

Oh god.

Oh no.

Fuck

You pushed yourself up and pushed yourself into the pool before resurfacing your breathing picking up as you looked around the all to familar blank walls the one way glass mirror that didn't hide the feeling of eyes on you.

What?

No

No

No

-

Gaz winced as he watched the Mer panic, It was common for mer's who came from the ocean were usually not at all receptive to human intervention and or help.

The natural built in generational fear of humans made sense due the unsavory practices of the past due to myths stirred up way back then that there flesh brought youth back into you, that there fins were important ingredients for medicinal cures or just for high life luxury, and that they were just used as luxury pets.

He tried to not let his mind wonder any father as he glanced down to his notes biting his lip as he sighed just jotting down the usual panicked behavior internally hoping they'd still be tired from the sedative which they very much were as there panicked had died down to swimming around the barren pool.

Gaz huffed as he left the observation room and onto the observation deck a decent height above the pool his presence didn't go unnoticed as the mer's eye flicked over to him a deathly glare being sent at him.

Avoiding a splash sent up at him Gaz was unphased mostly jotting down notes now as the Mer calmed eventually now just watching him which he didn't at all mind gave him a better view of all of there body and tail jotting down specific markers and scars along the skin.

Looking back at his other Orca mer notes they had no features genetically similar to any of the other Orca's they've rehabbed at least in this area of the country and since they found them all alone he was to assume they either left there close familial group or was very much lost which was likely due to there injuries.

There's just no way there pod would have left them in such a state but at the same time after reviewing there injuries Gaz was unsure to say the least.

There injuries were way to aggressive to be a simple fight or struggle between prey and predator, Not specific enough for them to be from blades of a boat motor, And were also not specific enough for them to be a survivor of a failed poaching attempt.

Gaz sighed as he shifted on his feet glancing up from his notes and to the Mer which still stared at him.

"God's what happen to you.." He mumbled as he leaned against the railing the Mer had retreated back underwater seemingly bored with him now.

-

This was weird—

No this was wrong.

This human had been just watching you?

And doing whatever it was doing.

Should you stare back?

Maybe you'll freak it out.

You did not in fact freak it out and it was still doing something with that board.

This place didn't seem all too bad.

You couldn't smell the remnants of blood from past creatures like you could back there they never cleaned your holding pool enough to make that scent fade away sometimes it was strong enough that you could have sworn the corpses were just floating right next to you.

There has been cases when they tried to even partner you up with a another Mer for a chance at calming you.

You only had one incident for them to know you should be left isolated.

You didn't want to be alone.

But a noise brought you out of your mind.

"Hey? I uh..brought you food."

It was that human again from the dock now that you got a better look at him.

Weirdo.

You surfaced as you looked over at him.

He was in grabbing range.

But you rather not get punished.

Does this place do punishments?

It's not the old place.

Hm.

You eventually decided not to drown him and instead waiting as he got closer cautious with a bucket of Fish that didn't smell like it was decaying for one still fresh possibly been frozen as he pushed over the bucket allowing you to get closer to the edge of the pool as he backed up out of reach.

To say you were hungry was a understatement as you ate till you were full enough pushing the bucket back towards him squinting at him as he chuckled.

"You must of been starving huh?..I know this must be confusing but were all here to help."

Lies.

"I'll be back to feed you later in a couple of hours.."

Don't come back.

"..Alright see you later Scarface."

What?

That name confused you greatly but you chose to ignore it you've been called worse.

Oh god what if they start calling you that?

"[Name]"

The human stopped dead in his tracks as he looked back at you.

"[Name]?"

You nodded as he hummed.

"Mines Gaz or..Well Kyle."

"Stupid names."

He was bewildered for a moment before chuckling once more.

"Alright Scarface"

"Kyle"

[leggerefiore]

That Galvantula Reader x Emmet fic you wrote... Emmet technically bottoming? Fi, blink twice if you need help! /j /affectionate

Seriously though, it's a bit unexpected. I mean it was great and I loved it (but I'm extremely biased I want that twink obliterated) I'm just surprised.

blinking aggressively

I actually wrote it for a friend who I bounce a lot of my ideas off of. She wanted spiderwife on top lol

It's still not my preferred version of him though, I need one character to be an aggressive top😔😔, but I don't mind if a friend wants something like that sporadically.

Basically, the price of Emmet on bottom is listening to me go on about orcas or the alien au for a few hours.