synthe4u

[synthe4u]

18+ only please and thank you

Roommate Ghost who’s basically a rehomed cat.

You barely saw him at first. He’d come out of his room to do laundry, and you’d occasionally spot the back of him as he’s leaving for work, but otherwise it was like living with a ghost. A large, moody ghost who seemed to think eye contact was an unforgivable breach of privacy.

So you did the obvious thing, and coaxed him out with food. You’re lonely, he seems nice enough, and he’s also just conveniently there. It’s no big deal to make something that smells really wonderful when he’s home, and hope he’ll take the bait.

It takes three whole entire dinners. Two delicious meals without so much as a stir from his room, and you’re just about to give up on the whole scheme, when you’re finally rewarded with a tousled head poking out of his room on the third attempt.

“Want some?” you immediately pipe up, giving him an encouraging smile while you scoop noodles into your bowl. Realizing your mistake, you quickly relocate your gaze back to the food, so as not to scare him off.

Cmon, take the bait. Come on out, kitty. You know you want it.

Silent as ever, your massive roommate indeed emerges to fill his belly.

A soft, “Thanks,” is all you get for your efforts, but it thrills you. You sit there practically vibrating with glee, trying to play as cool as possible while you both eat and purposefully don’t speak to each other. There’s just chewing and silence, and the quiet clatter of spoons and forks, and you love it.

The next day, the contents of your personal grocery list have magically appeared in your refrigerator. The meat you needed, vegetables, your special milk for your cereal. Bemused, you step over to your pantry and verify that, yes, he got the dry stuff too. You weren’t planning to cook anything fancy two days in a row, but hell, if he’s around again tonight, you might as well.

But he’s not around. You don’t see him again for several weeks, never even got a text that he was leaving. You were just starting to make progress, and now it’ll all be erased when he returns. You lost your one window of opportunity for building trust, and it’ll be back to silence, back to emptiness, back to being strangers.

But to your surprise, when he does finally come home, he meows at you.

Not officially. Not in, like, actual cat language, but he drops his bag by the door and responds to your quiet greeting with a heavy sigh, and, "It’s good to be back.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, so you quickly hide it by staring at the TV.

He joins you for dinner the next time you cook. And the next. Groceries pop up like spring flowers, anything you write down, even if it’s snacks he never touches.

He starts hanging out with you while you cook. On the other side of the counter at first, looming like a dark shadow, just listening to your music and offering answers to your small talk.

You keep it light. Keep it friendly and easy, and entice him over occasionally to taste what you’re making. He starts lingering closer, letting the kitchen light touch him, leaning against your side of the counter. The scary side.

And then one day he tells you a joke. Just completely out of the blue, “What do you call an angry carrot?”

“Uhh…” you pause peeling carrots for a second, trying to wrap your head around some scenario where this is a legitimate question, because surely he's not about to tell you an actual joke. “I dunno?”

“A steamed vegetable.”

You return to your carrots with a delighted laugh. He's being friendly, he's making jokes! Best not comment on the progress he's made, because you don’t want to scare him off.

Good luck with that.

He starts following you around like an actual stray cat. You can’t bear to close the door on him, so he’s just always there, hanging out in the doorway, telling you little bits about his day while you brush your teeth for bed. He doesn’t talk a whole lot, prefers to listen to you yap, but he’s shut in his room less and less.

Except for the bad times. Simon goes through phases where he recluses himself again. Sometimes it’s only a few hours, other times it’s days, but he occasionally needs time to himself, and you don’t mind. You still get a thrill every time he appears again, metaphorically meowing at you and rubbing up against your leg.

God, you wish he would. You could use some good leg rubbing, actually.

Is he the rubbing type? He’s never made a pass at you, never touched you at all, and even the times when you’ve hung out together in your room, he always stood politely in the doorway. Always turned his head to the side when you’ve had to open your underwear drawer or spilled sauce on your shirt and had to strip it off. He’s just like that, always aware of your personal space and his, uncomfortable about the two bubbles touching without warning.

When it finally happens, it's you who's surprised.

You've just halted mid-step in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the corner of the cabinets because you swear you just saw something move.

When all of a sudden, and actual mouse scampers across the floor, doing erratic zig zags like it's too scared to decide where to go, and all you can do is scream because it's coming right for you--

A thick arm clamps around your stomach, and your feet abruptly lose contact with the floor. You've completely lost track of the mouse, you're just frozen in shock from the fact that your whole back is glued to Simon's side, and he doesn't even bother to hold you up with both arms as he swivels around searching for where the mouse went.

"Thanks," you squeak, patting his forearm as a signal to put you down. "You're really strong, holy shit."

He grunts like he doesn't agree. "Doesn't take much to lift somebody."

Your feet touch back down to the linoleum, and you just hope your hot face isn't too evident. "Right, uh huh. Cause I could definitely lift you."

"Probably could."

You eye him skeptically, all the way from his socks, to the always-mussed hair at the top of the mountain. "I don't feel like throwing out my back, but thanks for the offer."

"I wasn't offering."

It's just small talk. Regular jokes, with his usual deadpan delivery, but you swear there was something he meant to say in those words. You try to discern them, gazing up into those brown eyes that don't mind meeting yours anymore.

It's hanging in the air, the thing he meant to say. You don't want to try and guess. It's too risky, and you might hurt yourself if you get it wrong.

"What is it, Simon? What's wrong?"

His eyes stutter for just a second, like he's ripping himself out of a train of thought. "I think you should hide in your room while I find that mouse."

Stupid, cockblocking mouse.

You don't sleep well that night. You keep thinking about your quiet roommate, end up having to jerk off at two in the morning just to get a little bit of relief, and your sleep is fretful even after that.

You ask about the mouse the next day, and he swears he not only caught it, but released it in the woods a mile away. There's absolutely no telling if he's pulling your leg or not, so you just drop it, too absorbed in the questions that were haunting you all night.

"I'm not good at... fucking."

Your head snaps up, staring wide eyed at Simon's troubled expression across the table. "What?"

"I've never been with a woman before. At least, not... like this. Wager I'll make a fool of myself, so I might as well get it out in the open."

"Oh. Um." Your heart is pounding, your mind whirling to comprehend how you got here so suddenly. He looks so scared, holding himself rigidly into place without so much as blinking, and you're taking far too long to answer at this point.

"I'm good at it," you finally tell him, hoping it sounds more comforting and less like a brag. "We can figure it out together, if it's something you want to do."

"Okay."

It takes a little while to get there. Some time to find a natural moment to take his hand in yours, for him to return the gesture by wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing your body over to his. But then his hand finds the back of your neck, and he's definitely not a beginner at kissing.

You've wanted it for so long, imagined it so often, that the press of his body against yours almost feels familiar. The seeking movements of his lips, the soft breaths coasting over your cheek. It's quiet and slow, in the corner of your shared kitchen.

He tucks your body into his, lets you saturate yourself in each second of this moment while you both learn the way the other likes to kiss. You end up in your bed soon after, just for the sake of comfort and lining up your mouths a little more conveniently.

It's easy to lose yourself in the safety of him. Your body feels at home in the muscled softness of his, in the thoughtful, patient movements of his hands exploring under your clothes. It feels like he's belonged to you far sooner than today.

His first time isn't perfect, but he makes up for his inexperience by taking his time. Laughs at your breathless, "a hole is a hole" statement, and insists on exploring with his mouth and fingers first.

Simon makes the prettiest noises when he finds your wetness waiting for him. He seems to enjoy the feeling of it on his fingers, sliding them in and out so carefully, studying the textures inside you. He tastes his own fingers, less like a scientist and more like a little kid who's discovering new flavors in the sandbox.

He makes a sound then, a warm, rumbly one, and then pulls his fingers out of his mouth to lean down and find your clit with his lips.

A hole is a hole, but there's something special about whispering little cues at him in the dark, and the way he efficiently adjusts himself, ever the dedicated soldier. A hole is a hole, but you cum like that, with your roommate's strong hand gripping your hip, and his mouth accomplishing exactly the motion you need to draw a slow, brain-melting orgasm out of you.

"Yeah, just like that," you pant a few moments later, shoving his face away from your oversensitive pussy.

Just like that.

[synthe4u]

I don't know if it's a positive thing or a negative thing that I have completely lost my will and ability to herd casual conversations towards more positive and constructive subjects. If we're going to complain and lament then I guess we're gonna complain and lament. Just told our 84-year-old neighbour that my apocalypse plan is to kill myself.

[synthe4u]

Cop: What are your names?

Johnny: Don't tell them, Y/n.

Cop, writing: Y/n...

Y/n: Bloody good job, Johnny!

Cop, writing: Johnny...

Simon:

Simon: Simon.

Cop, writing: Simon...

[synthe4u]

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

⌞ Drabbles ⚚ One-Shots ⚚ Blurbs ⌝

Hidden Truths, 18+

Sore Loser, 18+ (2 pts)

[synthe4u]

prev | blurb directly inspired by this ask to add context! | cw: oral sex, little bit of spiteful, enemy, cocky vibe

The roles are reversed this time, your grip seized tightly around Kyle’s wrist, dragging him along behind you as anger unravels out of your control.

You don’t need to glance back to know the shit-eating smirk he wears on his face. You can tell by the way he takes long strides behind you, not even struggling to match your pace as if your steps are too short and insignificant for him to care.

“Where ya takin’ me?” He asks edges of his words curled tauntingly, like the two of you are playing some sort of game, “Gyms the other way.”

You know that, obviously.

He knows that, obviously.

His stupid voice only makes you more irritated, each syllable dragging a dagger against your skin. You shove him hastily into the first dark closet you find, slamming him against the wall with full force, hope it fucking hurt. You’re determined at this point, fists clenched, and teeth bared, threatening your prey with fangs and claws.

“My turn to make you cum now, okay?”

It doesn’t even take him by surprise, the fucker just chuckles, pleased. “Well, let’s have at it.”

You unbuckle his cargos with a little more vigor than intended, but he’s perched himself against the wall, crossing his arms behind his head like he’s getting comfortable, waiting for you to drop to your knees and suck him off.

It drives you mad, makes you furious, rage pulsing behind your eyelids, so you toss your phone on a spare shelf, pulling up a timer.

He scoffs in disbelief. “Really, you’re gon’ time it?”

You yank his pants to his thighs, hovering your fingers over the band of his boxers, “You made me count, so now we see how long you can last.”

“Good luck with that.” He mutters, indignantly, as if his little game was suddenly ruined.

You fall to your knees unceremoniously, don’t plan to be pretty about the whole ordeal because he doesn’t deserve that. You tuck your fingers confidently into his underwear, tugging them low in one swift motion. An action that makes Kyle inhale a sharp breath through his teeth unexpectedly.

When his cock springs free it’s your turn to snicker, “Doesn’t look like it’ll be too difficult.”

He stands tall, eager, longer than you had imagined him to be. It makes you a little apprehensive, fidgeting on your knees at the sight because you’re not entirely sure you can fit all of that in your mouth, but you mask it the best you can. You’d rather die than let Kyle Garrick know he’s got a big dick.

You don’t necessarily have room to be nervous when Kyle is clearly painfully aroused, darkened tip smeared with a small bead of precum. Your apprehension outweighs his arousal, his smug attitude means absolutely nothing when his cock is leaking and desperate and you haven’t even touched it yet, entirely too excited with your sharp words and combative attitude.

Kyle doesn’t respond to your smart remark, doesn’t have the strength to when your palm engulfs his shaft. You don’t intend to take your time, be gentle in any way because you’re trying to prove a point, so as soon as you start the timer your mouth is on him.

You keep your eyes on his, want to watch the exact moment his smug face crumbles, the minute his ego diminishes into weakness and succumbs.

One broad swipe of your tongue, base to fattened tip, is all it takes.

His eyes flutter for a split second, lips parting to take a deep breath before he conceals it, eyes hardening once again like he wasn’t affected, but you know him better than that, can read him better than he likes to think.

That’s fine, as soon as you wrap your lips around his head his brows crease, jaw tensing, grinding his molars together when you slide lower and lower, taking him inch by inch. You barely get halfway before he’s in your throat, the sensation making you gag reflexively around him.

“Tha’ all you can take?” He snides, tilting his head, “Come on, doll. You can do better than tha’.”

You glare up at him, slightly regretting your situation. You can’t really snarl back when you’ve got a mouth full of his cock. You wish you could tell him to watch his own mouth, you’re not afraid to use your teeth on his precious cock, put him in his place with a few nips. So, you do the next best thing, swallow him down to the hilt, nose pressed to his curly pubes, and suck.

It makes him kilt over, hands flying instinctively to cup your jaw. He curses under his breath, tries to be quiet about it, but you hear it, deep and drawn out.

You build a rhythm, bobbing your head over his length again and again, swirling your tongue around his shaft with each motion. His swollen head kisses the back of your throat with each bob, it stings, each prod burning an uncomfortable stretch that makes tears well in your lashes.

You try your best not to choke or cough around his thick cock. You don’t want to inflate his ego any more than it is, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching fat tears roll down your cheeks. Except when you do look up at him, he’s got his lips parted in a strained moan, the whites of his eyes rolling as you make eye contact.

“Shit, don’t look at me like tha’.” He groans, voice ragged and pinched like it does something to him to see you making a mess of yourself, saliva dripping down your chin.

So, you do the complete opposite, gazing with hooded lids as you slap his cock against the smooth of your tongue. His head knocks against the wall at that, fingers digging shallow indents into your jaw as his balls tighten.

That’s all the sign you need to suction the head into your mouth, fisting his shaft with calculated strokes in tandem. He tries to push you off in response, weakly shoving your head away, but your willpower is a little stronger than his at the moment.

A string of incoherent words slips from his lips, hips involuntarily thrusting into the wet confines of your mouth, seeking out the mind-numbing sensation. He barely gives you any warning before he’s sinking to the hilt in one go, balls smacked against your chin as he lets out a guttural groan.

You swallow it all, licking the salty taste clean from his head as he jerks in overstimulation until he slips from your lips with a wet pop.

“Didn’t even last 5 minutes Garrick?” You mock.

The sight above you makes you chuckle, pride beating your chest because he’s completely spent, eyes lidded and glazed over like his soul hasn’t quite returned to his body.

The timer reads: 3 minutes and 52 seconds.

[synthe4u]

11 / 2476 words / sequel to falling into bed with impolite soft dom gaz

...

The next morning, when you wake up, there's a feeling of dread in your chest. You can't believe you did what you did last night. You can't believe who you did it with. The things you said to each other. Was it too much? Were you too much?

Gaz is already awake, laying face-up with one arm folded behind his head. He seems to be thinking about something. Not a good sign. You mentally prepare yourself. He turns toward you slowly, lifting his head so he's looking over the top of your body. "Good morning, darling."

You swallow, your gaze pulled down to his arms, his chest, his abs, and lower.

"Hi. Um." You drag a hand over your hair, sure it's messy. Sure you just look like a mess in general. "So last night..."

His smile falters. "Yeah... last night was..." He shifts until he's leaning on his elbow so that you two are looking directly at each other. "It was really good."

Your heart skips. "It was?"

"Too good," he says, a playful note creeping into his voice. "You were way too good. You might be in trouble." He smiles at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze.

Your face heats up at his smile. Oh no, oh no. "I... I think this isn't how this is supposed to go. You're supposed to awkwardly offer to make me coffee but lowkey tell me to leave."

"Nah. I think I'll keep you around for a bit. I like you." His eyes are a little soft and a little wicked as he says it. "The way you were so eager to, to..." His voice trails off. He clears his throat and leans slightly away from you. "You're a... unique breed of woman."

You try and fail not to squirm under his gaze. "You brought out some things in me last night. I said a lot of things."

"Yeah, you really did. I don't think I've ever heard anything like it, to be honest. Made me feel like a king." There's a pause. Neither of you say anything. He's watching you, his eyes raking over every inch of your body. "You're my kind of woman."

Your heart beats even faster, and you have to look away as your cheeks go pink. You bury your face back into your (his) pillow with a groan. "Just tell me to leave. Please. At least then I know what to do."

He looks surprised, his voice growing gentle again. "Why would you feel better if I told you to leave?"

You smush your face more firmly into the pillow. "Cause... then I feel like you're being honest about it instead of being polite."

"Ah, I see. So I shouldn't be polite to you?" He leans a little closer to you. "Do you want me to be brutally honest, then?"

You peek at him and nod, face still red.

His look softens. He leans himself over you so that you have to look directly into his eyes. "I'll drag you back in the moment you try to leave."

You stare at him, struck dumb. He has no idea how dangerous he is. That smile, those muscles, that voice, and that personality... Christ.

You sigh into the pillow, feeling hot and fluttery and weak. "You promise?" you croak.

"I promise." His eyes flicker down to your lips, and he leans a little closer still, his voice low and husky. "I promise to ruin you. And if you don't listen, I'll tie you up again to make sure you stay put."

The way he says it... his voice dips into the same commanding tone it did last night, and your body responds immediately. You squeeze your thighs together under the covers. Another wave of heat passes over you, dizzying. "I... see."

"I'm glad you understand. And do you agree?"

"I, ah... if that's not too much. If I'm not too much."

"Are you too much for me? Is that what you're saying?"

You look away. "Sometimes I get carried away about everything and I've been told it's too much."

"Are you telling me I'm not man enough to handle you?"

"No!" you squeak. "You're man enough! Please handle me."

"Then don't ever tell me your needs are too much for me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," you say quickly.

"Good girl." He smirks. "I'll never let you forget that it's my duty to give you exactly what you need." His voice drops again, barely above a whisper. "I'm not planning on letting you leave, and that's all there is to it. Do you have any issues with that?"

You practically swoon. "None, sir."

"Good, good." His voice softens again, fraying into a tease. "That means you're all mine, then. I own every inch of you until you say otherwise."

"Until I say?" you ask.

"Until you safe-word," he says. "Any hint that you want me to stop, and I will. Until then, you're all mine."

"I don't really know how that works," you admit. "I've never had a safe word before."

"It's whatever word you pick. If you say it, I'll stop whatever I'm doing and check in. It's basically a hard stop."

"Stupid question, but, um, why would I ever want you to stop?"

He grins in pure, debauched amusement, his chest momentarily swelling with pride at himself for making you say that. Then he collects himself. "Sometimes these things can hurt and you might want them to stop. Some people might get tired and need a break. You don't have to say it unless you really want to. But you do have to remember it," he adds, voice playfully stern.

You grip your pillow for a moment as memories from last night distract you. "Whatever you want it to be, I guess?"

"Then here's what it's going to be," he says in a firm tone. He's still close to you, leaning on his elbow so his face is right next to yours. "We're going proper old-school with yours. Your safe word will be 'red'. So if you tell me 'red,' I'll instantly stop whatever I'm doing and check on you. Fair?"

"Yes," you say immediately. At his amused look, you flush and scramble to repeat it. "The safe word is red. I don't have to use it, but I can if I need you to check in. Got it."

“Good girl.” He says, the amusement still in his voice. “It’s your responsibility to make sure you know it properly. Remember it. Can you repeat it one more time, just so I know you remember?”

"Red." You already get a little shot of dopamine just from doing what he asks.

He can't help but smile, which he makes no effort to hide. “Good girl.” His nose is almost touching yours as he says it, and he looks very close to kissing you. His voice is low. "I want you to forget this whole act of srhinking yourself down and pretending you don't have needs," he purrs, "and just let yourself have what I want to give you. No more playing it cool with me. Okay, sweetheart?"

A little bit of embarrassment picks at you. "Oh, um, was I being cool? Could you tell?"

“You're not fooling me, darling. I can see straight through that little front you put up. You’re not going to get anywhere by trying to make me think you're too demure to have impure thoughts.” At your abashed look, he smirks. "Just embrace your natural state, yeah?"

"My natural state being...?" You know you're fishing here, but you can't help it.

"A sweet, needy little submissive who wants to be taken care of." His smirk grows ever wider as  he continues. "Who needs me to pick her up and throw her into bed, hold her down, and have my way with her. You can enjoy that. It's only the two of us here, darling."

You practically melt into the bed at his words. "You don't think that's unfair? If you're doing all the work and I'm just... enjoying it? What could you possibly be getting out of it?"

"Control." His voice is still that low, quiet murmur, and he's still so close to you. "The control you give me by being so completely and utterly vulnerable and exposed. You have no idea how many men would kill to..." He takes a deep breath.

"Control? That's it? It just seems like it would be a lot of work to me."

His expression softens. "I live in a world where everything is chaotic and unpredictable, and it's my job to put order to chaos. I want to keep people safe. So when I see someone like you, all powerless and eager to depend on me, it's... validating." He chuckles, letting his knuckle ghost up your thigh. "You need me. It makes me feel like I'm providing you with something you can't get anywhere else. And I get to enjoy your body."

"Oh."

"Last night was really something. Had you ever done that before?"

You look away from him, shaking your head. "I've never been with a man who encouraged me like that. My last boyfriend just told me to tone it down all the time. He wanted me to act more confident. Like a pörnstar, I guess."

"But that didn't make you more confident, did it? Just made you self-conscious."

"I guess so."

“I want the opposite. I want you to become completely comfortable acting and sounding every bit as submissive and needy as you are, deep down. I very much enjoy that part of you. Do you understand?”

"I'll try. If you promise not to resent me."

“The only thing I’ll resent is if you don’t fully let yourself go and let me have power over you. When I give you instructions, you’re not expected to stop and ask why. The answer is that I’m in charge, and you need to trust me to take care of you. I know it's a bit selfish, but that's what I'm asking of you."

"You think you're being selfish?" You blink at him in surprise. "I thought you were giving me permission to be selfish. You're just making me feel good all the time. How is that you being selfish?"

He pauses for a moment like he's reconsidering things from your perspective. "I might be doing things that make you feel good, but it's about my needs, too. I might be taking care of you, but in return I get your complete attention. To the point of obedience. You depend on me to take care of you. When you're willing to submit to me because you need me to satisfy you... it's addicting. Would you do that for me?”

"Yes," you say immediately. "God. Yes. That sounds like a dream."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

He leans closer again, looking as if he's about to kiss you. Instead, he gives you a small, teasing smile. "I certainly wouldn't mind hearing you call me sir in that sweet voice all the time. Anytime, anywhere."

"You mean, like, other than in bed?" you ask.

"Everywhere. At all times," he says, eyes molten.

"You mean you want to hang out together? Not just here?"

"Of course. This isn't going to be a one-time thing, is it? I've been wanting to have you. Now that I've got you, you're mine forever." He kisses your nose sweetly. "So I'd like it if you acted this attentive in public, too. Selfish of me. But you can just be my little girlfriend while we're out and about instead if you don't want to go that far."

"Your girlfriend?" That dizzy feeling comes over you again. "I am? In a real way, or?"

"A real way," he says softly. "Are you okay with that?"

A new wave of butterflies sweeps through you. You fall back into the pillow, feeling like you might pass out for real this time. "Yes."

"You don't realize just how adorable you are when you get flustered." He smirks down at you. His hand drifts down your arm and rests over your knuckles.  "You really have no clue, darling."

You shiver at his light touch. "As long as you think so."

"I know so. If you're gonna keep dismissing my compliments, I might have to do something about it."

You lean up to him immediately, eyes bright as you put your lips next to his and wait, hoping for a kiss.

His smirk grows even wider. "You're a quick learner. You should do that whenever you want my attention, by the way."

"Do what?"

"Look so eager to please me."

Your toes curl. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know what would make you even cuter?"

"What?"

His voice is playful as he whispers back. "If you just begged, I'd be even more pleased. If you could just give a little push and beg me to take you, that would make for a very pretty picture."

You jump at the chance, your brain already half-empty. "Could you take me again? Please? Right now?"

Your words send a jolt through his system more powerful than anticipated. "You little tease. Get on your back for me. I'll take you just like you want."

You fall onto your back immediately and open your legs, staring up at him, shifting and scooting down for him as he hovers over you.

His eyes narrow as he leans back and looks you over, taking in every detail. Your cute, blushing face, your eager expression, and that submissive sparkle in your eyes. He wants you so badly.

“Should I beg like this?” you ask.

He swallows, staring down at you. "Be careful talking like that, love.”

“Why? I’m yours, aren’t I? You told me not to hold back.”

“I’m starting to worry I’ll never recover from this, to be honest. How am I supposed to maintain any sense of humility or decency around you?”

"So the more I boost your ego, the more you want me?"

"Absolutely. And a woman like you... you make me feel like a king. This is nothing but trouble."

"I can make you worse," you say instantly. "I can give you a god complex. If, um, you want me to."

His eyes darken with hunger, pupils blown out. "You catch on too quick. You know I'm not letting you out of this bed until you make good on your word."

"Yessir," you squeak.

"You are a dangerous little minx."

You bite your lip through your smile when you see how your offer affects him. "But I'm your dangerous little minx, right?"

"That you are." His voice is a low, sensual rumble. His hands slide over your palms, pinning them to the mattress, and his fingers thread through yours. "Mine and only mine."

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[synthe4u]

im begging you to make more shapeshifter!141 tormenting witch!reader pleek

since you said pleek :)

65 / 1.1k / part 2 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

...

You pour two warm cups of cloudy sloe ale—one for you and one for Price. You're the only one who feigns enough interest to sip it.

Price laces his hands together and leans forward. "I didn't come for blood."

None of them did, apparently. You curl your hands around your tin cup. He wasn't supposed to come at all. He visits when the moon is full. That was the deal. "I understand that."

Price’s gaze flicks to a bit of drying blood on your hand, and you feel his displeasure at the sight. "Then you also understand my irritation when I learn I've been kept in the dark."

"About what?"

"A number of disturbing reports from the townsfolk."

"Hm." Tension rolls through your muscles before you force them to soften. "I wasn't aware you spent time in the village. Do you visit often?"

Price doesn't like your coyness. His voice loses some of its politeness. "The villagers have become too savvy. They forge protective charms. They invoke holy names. They line the thresholds of their homes with salt and rue." He leans forward. "Now, how would they know to do that?"

You swallow delicately around the lump in your throat. "Old folk tales, I imagine."

"Folk tales?" He chuckles. "They're not paying protection money to cupboard sprites. Old tales don't teach them how to bless trees and cut the lumber into cradles."

"Then I wouldn't know. The villagers don't speak to me on principle."

"Then you have no knowledge of this? You’ve accepted no coin from them in exchange for your talents?”

"You know I'm banned from trading in the village market. The guards would take my head off the moment they caught me inside the walls."

“Maybe so. But there are other ways of propagating information, aren’t there?” Price leans back, arms crossed. “Rumors spread.”

You scoff to sound braver than you are. "They've puzzled out how to keep you away from their daughters. It has nothing to do with me."

Price's blue eyes flicker. "We’ve been quite careful with our food source. Gone out of our way to be discreet. They shouldn't suspect us of being in the area, let alone come up with protections against our kind."

You tilt your head in a stiff shrug. "Maybe Soap let one get away."

"Soap is brash. Not sloppy." Steel creeps into his voice. "He's more likely to bite his tongue off than spill our secrets."

You go to sip your ale again, but Price's fingers latch around your wrist as you raise it.

"Careful with that." His grip tightens as he forces your hand back down to the table. "You'll inebriate yourself if you're careless."

You slowly release the mug. After a long beat, he releases your wrist.

He doesn't say anything else, but you can't meet his eyes. The cold metal of his rings still burns against your skin.

He studies you in silence. The dry glint in his eye tells you he doesn't need to pry for what you're hiding from him. He knows already. But a deal is a deal, and you're under his protection. "Regardless of the reason, our feeding options are suddenly limited. If you insist on keeping my boys half-starved, we'll travel outside our territory to offset your stinginess."

"Fine. We’ll suspend our contract."

"Certainly not."

Your jaw sets. "A temporary suspension of our terms would serve all parties' needs well enough, would it not? You seek your fill elsewhere."

"I will seek it where my needs are most pressing."

"I don't have the means to leave my hut. I assure you I'll keep to myself until you get back."

Price smiles, and your heart sinks. "Another witch might. You?” He hums. “Besides, you know how they get when they're deprived."

You’re hyperaware of Ghost's shadow falling over you. His rough hands cover the back of your chair. It creaks in his grip. You squelch the instinct to cover your blind spot and, fisting one in your skirt under the table to steady your nerves, keep your back to him. You also ignore the gleam of two other sets of eyes behind Price, hovering in the pitch-blackness of your kitchen.

“That’s kind of you,” you say finally, “but there’s no need to be overprotective.”

Price stands. He pours the last sip of your ale out onto the soft dirt floor. You hadn’t even seen him pick it up. "We'll come for you tomorrow night, witch. You'll travel with us."

Your head spins. No, no, this isn't how it was supposed to go. You covered your tracks. You planned perfectly. He can't just uproot you—can't just kidnap you like this.

"No, I—" You stand before you realize it. All four shapeshifters turn back to glance at you. Price looms halfway out the front door. You steady yourself with a white-knuckled grip on the table. "I'm not leaving my home."

Price takes in the defiant look on your face and the tense, brittle set of your body. "No? Hmmm." He rubs his beard. "We're in a tight spot, then. Ghost, what do you think?"

The scars on Ghost's tight scowl gleam in the candlelight. "I think she owes us a meal, and we expect to eat. One way or the other."

Gaz scoffs. "There’s a proper solution."

Soap grins. "We could just take her, you know. Suspend the contract and make her come with us."  His eyes light up. "We could have a lot of fun on the road."

"Not if there's a fight," Gaz says, eyeing you. "She can make real trouble if she wants to."

"No' if she knows what's good for her."

"That's enough," Price says. He looks back at you. "Lads are in a mood. They've been feeding from the villages as a stop gap, and they're not nearly full. Their tempers are short, their stomachs are growling, and they have energy to burn. You understand?” His gaze steadies on your neck. “We'll be back tomorrow night. You'd better be ready to go or else ready to give them a full meal."

Soap’s grin sharpens. The implication is obvious. Payment is payment. If you don't give them what they want, they'll take it by other means.

They turn to go. Ghost is the last to step over your threshold. "Blood won't be enough," he says. Then he's off, a black dog bounding into the night.

...

← part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[synthe4u]

78 / 1.7k / part 2 of remora!reader surviving orca!König's tank for mermay 🦈

...

“Alex? Alex!” Your hands press up against the glass. But Alex—the diver you trusted, the one who you thought was your friend, turns away from you. "Please..."

König watches the commotion from a distance. His hand—palm wide enough to fully engulf a human's skull—flexes in annoyance. Your desperate wailing disrupts the fragile hierarchy of the tank. He tolerates it for exactly fourteen seconds before surging forward with a speed like he isn’t the biggest thing in the tank.

His shadow swallows your smaller form against the glass. The next thing you know, he's snatched your thrashing wrists above your head with one hand and pressed you against the tank's barrier with the other.

"Quiet."

The barked command makes the glass behind your head ring. Net-like fabric floats around his head as he stares you down with eerie stillness. His tail coils beneath you and his body is taut—ready to shake sense into you the old-fashioned way if you wiggle.

Remoras are clingy by nature, feeding off scraps from proper predators. Weakness incarnate. Yet something in your wide-eyed stare pricks at recollections of his own helplessness years ago. He dismisses this immediately.

"Improve your posture before Horangi circles back," he mutters, jerking your wrists higher. "He chews on twitchy things. Understand?"

You stare at him, utterly still. You can't quite make out what he's saying over the roar of blood in your ears. Still, you're careful to keep your tail from brushing his as you hang limply from his grip. You shouldn’t touch an angry orca without begging permission.

König’s pointer finger hooks under your jaw to force your chin up. "Begging makes you smaller." The last word comes out punctuated by a mean poke of his pinky finger’s claw against your neck. "Do you hear me? If you value your pretty throat, stop bleating like seal bait."

You blink up at him, pupils still huge. You swallow and try to choose your next words carefully. What comes out, however, is, "You think it's pretty?"

A beat passes—long enough for Horangi’s silhouette to glide past the tank's far not-coral formation.

König’s exhale bubbles out in a low, irritated tsch that flutters the netting in front of his lips. He pushes your jaw to the side to make you break eye contact. He has half a mind to make you expose your neck, too. Your tiny remora brain must not have parsed his words correctly. "I meant the tendons. Weak spots. Delicate." He makes his voice arrogant and attached. "In that sense, yes."

"Oh." Tendons. You have pretty tendons, then. Your fingertips—still hostage above your head—tap unthinkingly against the side of his fingers. You tilt your neck, opening it to him even more, despite his claws floating around it. "Do you like weak spots? I have a lot."

König’s head tilts. His grip on your jaw shifts—pressing your head back until your entire throat bows taut under his claws. One casual flick, and he could open it up like the human divers unzip their suits. His inky tail presses in to hem you in from below. Not that you're trying to escape.

"You mistake patience for interest," he growls, though his thumb makes another lazy pass over your throbbing pulse. "The question is whether your many weak spots make you worth the effort of keeping alive."

"It wouldn't be. Except..." You let your eyes wander down his body. Then you look away. "Well... No, it's nothing."

"Spit it out."

You wriggle in his grip again and shoot him a coquettish look. "For a mer as big and strong as you, it would be easy to keep me alive. I bet no one ever picks a fight with an orca."

A chuckle rumbles up from his chest. You think you've got him right where you want him until the sound becomes a growl that reverberates through your skull where he's still pinning it to the glass.

"Cringing flattery." He releases your wrists just to splay his hand over your ribcage. The span of his palm covers your torso. "But that's right, foolish schmarotzer. Every fight ever picked with me ends with the problem sinking to the seabed in pieces. Fighting is easy. Easy is tiresome."

He pulls you away from the tank wall and pushes you suddenly downward. After a long descent, your back hits the shallowly-sanded tank floor hard enough to dredge up a bloom of silt. You let out an uncomfortable uff. His palm splays wide against your sternum—not crushing, but containing. Two clawtips press divots into the skin above your heart. "I tire of flattery. Your lines are stink up my tank. Mold your clever mouth around something else."

"What else is there?"

König's answering exhale is a stream of bubbles that pop fizz against your face. The claws at your sternum drag downward, ginger enough to etch thin white lines that bloom pink. “Your tongue is as dull as your teeth. Better to use it for scraping barnacles off my scales. Or" —his thumb presses hard into the hollow under your chin— “begging. But you are much worse at that.” The pressure relents only for his claws to flex around your throat.

A shark’s silhouette passes overhead—Horangi’s lithe form pausing to observe the disturbance before gliding onward. König’s gaze flicks up, tracking him.

You watch him watch Horangi. Begging—for what? Food? Shelter? No, it's not that, you realize, seeing Horangi's brief smirk and feeling König's grip tighten in response. He wants your fear; your unquestioning respect. He wants you something easy under his thumb to beg for his mercy.

Your reaction is instinctive and immediate. You try not to seem as eager to please as you actually are, but you can't help the way your pupils dilate at having found a niche. "Please," you mewl. You clutch his wrist—the one connected to the hand still wrapped around your throat and chest—with eager hands. "Please release me. Throw me to the shark instead; he’ll be kinder." You make sure to say this loudly enough to reach Horangi's ears.

König’s head snaps back toward you, hood whipping through the water. The whites of his eyes flash briefly before narrowing to glacial slits. When Horangi draws closer, nostrils flaring at the metallic tang of adrenaline, König lashes out at him a territorial swipe of his claws. Horangi darts back, but his interest is clearly piqued.

König hauls you upright by the throat and shoulders. “Dummes biest,” he hisses. “You think you can gift yourself to the sharks? Your life is mine. I decide when you become chum.”

To emphasize this, he drags you toward the coral outcropping where Horangi has settled to watch as he sharpens a stolen diver’s knife against a rock. Horangi’s grin widens.

König stops just shy of Horangi’s reach. He thrusts you forward like a fisherman presenting live bait.

“Here.” His voice drops to a taunting purr. “Beg him for death, if you’re so eager.”

You stare at Horangi. You open your mouth but can’t form the words.

Horangi’s golden eyes gleam. He leans in. “Oh? Brave little scavenger—”

König yanks you back against his chest before the shark’s claw can graze your cheek. A low, resonant click rolls through his chest—an orca’s warning—as Horangi retreats with a scoff. “Not brave. Stupid.” He forces your head to crane up at him. “But stupidity is fixable. You want to be shark food? Earn it. Kneel first. Then maybe I’ll let Horangi take a finger. A fin.” His thumb traces your lower lip. “Your impudent tongue.”

You positively squirm as he holds you there and takes inventory of your weak points. You've never been objectified quite like this before. It's thrilling.

You’re rewarded with a sharp jerk of his claws. He bends you, forcing your spine to arch against the solid plane of his chest. You're meant to pick scraps from his kills, but here you writhe as if starved for a different purpose. "You vibrate like a shrimp in a net," he mutters. His big hands drag your smaller frame flush against the lethal curve of his pectoral fins. The scarred edges bite faintly into your hips. He could sand your scaled skin to pulp with a single thrash.

Horangi keeps watching. He scrapes the knife’s blade idly over the pad of his thumb. Then König notices you noticing Horangi noticing you. “Eyes forward,” he snaps at the tiger shark with a low, clicking sound in his chest. “This one is not your chew toy.”

“Fine, fine,” Horangi replies. He stretches and retreats with a curious flick of his tail.

König’s attention returns to you. You’re still not trying to escape. You must enjoy being manhandled. Stupid little putzerfisch. “You lick the hand that throttles you. Pathetic. But…” He drags a clawtip up your neck to tap your bottom lip. “Convenient.”

You resist the urge to catch it in your mouth and suck on it. "Convenient is good?"

"Convenient is tolerable." His finger pushes past your teeth before you can react, the blunt tip pressing down on your tongue. Saliva clouds the water as he drags the claw along the sensitive muscle. "Good would imply you have use beyond this."

You nod obediently. Or you try, but the weight of König's finger makes it difficult. "’M utheleth," you agree around his claw.

He pulls it out with a wet pop. "Useless and honest. A rare combination."

He releases you abruptly, sending you drifting backward in the current. Before you can right yourself, his palm slams against the sand beside your head, caging you beneath the shadow of his dorsal fin. The black-and-white patterning of his tail seems to warp in the murky water.

"You will make yourself less useless starting tomorrow." His claws pluck a stray seashell from the sand and flick it disdainfully toward the tank's filtration system. "Clean this cesspit. Remove debris. Scrape algae from the glass. If I see a single parasite on Nikto’s scales, I will peel yours off and feed them to you." His gaze follows Horangi, who’s now circling the tank’s upper levels with roiling boredom. "And when the sharks demand entertainment," he adds, leaning down until his mask brushes your temple, "you will not volunteer your tongue. It belongs to me."

With that, he shoves off the sand and surges upward, his tailfin disappearing in a cloud of silt.

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more mer au / more KorTac / masterlist

[synthe4u]

your shark mer 141 and mer remora fic is one of the only things keeping me sane during finals week so please please please dump all of your thoughts on us because your writing style is so good and i can’t get enough!!!!!!!

thank you!! i sincerely hope finals are going/did go well for you! you should treat yourself with a little something if/when you're finished :)

and the shark mer 141 are always happy to be of service <3

37 / 1k / part 2 of shark mer Ghost tolerating remora mer reader

...

"But I'm fine!"

“You’re not. Look at you. You’re half-asleep.”

You’re not tired, you’re hungry. You shift against him, listless and unable to voice your needs. It's not that you're unwilling to do so--it's that you can't. It doesn't occur to you. Your kind doesn't survive by acting needy around a host.

Ghost notices your silent resistance. You’re weak--too tired, too hungry, too used to taking care of yourself--and still stubborn enough to keep your mouth shut anyway. He bites back a growl of irritation. It would be easier to fight. At least then he could shout it out of you. But no--instead you’re a tired lump in his hand, and your silence doesn’t give him anywhere to push back.

He's got one arm looped around you and both of your hands grasped in one of his. He only carries you like this, holding you by the wrists, when you accompanying him isn't up for debate. When you're being particularly fussy about it, he drags you by the wrists as if your arms were leads.

You don't relish that thought right now. You finally just bow your head, tucking it against his chest in submission.

He feels the change in your body language when you surrender to his control. He notices the way you go almost limp against him. Good. That almost puts the hungry, prowling animal in him to rest. Almost.

It’s a hard thing to explain--the gnawing dissatisfaction he felt watching you comb through the sand, small and alone on the ocean floor. The protective, possessive feeling that took root in his stomach.

It made him want to bite you all over. Not just to punish you, but to warn any other lurking thing who might confuse your loneliness for attainability. Not that he'd ever express the impulse to do so.

"Are you coming back to hunt again?" you ask him.

“Why? Do you miss me that much?”

You huff. "You didn't eat enough."

His fingers tighten around your wrists. You either have an inappropriate sense of humor or no self-awareness whatsoever.

“You're in a mouthy mood, huh?” he remarks tersely. “Must be even more tired than you look.”

He’s not stupid. He knows why you invited yourself along on his hunting trip. But he’s not going to coddle you while you shy away from the issue.

He glances up towards the coral reef, considering. If he brings you straight home, you'll just go back to ignoring your obvious needs. But he won’t let you wander the sea floor like some starving bottom-feeder. And he knows better than to hunt for you—you always refuse fresh kills.

The ones Ghost offers, at least. You seem willing enough to take fresh kills from Gaz.

Pisses him off.

You open your eyes when Ghost changes course and heads for a small cove carpeted in sandbanks. He dumps you unceremoniously into the soft sand. You look around, then at him.

"Stay right here." His tone brooks no argument. He swims off with an irritated lash of his tail before you can ask him why. You're left alone, moonlight curling across the surface of the water far above you and across the sand at your fins. Watching it makes your eyelids grow heavy.

You wake with a start when he returns. He holds in one clawed hand a fish. A live one.

He comes to rest on the edge of the sandbank. He doesn't speak, merely watching with a critical eye as you shake the sand from your scales and rouse yourself back into full consciousness. Then he holds out the live fish to you.

"Eat."

You frown but reach for it. Right as you lay your hands on it, it darts away. You jump in surprise, but one look at Ghost's face tells you he expected exactly that to happen. He can’t stop a small, satisfied smirk from curving his lips. That was exactly the reaction he wanted, and now you’re staring at him with six different accusations on the tip of your tongue.

His eyes fix on you with that smug, condescending look in his gaze. "Didn't Price teach you how to hunt for yourself?"

"Yes," you snap. You push yourself off the sand and dart after the fish, catching nothing but water again.

“Clearly not well.”

You strike out again. And come up empty. Again.

He huffs a laugh. You turn on him. "What's the point of this? You're the one who was going hunting."

He leans back, propping his weight on his elbows as he eyes you. Every failed lunge and dart bring him more satisfaction. "The point is that you should be able to feed yourself," he retorts. "You're too dependent, sweetheart. You’d starve in a koi pond."

You’d love nothing more than to tell him where exactly he can shove his stupid fish, but it’s far too mentally taxing for you to refuse outright. Instead, you cross your arms in a way that just as clearly says I'm not doing that.

Ghost’s eyes glimmer. He isn’t having it.

He pushes himself off the sand and swims toward you, pushing you back against the bank when he crowds himself over your smaller frame.

"You know” —his expression is downright patronizing— “refusing an order is a bad move. Bad things happen to disobedient pets."

"It didn't sound like an order," you mutter, avoiding his eyes.

He grabs your jaw and forces eye contact. "Sure as hell wasn't a suggestion, sweetheart. If you're not gonna ask for food when you need it, you're gonna learn to hunt." His eyes are hard, and that smug, self-satisfied demeanor is buried far underneath. "You learn or I make you learn. What do you say?"

You swallow. "Thank you for catching me such a nice practice fish?"

"Good pet." He releases your jaw.

He moves back onto the sand, propping himself on his elbows once more as he leans back. His black eyes linger on you, and you feel a chill.

"Now go."

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

[synthe4u]

ok, i know it’s not may any more, but could we please have more mer au. ghost preferably, i just want to shake him around in a bag like that one little girl from finding nemo.

hands you a carnival prize plastic bag with a goldfish-sized mer Ghost inside. feed him twice a day. plastic shipwreck not included. he might look lonely but don't let him convince you to put your fingers in the bowl :)

take the first half of this thing too:

36 / 1k / shark mer Ghost tolerating remora mer reader

...

Ghost doesn’t look back at you as you swim meekly after him. You have to whip your smaller tail twice as fast just to keep up, and you're getting winded already. He makes it look so easy to glide through the water.

"What now?" he mutters.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

“You’re thinking it.”

"I was just--" A huge yawn overtakes your reply. You sink in the water for a moment, scrunching your eyes closed, before huffing and darting after him again. "--Just going this way, too."

He knows you've been following behind him since dusk. You should’ve given up some time ago, but you never learn. He slows imperceptibly, just long enough for your catatonic ass to catch up, and then veers to the side so that you--rubbing your eyes with sleep--bump into him. You rest your hand against his tail instinctively and stick to him with the suction pads on your palm.

Satisfied having you in tow, he speeds back up. "You’re not a very good liar, sweetheart."

You mumble under your breath and hand-climb up his back until you're nestled between his shoulder blades instead.

Lazy little thing. Pain in his ass.

Despite grumbling, he does nothing to dislodge you from your spot. You seem to be having a difficult day, and he’s primed to make it worse. You’re the perfect target. When he has the energy--like now, at night--bullying you is his small pleasure of choice.

Then again, he can feel the way you’re pressing up against him, small and clingy and cute as hell. It takes all his willpower not to roll over and stow you against his chest instead.

You remain blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. You’re more concerned about the emptiness in your stomach.

"You're going hunting, right?" you mumble against his shoulder.

 “Trying to,” he says.

You’ve been tagging along on hunts for days, but you haven’t managed to snag any good scraps in a long while. But maybe tonight, when it’s just you and Ghost. "Mkay."

He keeps waiting for you to get in the way and then pout when he inevitably brushes you off. Instead, you’re silent. It’s bugging him.

Then, scanning the coral, he catches sight of a perfectly tasty-looking snapper. He puts your attitude out of his mind and instead tenses up to begin his hunt. You’re with him, so why worry. Watch and learn.

You peer past his shoulder curiously to see him work. His back muscles tense and shift as his eyes track every one of the fish’s movements. Then he bolts forward faster than the fish can dart away. It whips around in reflexive panic right as he snatches it in one fluid movement.

You watch over his shoulder as he kills it with a practical snap of the spine and begins to disassemble the creature piece by piece, eating the flesh and letting the bones and fins fall to the ocean floor below.

His focus is intense: attention trained on the task, his fingers work as precisely to strip flesh from bone as his jaw works on shredding the pieces of snapper he tears off into his mouth. The muscles in his shoulders ripple beneath your coiled-up body. As always, he moves with efficiency and a certain brutal grace, never wasting a single movement. It's the lethal behavior of a predator, yes, but falling into the repetitive, methodical habit seems to satisfy him.

You unfasten yourself from his back while he's absorbed in his task. The bones and bits of uneaten flesh sinking to seafloor have your interest. You swim after them.

“Don’t go far,” he warns after you. He’s not worried. There’s nowhere you could venture out here that he couldn’t find you within minutes.

You collect the scraps and eat what you can--mostly skin and fins, and they leave you feeling almost as hungry, but you're used to it. Ghost needs the food more than you do, anyway. You glide lazily over the sea floor to comb the sand with your fingers in hopes of finding another snack. Maybe a snail. A crab if you're lucky.

The search leads you to the edge of a long sandbar. It’s about a thousand minnow-lengths at its widest, and there are various shells and bits of debris scattered across the surface. You start to prowl the sandy floor for food, fingers stirring up soft sand into the water.

Ghost’s voice calls out somewhere behind you, but your exhausted brain isn't as reactive as it should be. If you could just find one or two more bites to eat, you think. You tug what looks like a crab carapace out of the sand, but it's just a strawberry-colored plastic bottle. You keep searching. Keep finding nothing of value. You come across a pile of barnacles, shards of coral, small rocks, a stray fishing lure you gnaw on just to be sure...

But no, nothing worth eating.

Your stomach rumbles again. You’re too tired and unfocused. Your movements are slow and clumsy, your senses dulled. You barely hear a sound until a hand comes down on your tail from behind and grabs you.

You jerk and dart away in surprise.

Your movement wrenches a sound from Ghost--a gruff huff of annoyance as he lunges after you. You're fast, but not fast enough. He catches your tail again immediately, dragging you back into his control.

"Idiot," he scolds. "I told you not to go far. If I had been a predator, you'd be dead meat right now."

You relax into his grip instantly. "Oh. Yeah."

He looks at you in that unamused way that says of course I was right. He looks you over with a critical eye. Your eyes are half-open and your muscles are slack. You must be exhausted.

He turns and heads for home with you still in hand. "Right, then."

You see what's happening and wriggle in his grip, hunger gnawing at you again. "Wait, aren't you hunting?"

"No." He's quick and harsh with his response. He doesn't appreciate unnecessary questions. "You're going home. Hunting can wait."

…

[part 1] / part 2

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

[synthe4u]

so the million sand dollar question for the mer au............. which of the sharkies tries to dp reader with both his cocks at the same time just to see her blubber and tear up and squirm under him?? its ghost its totally ghost he would fucking do it like the sadist he is

Mer Ghost would have you doing things you're a little ashamed of in the morning, you know what I mean? (❤´艸｀❤)

...

54 / 1.4k

kinktober keywords: teratophilia, monster fucking (mentioned)

You toss and turn in the sand, unable to enjoy your sunny spot. You smooth your hands over your tail scales.

Gaz looks over from where he's sunning his tail. "What's wrong, love?"

"I'm still sore from last night," you mutter.

"That's what you get for trying to play with the big boys, sweetheart."

"It's not my fault the big boys wanna play with me."

"You tempt your share of attention. And then you go and bite off more than you can handle."

Soap's head pops up from Gaz's other side. "Don't remember hearin' her complain last night.” He smirks. “Matter a' fact, it sounded like you were enjoyin' yourself. Price was givin' it to you good, sounded like."

You huff and turn your back, crossing your arms and curling up on the warm surface of the sand. Stupid sharks.

"Wee pout if I ever saw one." Soap reaches a thick arm over to you to drag you between them. You wriggle away from his grabby hand. On your other side, Ghost--who you thought was napping--speaks up.

"Wasn't Price," he says simply.

"Ghost, shhhh--!"

Soap's head snaps up. A sly grin spreads across his face. You're supposed to keep to Price's bed at night. Everyone knows that.

Gaz's brows twitch almost to his hairline. "Sneaking out to fool around with Ghost. You're gonna be in big trouble when Price finds out."

You extricate yourself from Soap's claws and dart around to Ghost's other side to put him between you and the others. You press yourself into his chest, wishing to bury yourself under him like a big, bristly rock. Your scales are hot with humiliation. 

He gathers your small-fish frame against his chest and rests his enormous clawed hand in your hair. "Was it supposed to be a secret?"

Gaz chuckles. "She's a busy girl these nights."

Soap circles over to rest on your other side. The seawater ripples off his tail and tickles your back in the worst way. "So," he says, smug, "what did you do to make her sing like that?"

Ghost's hand tightens in your hair, drawing your small form closer still, until your head is tucked into the crook of his neck. His tight grip feels more possessive than protective. "Nothing she didn't beg for."

"You can't prove that," you mutter.

Ghost scoffs. "As if anyone here hasn't heard you beg before."

"Come on," Soap says, his hand sliding over your lower back and making you shiver. "What'd you do to make her sound like such a needy wee thing, then? Inquiring minds want tae know."

"She likes to play rough, that's all." Ghost's hand threads through your hair and pulls until you arch against him. "You want to tell them exactly what you asked for?"

You look abashed. Your eyes flick to his for a moment before you look away. "I don't remember."

"I remember." Ghost's voice is deep and rough, practically purring. "You asked for it so nice, too." His hand slides under your chin, making you look up at him. "Thought I'd have to put my hand over your mouth, you liked it so much."

Gaz lets out a low whistle.

"You're so mean,” you mumble.

Ghost grunts. "And yet you still come back for more, don't you. Against Price's rules."

"You're not gonna tell him. Right?"

"I could be convinced."

"Aye, me too." Soap skims his finger slowly down your back. And then your ass. His implication isn't subtle. "Vigorously convinced."

You frown. Then you look at Gaz for help.

Gaz smiles in a way that just betrays how much he's enjoying this. "Me? I've got no problem keeping a secret. Them, on the other hand..."

You try to dart away, but as soon as you're out of Ghost's arms, Soap is upon you. He presses you down into the sand easily. His hand closes around the small of your back like a manacle. "And where do you think you're goin'?"

You huff because you like it when he lets you get away the first time. He likes a little chase, you know he does. But then, you guess he doesn't want to look slow in front of the other sharks.

He grins down at you, all teeth. "You want us to keep quiet, aye?"

Gaz slides over to watch, enjoying the show, the bastard.

You switch up your strategy and instead try to look as helpless and nonthreatening as you can. It comes naturally. "You wouldn't get me in trouble on purpose, would you?"

"Not a chance. Me? I'm such a good boy."

"You're not," Gaz says mildly.

Soap shoots a glare over at him that would make a lesser mer wither. Then he returns his gaze to you. "But you shouldn't rely on the goodwill of others. Didn’t Price teach you that?" He leans in close, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "There's so much fun to be had by gettin' you in trouble. And it's so easy."

You give him a doe-eyed look. "Then I'm so lucky I have you to protect me from nasty mer who would take advantage."

Soap's smile turns a little dangerous at that. You both know perfectly well he's the worst behaved of the bunch.

"I am the best," he agrees. "And I take care of my remora. You know that." His hand on your back starts trailing down to press against the base of your tail. "And you're a very good remora, aren't you?"

"Um. Yes?"

"Except that problem with telling the truth," Ghost points out.

Irritation overtakes your sweet facade for a moment. Still pinned to the sand, you lash your tail and glower at Ghost. "You're gonna get in trouble, too, if Price finds out."

Ghost chuckles. "Give her here, Soap."

Soap frowns at him and lifts you up and over to Ghost's arms.

Ghost tugs and turns you so you're flush against his front, your smaller frame pressed right up against his chest again. "I'm not scared of getting into a bit of trouble when it comes to you."

"Oh?”

"That’s right."

Soap sees the way you relax into Ghost’s scarred arms, and he scowls. "Well, maybe you should be scared.”

Ghost chuckles. "You should keep your mouth shut."

Soap sulks. Ghost is unshakable. He can rile Soap up all day and Soap can't get away with retaliating against Ghost the way he would anyone else.

But before Soap can retort, Ghost turns you around, your back to his chest, and sits you on his lap. Suggestively. Very suggestively, given how he presses and then leisurely rubs himself against you. "Soap wants to know what we did last night. How about we show him?"

You shudder as he bumps up against the base of your fins in that way that makes your mind fog over.

His big hands smooth down your sides. "You remember?" he murmurs in your ear. His eyes fix on the way Gaz and Soap watch. "Last night. Me taking my time, going slow and making you wait for it. You remember that?"

You settle your hands over his as he pets you. "Yeah..."

"Did you like it?" Ghost asks. "Slow and steady... warm and tight..."

You huff. "Too tight, maybe."

Soap makes a strangled noise in his throat.

Ghost brushes his teeth against your ear fin. "You liked it, though. You want more?"

You look back and forth from Soap and Gaz. They look very, very interested in your answer. Gaz is trying to maintain the façade that he’s not bothered, but his body language says he's having a hard time tearing his eyes away. Soap isn't even bothering to try, his blue eyes practically glowing, his gaze raking your curves. Their eyes on you send a thrill deep into your center.

"Well... maybe. If we go slow."

Ghost laughs, his rough voice a warm rumble. He starts a slow exploration of your frame, clawed fingers sliding over all the best parts. "We'll go slow," he promises. "We'll show Soap and Gaz how slow we can go."

...

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

[synthe4u]

thinking about how Price expects remora to stick with their routine and will push them along if they laze about but it just made me think of his reaction if remora is genuinely ill or injured or something??? surely he’s not going to force his precious remora to work when they’re poorly…

75 / part 3 of shark!141 after remora reader gets attacked

...

Somehow, Ghost cornering you and cleaning your infected wounds seems to have made your body finally register its own exhaustion. As soon as you start to rest, you crash. You sleep far too long in your shallow reef cave. Your daily chores--waking and tending to Price in the mornings, pleasing and indulging him and the others--go undone. All you can do is curl up and sleep as your body and mind heal themselves.

Still, you try to shake yourself awake a few short mornings later to meet Price before his patrol. You know he has a low tolerance for laziness. He expects even you to rise above your weaker nature.

You hover just inside the mouth of his cave and muffle a weak cough. "Good morning, sir?"

Price’s cave is dim. The silhouette of his massive frame shifts in the shadows. He doesn’t answer right away--just stares at you from where he’s half-propped against the cave wall, watching the way your tail fin flutters with the effort of keeping yourself upright.

When he finally speaks, his voice is rough with morning weariness. “Come here."

Yes, good. You can work with that. You dart to him--a little wobbly, but still--and lay your small hands on his shoulder to begin grooming his skin and hair. Price is perceptive, but no shark has good eyesight. And you're practiced in the art of hiding your own injuries. Your survival around bigger fish has always depended upon feigning smallness and sweetness. You draw your hands up the back of his neck and into his hair in a gesture you know he likes--and you feel him relax. Relieved, you keep massaging his scalp and plucking algae and debris free.

Price exhales through his gills. The tension in his shoulders eases under your touch.

His hand rises. Calloused fingers brush your wrist. Not to stop you--just to note the way your pulse flutters against his grip. Too fast; too warm. He presses his thumb into the delicate bones of your wrist. "Where have you been?"

You don't fight his grip. His larger, rougher palm comforts you. And you don't want to rouse his suspicion. He has better things to do than bother with your silly needs. "Sleeping in, sir," you tell him. You hover near his ear and speak quietly. Sweetly. "Lazy of me, isn't it?"

"Lazy," he repeats, voice flat. His thumb drags along the underside of your jaw and tilts your face toward the faint light filtering into the cave. His eyes narrow at the way your gills flutter unevenly.

A low hum vibrates through his chest. He doesn’t call you out--just shifts his grip to the back of your neck and pulls you down against his chest. "Sleep, then." The hand smoothing down your spine is firm. His tone more than suggests you have no choice, to say nothing of the way he curls his tail around yours to anchor you in place. "You’re no use to me like this."

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3]

more mer au / more price / masterlist

[synthe4u]

i hurt my own feelings by imagining how shark mer ghost's insomnia might get worse if remora mer reader got attacked/hurt by a predator while he was sleeping somewhere else

74 / part 2 of shark!141 after remora reader gets attacked

...

Ghost’s grip anchors you in place. His rough palm spans nearly across your back and reignites the sting of half-healed wounds. For a moment, to your sleep-deprived, terror-stricken, paranoid prey brain, he’s not Ghost—just a much larger mer with you trapped in his grip.

You twist, but it accomplishes nothing besides grinding your cheek further into the cold, cave-white sand floor.

"Stop squirming," he snarls. The command lacks its usual bite. The sand swirls around you both, stirred by the agitated flick of his tail. His grip tightens as you struggle. "You think I'm the one you need to fear? Look at you—panicking over shadows. You're damn lucky it's me and not some actual threat."

Your heart hammers in your chest. The first time you pluck up the courage to venture out into the water since the encounter with the barracuda mer--driven by hunger--and here's what it gets you.

"Breathe," Ghost orders. "Before you pass out and make this even more of a mess."

You go limp. "Are you gonna kill me?"

Ghost exhales sharply through his gills. "Shut up," he mutters. "If I wanted you dead, I'd be picking you out of my teeth." His thumb presses into the knotted muscle of your lower back, right where the deepest claw marks still ache. You skipped the fucking patrols. Skipped letting anyone check those wounds while you fussed over everyone else. That's what gets you killed. Ghost focuses on the most inflamed gash near your shoulder blade. Sand packed in the wound. Smell of rot starting to set in. A growl vibrates through his chest. Apparently you'd let it fester over accepting help.

Ghost dips his head and sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder--not breaking skin, but applying enough pressure to freeze you in place. His tongue swipes harshly across the infected lacerations. Saltwater and enzymes sting through the detritus. He's... cleaning you. Roughly. Your fingers flutter and thread into wet sand. The dual sensation of pain and the unexpected intimacy send conflicting dizziness up your spine. This isn't right. You should be the one cleaning him.

The pressure of his jaw keeps you from jerking away. His free hand pins your wrist to the sand when your fingers twitch toward his ribs. Like you could ever push him off. You're hyperaware of his strong prey drive and your own instincts to freeze. You don't dare to even squirm. Still, his teeth press harder in a silent warning.

His tongue drags over the inflamed tissue again, methodical despite the violence of the gesture. The scrape of his rough tongue against your wounds burns—not just from the salt, but from the sheer wrongness of it. A shark mer shouldn’t be debriding a remora’s injuries. Shouldn’t be this close or handling you this way without intent to maim or breed. His teeth graze the edge of a half-scabbed gash, testing the give of the tissue. One sharp jerk of his head could tear it open. Instead, his tongue laps another stripe over the wound, slower this time.

Finally, the scrape of his teeth retreats to the safer press of his lips—still firm, still controlling, but no longer threatening to break skin. His grip on your wrist eases.

A shudder works through you. Not fear. Not quite.

He doesn’t lift his head until the marks are flush and pink with fresh irritation instead of festering neglect.

"Stay still."

Sand resettles around you as he reaches for a clump of nearby kelp and rips it free. His movements are efficient as he presses the kelp’s gel against the wounds to seal them.

So that's why he chased you into the cove at the edge of the kelp forest. You hadn't even noticed you were being corralled. You do your best to keep still and prone in the sand despite the overwhelming urge to peer at him over your shoulder. You focus on the sting of his rough healing instead.

Even when curiosity wins out, he doesn’t let you look. One broad hand presses between your shoulder blades to keep you down. The other works the kelp into the wounds with a clinical sort of brutality—no gentleness, just efficiency.

The kelp’s cool gel seeps into the inflamed tissue, to soothe the burn of his rough cleaning.

His voice is a low rumble against your spine. “You don’t get to hide in the reef and rot.” The words are harsh, but the way his other hand shifts to cradle the side of your neck—keeping your face from grinding into the sand—isn't.

He doesn’t elaborate, either. Just drags you upright by the scruff of your neck and shoves you toward the open water. “Swim. Before I decide you’re not worth the trouble.”

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist

[synthe4u]

Hear me out, HEAR ME OUT:

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

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

took liberties :)

73 / remora reader and shark!141

...

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

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

"Quit terrorizing the cleaner fish."

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

"I'm not playing," you mumble.

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

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

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

You startle. Price? "Is he mad?"

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

"I have not!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod and lower your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more mer au / more Soap / more Ghost / masterlist

[synthe4u]

MAFIA AU! TASK FORCE 141 x MOB BOSS GF! READER

( head cannons / might turn into a series )

( master list )

more

Feel free to to request more scenarios with this au LOL

Notes: poly, reader is described as on the shorter side, age gap, daddy issues (reader has a bad father), inappropriate jokes/themes mentioned

YSL, red bottom shoes, sugary cocktails, leopard print, faux fur, y2k, mcbling, lana del rey, cigarettes, mob boss wife…

- When people join the mafia, they expect tough muscled men, maybe a few scarred women carelessly waving around guns. What they don’t expect is you

- You’re an interesting sight, perched on Price’s lap like a little trophy, freshly manicured nails tapping away at your phone screen as you play a game

- You don’t care about whatever meeting you’re in, you aren’t even listening to Price’s rather gory plans. You’re too busy deciding what to have for lunch

- Nobody can look away from your pretty pout as you discover your favourite drink is temporarily out of stock

- Price was the one who found you first. Your father was indebted to the mafia and what better way to force him to pay than taking his precious daughter? Price found it strange how you were so willing to leave your father but it made sense when you told him the truth

- Your father wasn’t a good man. He had blood on his hands and he never cared much about you or your mother. You were thankful to find a way out, even if it meant going with a strange (but equally handsome) man

- You belonged to Price first but his property was Simon, Kyle, and Jonny’s as well

- “Jonny, is this skirt too short?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

Jonny glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Nah. It’s all good, bonnie. I can fight. ‘Sides, shorter skirts makes it easier to bend ya over.”

- Simon loves sharing his cigarettes with you, especially when you kiss him and transfer the smoke into his mouth. The best part is seeing your lipstick stain the end of his cigarette

- Price buys you lots of clothes and accessories. You’re never not draped in the most expensive jewellery he can find. Gaz is the one buying you heels. For some reason, he has a knack for choosing the best shoes

- Seeing you waltz around in your short skirts, lace tops, and clicking high heels is enough of a reward for the four men

- The rookies love the sight of you but you’re forbidden fruit. You belonged to their bosses who did not like to share

- When there’s talk of a rat among the mafia, your four lovers do not take it kindly. They need someone to infiltrate whatever plot is brewing up. Luckily, they have you. Nobody in their right mind would pass a chance on being able to get a taste of your strawberry-flavored lipgloss

- “Oh my gosh, it’s giving office siren.” You say, excitedly tugging on the tight, short-sleeved blouse that Ghost is shaking his head at.

“It’s too short.” He mutters, “Ain’t there a ‘nother size?”

“It was the only one. Sorry, baby.” You sheepishly smiled at your lover’s displeasure. “Anyway, how do I look?”

Clad in that damn white blouse, a short pencil skirt, and thinly rimmed glasses, you were a vision.

“You look like you’re ’bout to get some action when ya get back.” Kyle says, nodding over at Soap who’s staring at you shamelessly.

“How ‘bout this, lovie?” Price steps forward, “If you do a good job, we’ll give you a little reward. Sound good, yeah?”

( please note that for the cod tag list, you will be tagged in all the cod fics i post, not just this one lol )

COD TAG LIST (COMMENT TO BE ADDED/REMOVED): @galactict3a

[synthe4u]

businessmen 141 are handling some lost revenue after hours at the office.

johnny, gaz, and simon are grilling the guy about where he actually put his embezzled funds while price watches with a cigar and glass of whiskey.

they all stop and stare as you, the janitor, comes in to clean the head office.

there’s a beat before you shout out sarcastically,

“oh my god! i’ve been struck blind! i need to go home.”

you immediately leave.

you come back the next day with an envelope of cash in your locker and a note.

sorry about that, lovie. don’t worry, we cleaned up after ourselves. thanks for keeping our business within the company.

signed,

gaz, johnny, simon, & john

[synthe4u]

Pt. 1

Your obsession with the four men kept growing inside you and two days later, you found yourself once again close to the surface. It was easy to spot them, the water around you and them was deserted otherwise. Well, at least if you didn’t count the fish and other sea creatures.

Always keeping out of sight, you watched as they enjoyed their time in the water. Whether they were swimming, diving, snorkeling or just playing around, you stayed nearby. One on hand, you wanted to keep them safe. The sea was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, having to fight against bigger predators daily. But…there was something pulling you to them as well. When you first saw them, you were scared. After all, every time you met humans before, they tried to take you. Wrapped their hands around you, sometimes even used nets. But you always got away somehow.

“Oi! Johnny! Come back here!” You peeked out from behind the rock you were using to hide and saw one of the men on a floating thingy, slowly drifting out to sea. He was fast asleep, not realizing how far off he had gotten. Suddenly, your heart started to beat faster as you realized that he began to drift out to an area that was known for its strong currents.

Not thinking, you dove under the water and swam to him as quickly as you could. By the time you reached him, he seemed to have woken up, but he had also been caught by a current. Although he wasn’t threshing around, you could sense the panic boiling inside him.

You breached the surface right next to him and could immediately hear the others yelling at him to stay calm. But when the man caught the movement next to him and saw you, he shrieked and tumbled off the weird thing. The moment, he hit the water, he was pulled away by the current. You quickly grabbed him under his arms and pulled him back up, using your fin to keep you both afloat. “Wha-” He sputtered, looking at you with wide eyes.

You looked right back, still holding him, before motioning for him to hold his breath. The moment he did, you dove back under and pulled him along, using the strength of your fin to navigate the both of you out of the current and back towards the beach, where the others were still waiting.

As soon as it was shallow enough, you let go of the man and turned around, about to swim away, when someone else called out. “Wait!” You hesitated, glancing back to see an older man with a beard, slowly walking toward you. His hands were raised and you quickly realized that he was the man that freed you. When he noticed that you weren’t about to bolt away, he lowered his hands again and smiled at you so sweetly. “Thank you. For saving that idiot.” He pointed to the still gasping individual, who, even though he looked as if he had just swam an atlantisthon, still managed to grin at you and send you a wink. “Aye, thank you bonnie.”

You were quickly joined by the other two, but the one that spoke first, made sure they didn’t get too close, so they wouldn’t spook you. “Do you…Can you understand us?” You slowly nodded, and the man chuckled, looking at you with sparkling eyes. “That’s good. My name’s John. These are Johnny, Simon, and Kyle.” You took all of them in. They looked like warriors, well built and covered in scars - some more than others - but they also looked so…nice. Not something you ever thought of the mer-warriors. Quietly, almost too quiet, you whispered your own name back, your voice breaking, not used to you speaking. The man repeated it just as quietly, almost as if trying how it sounded from his lips and you couldn’t help but smile at all of them.

And so, an unlikely friendship began. Every day, you would join them on the beach, show them tricks, win breath-holding contests and play with them. At some point, late at night, you found yourself sitting in the shallow water with the silent one of the group. Both of you so still, that fish had started to swim around you. With a smile, you started to play with it, not noticing Simon staring at you. “You’re beautiful.” Wide-eyed, you turned to look at him, surprised to see him smiling softly at you. Your mouth opened and closed, not knowing what to say, but he just leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, before getting to his feet and trudging back to the building on the beach. “See you tomorrow.”

The next day, you noticed them growing more affectionate. Their touches more intent and lingering for longer. Their bodies were suddenly much closer to yours and their eyes were constantly on you. But when John gently cupped your face while the others were getting food from inside, you pulled back, fear in your eyes. He looked surprised, stunned, and confused. “I-I’m sorry if that was too much. I promise I would never do anything without your permission.” Your chest heaved as you breathed quickly, fear clawing at your heart. “W-When humans kiss us…we…we become human too.” John’s eyes widened and he stumbled back, stuttering further apologies, but you just turned around and swam away, still scared. But at the same time, there was a small voice in the back of your head, asking if it truly would be so bad to be a human. To be with them.

Pt. 3

A/N: Still inspired by @beloveds-embrace. I love you!!

@totalapathy @soniiyi @littleindulgences @terrifiedanimegirl @harmonysonata @dotmistbird @z-wantstowrite @small-mean-dwarf @kthehoeforfictionalmen @limeleag