#have some slimy rings instead

[honourablejester]

Homebrew Magic Items: The Viscous Rings

Three Viscous Rings for the Oozing Kings …

Viscous, NOT vicious, although the wearer may vary. Heh. So. I love oozes? And I wanted some vaguely ooze-themed magic items. And as I was thinking about it, it evolved from a single item that likely did far too much, to a set of three linked magic items on a theme of slimy things.

RING OF GREASE

Wonderous Item, Uncommon, requires attunement

This broad, flat brass ring has a thin line of a shiny black material running around the centre of the outer circumference of the band. Although it looks like enamel or perhaps a dark stone of some kind, this band is actually an imperturbable line of magical black grease. While the wearer is attuned to the ring, they gain a +2 bonus to skill checks involving the use of thieves tools or tinkers tools, as the ring gently loosens stiff components and eases the control of moving parts. In addition, the ring has 3 charges, and regains all spent charges daily at midnight. As an action, the wearer can expend a charge to cast the grease spell from the ring, without any verbal or material components.

(Note: I was browsing tools to see what ones would reasonably be affected by a ring of WD40, going broadly with thieves and tinkers, musing about jewellers, before my sister pipes up ‘what about bard’s tools’, and it takes me a minute to get innuendo most of the time, so it took me a second to throw a dirty look her way. So, you know. Make what allowances you will).

RING OF SLIME

Wonderous Item, Rare, requires attunement

This strange ring is made from an unknown greenish metal stained deeply with a darker green verdigris, and appears to have been less cast or carved and more simply cooled straight from a molten state into a strange, drippy circle. When worn, it gradually stains the finger of the wearer a permanent green around the band. This stain can only be removed by application of a lesser restoration spell or other similar magic. The ring has 4 charges, and regains 1d4 charges daily at midnight. Once attuned to the ring of slime, the wearer can use a bonus action to expend a charge and coat themselves and their equipment in a thin, greenish sheen of slime, extending from the ring. This slime lasts for 10 minutes, and grants the following benefits:

All checks made to grapple or restrain the wearer have disadvantage, and the wearer has advantage on all checks or saves made to avoid or escape grapples or restraints.

The wearer gains a +2 bonus to AC, as attacks slide off the coating of slime.

RING OF OOZE

Wonderous Item, Rare, requires attunement

This oddly beautiful ring appears to be carved whole from a piece of slick, clear, polished crystal or glass, but in truth is carved from a piece of petrified ooze. The ring has 6 charges, and regains 1d6 spent charges every day at midnight. While attuned to the ring, the wearer can use an action to spend a number of charges to summon one of the following ooze: gelatinous cube (2 charges) or black pudding (3 charges). The summoned ooze manifests in an unoccupied space that you can see within 60ft, and disappears at the end of 1 hour, or when it drops to 0 hit points. The ooze is an ally to the wearer and their companions. In combat, the ooze shares the wearer’s initiative count, but it takes its turn immediately after theirs. It obeys the wearer’s verbal commands (no action required). If the wearer doesn't issue any, it will move towards and attack the closest non-allied creature it can sense.

THE VISCOUS RINGS

If a single wearer becomes attuned to all three of the Viscous Rings simultaneously, they gain the following additional benefit:

As an action, the wearer of the three Viscous Rings can cause themselves and all their equipment to enter an amorphous state. While in this state, the wearer gains blindsight to a range of 30ft, and can squeeze through a space as narrow as 1 inch wide, carrying all of their equipment with them. This state lasts for 1 minute, unless the wearer uses a bonus action to remain in the amorphous state. Once the wearer has existed in this amorphous state for 10 minutes, either continuously or in separate 1 minute increments, they cannot enter this state again until they finish a long rest.

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Harassed (Shanks)

Imagine doing some shopping when a strange man won’t leave you alone.

Warnings: some violence, reader is harassed and threatened, reader is a badass

Word Count: 1143

(Not my gif)

You couldn’t remember the last time you stayed on an island this long. It must’ve been years ago, long before you met him.

Traveling had always been a desire of yours. To traverse the world, discovering different cultures and landscapes, that was your dream.

And you’ve been living it gratefully for years.

Of course, it’s always nice to spend more than a few days ashore once you have the opportunity.

Your Captain has business on this tropic island, and you’ve been enjoying the leisure time that this gives you.

Right now, you’re shopping at the local markets, admiring the bright jewelry and clothing that the various vendors offer.

A raucous laugh sounds off behind you. You ignore it, minding your own business, even as you hear a loud whistle.

“Hey, pretty lady,” a man’s voice says.

You continue ignoring it, instead reading the price of a beautiful red jewel.

This apparently aggravates the man trying to get your attention. He grabs your shoulder roughly, expecting it to be easy to turn you towards him.

You remain in place, stronger than the man anticipated.

After he removes his hand, you turn to him with a frown, “May I help you?”

He’s a tall man in a nice suit, not too shabby looking. Too bad his personality is rotten. Behind him are five more men in similar fashion. You take clear note of the weapons strapped to their sides.

“I was talking to you,” he growls. “I don’t like being ignored.”

“I don’t like being hassled,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“I was just saying how gorgeous you are,” he explains with a slimy grin.

You turn on your heel, “Thanks.”

“Hey!” He shouts, getting closer to you so that you can feel his breath. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Do you know who I am?” You ask pointedly.

“You’re a pretty piece of ass that needs to be taught a lesson,” he scowls, stepping back. “And we’ll gladly be your teachers.”

Disgust washes over you.

“Are you trying to hit on me? Because you’re doing a poor job of it. And you’re wasting your breath- I’m already taken.”

“I could take you better than he ever could,” he tries to argue.

Your laughter is impossible to hold back, “You’re delusional, you aren’t even near his level. You should stop talking now.”

A smirk forms on your lips as you watch the man shake with anger. His eyes are alight with rage at being shot down and humiliated in front of his friends.

Meanwhile, you’ve mentally checked out, comparing the red of the jewel to your man’s hair. He loves seeing you in his colour.

A loud click goes off near your ear, the kiss of cold metal on your temple a warning not to move.

“You’re gonna regret speaking to me like that.”

You step back from the market stall, shooting an apologetic look towards the owner. The poor girl looks terrified.

One of the man’s lackeys has pulled his gun on you, standing much too close for comfort.

Unimpressed, you shake your head, “How immature.”

“I’m going to-“

He stops as a malevolent aura suddenly appears, causing sweat to form on his brow.

“What exactly are you going to do?” A deceptively calm voice speaks out, followed by footsteps as a red-haired man approaches.

The man in front of you has gone paler than a corpse, shaking just like the man holding the gun against your head.

“Red-Haired Shanks,” a man near you whispers in terror.

They seem to be grasping the situation now. Although, you could have handled the situation just fine on your own.

You smile at your man, who raises a quizzical brow.

“These guys bothering you?”

Before you can reply, the hassler interrupts, “Please, sir we had no idea-“

A gunshot rings out and the gun pressed against your head suddenly falls as the man collapses in a display of bright red blood.

Infuriated, you kick out, knocking the guy to the floor next to his dead buddy.

“Shut up. You should have respected me regardless of who I associate with,” you deliver a harsh kick to his side before pressing your foot on top of his chest.

“Scum like you are less than worms to me,” you grit out, adding more pressure until you hear a sickening crack of a broken rib and the man cries out in pain. “You never know when to quit.”

You reach out a hand towards Shanks and he hands you his sword without hesitation. None of this dimwit’s posse do anything to try and help their leader.

They know it’s a battle they could never win.

With a graceful flick of your wrist, the man below you is impaled through the heart. A clear message to anyone watching.

You fix your gaze on the remaining losers, “Don’t harass people, okay?”

They nod profusely, muttering nonstop apologies as they retreat quickly.

You crouch down to wipe the blood off of Shank’s sword, handing it back with a smirk.

“Darling,” he sheathes his weapon, moving closer to you and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “That was stunning.”

“Shanks, I was handling it just fine before you showed up,” you say, passing a glance over his shoulder to offer a smile to Benn Beckman. “But thanks for the assist anyways.”

“I know, but you know how I get seeing someone get so close to you,” Shanks says, looping his arm around your shoulders. “Especially when they threaten what’s mine.”

You grin, pressing your lips against his and nipping at him playfully.

“Why didn’t you deal with them sooner?” He inquires once you break away.

“Maybe I wanted to play the part of the damsel for once,” you tease. “Seeing you all protective and possessive gets me riled up.”

“Vixen,” he laughs, “You knew I was watching.”

“I always know, Shanks,” you wink at him. “Just like I know you’ll buy this for me.”

You show him the jewel that perfectly matches the shade of his hair.

He laughs, handing the money over to the shopkeeper, “I could never deny you, Y/n.”

He embraces you again and you lean into his warmth, inhaling the familiar scent of sake and sea breeze.

“I think I’ll have it made into a ring, that way everyone will know you’re mine.”

The grin that breaks onto your face is enough to brighten his whole lifetime.

He hugs you closer and presses a chaste kiss to your head.

He’d never let anyone else touch his treasure, he’d destroy anyone if they tried.

But he also knows you can fend for yourself, one of the many qualities that he adores about you.

You take his hand, leading him down the market, “Now you’re stuck shopping with me~”

He can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

[sxulcxtcher]

( human sacrifice sub , eldritch god reader … dare i say tentacles , mind break , size difference, double penetration , dubcon - aphrodisiac , intoxication )

my demons got to me, sorry…

every hundred years, a random individual would be “sacrificed” into the cavern you adorned as your home. he was drawn in the so called “lottery” and dressed up to be given to you.

he was rather nervous at first, no one knew what was occurring in that cavern so a majority of the citizens assumed instant death. however, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

“mg-mgghmf—?” the way your tentacles slithered around his body, quickly restraining him and gagging him in a rather lewd way. from the corner of his eye, he watched as your rather tall figure snake your way to him. it almost seemed like you were hovering had he not noticed the mound of other tentacles in place of your legs. “you will… suffice.” you mumble, eyes hovering up and down the sacrifice’s restrained body.

he let out a muffled yelp as your slimy appendages pulled him closer. “what a beautiful bride they sent me this time.”

you moved your tentacle off the other’s mouth, watching him gasp before coughing. “bride? b-bride?” he repeated in a rather frantic manner and watched you lean down to meet his height. “of course.”

he flinched feeling your cold hand brush against his cheek, your imposing demeanor contrasting your gentle touches. with a soft brush against his bottom lip, you leaned down far enough to kiss him <3

rather romantic at first, he couldn’t help but writhe against your hold as you snaked your tongue down his throat. a snake-like forked tongue that got longer and longer for every second you held the so call kiss.

with an audible pop, you retracted your prehensile tongue and watched as the poor boy melt in your appendages. “i noticed eons ago, when other sacrifices would consume my saliva - they would become an absolute mess.” you spoke, although there was no way he could hear you.

his eyes were bleary with tears, body flushed with his skin burning to the touch. “some component in my body creates this sort of aphrodisiac that creates such… a perfect bride.”

he didn’t even realize he got undressed - well he didn’t undress himself. he was way too out of it to notice the cool air nipping at his skin. you were holding up his body with your tentacles, with his legs ever-so-gently cracked open to better present himself to you. the poor sacrifice was already hard :( the tip of his cock leaking and twitching with anticipation.

“what a perfect meal.” you murmur and lift up the other’s body to you. your hand gripped on his thigh, you pressed your tongue flat against his abdomen before sliding the muscle up to his chest. he mewled in response, squirming under your hole before staggering.

a tentacle of your slid against his puckered hole, tracing around the ring before inserting itself inside. what a beautiful cry he let out, feeling your slippery appendage press and prod against his walls. “N-nnm- a-ah— g-ggods..!” he threw his head back as he felt your tongue flicker against his nipple.

“M-muhh… mmerccy…” he sobbed and gasped feeling the tentacle press deeper within him. his shoulders’ tensed up, feeling the pressure inside of him build up before suddenly disappearing. the appendage slipped out and traced around his entrance…

instead, there were two pressed up against his hole. one pushed itself inside, wriggling around for a moment before hooking itself to one of the sides of the other’s walls. just as he finally understood what you were doing, the second tentacle pushed itself inside - snug beside the other one.

you hummed as you felt a warm liquid spurt against your upper chest and lower chin. cute, he came from that. “oo-ouuhh~! ghh- s-shht ttoo m-mmuuch~!” he deliriously moaned out, such sickly sweet noises escaping his lips. you kept yourself attended to his now perky nipples, stimulating his body even further.

he couldn’t breathe properly, feeling the tentacles slide in and out of him, producing so much slick in the process - he could hear it dripping onto the floor beneath you two. as one would pull out, the other would thrust inside and press against all his sweet spots. it was borderline insanity.

he could feel himself on the brink of cumming again, but before he did - you pulled out both tentacles and left his hole a gaping mess. “a-aauh..?” mouth agape, he weakly lifted his lip head up to see you unsheathing your cock…

inhuman in nature, it was big and barbed. granted the barbs didn’t look painfully sharp, just seeing how massive you were compared to him had him nervous. “w-wuh-wait—”

he started, “i-it’s— ah, t-too b…big…” he rather obviously commented. you snickered in response and lifted him up to position yourself against his hole. “you’ve been blessed by me personally, i’ll be sure you experience pure ecstasy.”

he whipped his head back as you pushed your entire length into his body. his muscles tensed up, his thighs, calves, all the way to the tip of his toes locked up. he was so breathless, he swore he could feel you hit his ribcage.

you grinned seeing yourself inside him, the sheer size of your cock making such a clear outline against the other’s stomach. his cock spurted in response, leaking out juices before falling limp like his body.

“as i expected. you were perfect.”

—

hiie (^_^) sorry i’ve been extremely busy as of late… i feel bad for neglecting everyone here but everyone gets busy once in a while :(

so i made an extra long story!! (〃ω〃) i hope you enjoyed it… this story isn’t beta-read as per usual, i’m sorry for any grammar mistakes!

i wish you the fondest of days~

- 🎀

WOOOF WOOOF WOOOF ARTSWTFFWTFWTFWT

"Thank you 🎀 anon" we all say in unison

[constantcrisis19]

Domestic Bliss

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I was thinking about starting a new series of one shots about a reader who is married Ghost so, while this will be the first story I post, it won't necessarily be the first in the timeline. I promise that it'll all make more sense when write enough fics to necessitate making a masterlist.

Word Count: 2,449

Main Page

You watched with a wide grin as Gaz nearly snorted coffee out of his nose at Soap’s recount of his earlier demonstration at the demolitions range, a truly impressive display that you just so happened to be present for, the resulting blast so big and so loud that you had stopped in your tracks in order to stare wide eyed at the bright flashes of light and dark plumes of smoke along with the rest of the recruits.

You still vividly remembered the truly manic expression on Soap's face as he’d watched the chain reaction go off, the crazy Scot standing as close to the resulting explosions as he could without injuring himself while everyone else with a modicum of self-preservation stayed further back.

You noticed a familiar figure prowl into the canteen and eagerly waved to Ghost, inviting the masked man to join you. Ghost didn’t even pause his stride, instead he simply redirected his course to begin walking towards the table that you, Gaz and Soap were currently occupying.

"Hey, babe." You greeted Ghost as you absentmindedly fiddled with the wedding ring that you kept on a silver chain around your neck. You’d been married to Ghost for six years now though had known the man since you were both stupid kids.

Unfortunately, you had moved away when you hit high school and the two of you had ended up losing touch with each other over the years, so it had been a pleasant surprise when you met again in the SAS when he was still a Sergeant, the two of you often being partnered with each other on ops since you worked well together.

The two of you hit it off one you got past the awkward pining stage of your relationship and then it wasn't long before you were getting hitched, the wedding taking place a few months before Simon went to Mexico in order to take down the Zaragoza cartel with that slimy fuck Vernon and came back... different.

Quieter. More paranoid. Broken.

As usual, Ghost’s only response was a brief dull stare and a sharp nod in your direction, though you never took his antisocial tendencies to heart. He sat down on the empty seat next to you, taking the mug of coffee that you slid over to him, and though Ghost was more fond of tea than coffee, he never turned down your cup when you offered it.

“Soap was just telling Gaz about his demonstration earlier.” You clued him into the conversation as he lifted his mask up just enough to uncover the lower portion of his face, lifting the mug to his lips in order to take a swig of the steaming contents, his resulting slight grimace at the taste forcing you to turn your head away in order to hide a smile.

“Aye, Lt. Yew shuid ‘ave been there, it was glorious.” Soap sighed whimsically, you and Gaz sharing an amused look at Soap’s usual antics since he never failed to either wax poetically or confess his undying love for bombs and explosives and such at least twice a day.

"Not interested." He dismissed bluntly, his expression flat, but despite his curt tone it was fairly obvious to you and anyone who knew Ghost that he wasn’t intentionally being rude. His standoffish behavior was mostly because he was emotionally stunted, which meant that he typically defaulted to being curt when he was actually just too tired or wound up to deal with any high-energy conversations.

“That’s just because you don’t have a thrill-seeking bone in your body, old man.” Gaz quipped, finishing off his cup of coffee before grabbing one of the muffins out of the container you’d brought with you. You and Ghost had managed to get some time to yourselves yesterday so you went off base and spent the afternoon out in the nearby city and you had decided to get a treat for the other three members of the 141.

“Ha! Better be careful, Gaz, we wuidn’t want him tae break a hip tryin’ tae teach yer sorry arse a lesson.” Soap added with a shit-eating grin, Ghost pausing with his mug halfway between the table and his mouth, his dark eyes darting over to a cocky Soap, who confidently met his gaze.

“You’re both such fucking shitheads.” You said with a laugh, placing your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your palm as you watched the ensuing showdown with blatant interest. And, since popcorn wasn’t exactly available at the moment, a muffin would have to do.

With your free hand you reached out across the table and took a muffin for yourself, taking a bite of the fluffy bakery item and humming softly at the pleasant taste.

Ghost blankly stared at the two smug men sitting across from him and he was quiet for so long that you began to wonder if he was even going to respond. Though, after a few seconds had passed, he finally spoke. “We’ll settle the matter on the mat. 1300”

The smile was quickly wiped off Soap and Gaz’s faces at the prospect of fighting Ghost, even if it was strictly for training, because Ghost was known among the recruits for being ruthless even while sparring, people who dared to go up against him coming out with bruises and even the occasional dislocated bone.

“You both are so gonna eat your words.” You cackled, pulling your hand out from under your chin in order to grab one of Ghost’s hands from where they were wrapped around his mug of coffee, lacing your fingers together and resting your intertwined hands between the two of you on the tabletop.

Ghost turned his gaze away from Soap and Gaz and stared at you for a few moments before looking down at your joined hands and sighing, lightly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. You bumped shoulders with him, basking in the heat that always seemed to come off the man in waves

“You’re clingy today.” Came Ghost's flat reply, his voice containing the slightest hint of amusement, and you playfully shoved at his shoulder with a half-hearted scowl, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms over your chest instead.

“You’re such an ungrateful ass sometimes. I’ll have you know that I’m a total catch, cuddly or not.” You declared petulantly, barely able to hold back your smile when you saw Soap snicker out of the corner of your eye.

Your shove as well as your bold statement was rewarded with a faint smile spreading across Ghost’s exposed lips, the man’s emotions being much more apparent without the mask there to hide his various reactions. Though that’s not to say that it was impossible for you to tell what he was thinking when he did wear the mask since Ghost had really expressive eyes and you had several years of experience reading every subtle shift of his gaze.

"You love it." Ghost said, his flat tone was broken by a small hint of sarcasm and humor, his voice growing slightly amused as he shifted slightly to face you with a dead-pan look.

"Unfortunately." You sighed dramatically before leaning over to plant a fond, chaste kiss against his fabric covered cheek.

"Love you too, sweetheart." He said with all the enthusiasm of a brick wall.

"Love you more, stud-muffin." You said with a quirk of your brow. It wasn't a secret that one of you and Ghost's favorite games was to see who could come up with the most ridiculous pet names for the other, and you both indulged in the game so often that even other members of the 141 would play along, the game never failing to escalate and get everybody involved all sorts of riled up.

"Love you most, dandelion." His words sounded teasingly sarcastic and dry as he called you 'sweetheart', and you could have sworn that you heard a tinge of humor in that flat tone of his as he spoke.

“Aren’t you two adorable.” Gaz sighed dramatically and you flicked him off, petulantly sticking your tongue out at the other man, Gaz giving you a wide grin in response.

"Everyone shut up and let me finish my breakfast in peace." Ghost grouched, grabbing a muffin from the container and pulling a piece of the top part off, one of his quirks being that he always eats the muffin top first before moving on to the rest.

"Anything for you, pookie." You ribbed at Ghost, hearing Soap give a bark of laughter from his seat across from the two of you at the dumb nickname. You raised a brow at Ghost when he gave you a judgemental side eye, daring him to try and one up you.

“How considerate of you, buttercup.” Ghost commented neutrally, his tone dry, and you tilted your head at him, raising a questioning brow at him.

"What’s with all the flowery pet names? I expected more creativity from you, doll face." You sighed with a mock-disappointed sigh and shake of your head.

"You aren't worth the effort, honey." He deadpanned. And, while Ghost may have seemed to be insulting you from an outside perspective, it was fairly obvious going by the mirthful glint in his eyes that he was just teasing.

"If I can force myself to laugh at your shitty dad jokes, then you could at least try to think up an imaginative name for me." You said with a smile, just so that Ghost would be able to tell that you were mostly joking.

“Believe it or not, I'm not trying to impress you. You're stuck with me either way." Ghost shrugged, Soap giving a low disbelieving whistle at the bold words as you rolled your eyes.

"I think that it's safe to say that we've officially left the honeymoon phase of our relationship then." You chuckled good-naturedly, placing a hand on Ghost's thigh and squeezing before just letting your hand rest there as a soothing weight since Ghost never seemed to mind your touch.

"We're way past that. We've been married for six years now and we know each other's quirks and ticks." Ghost paused for a few seconds, pulling off another bite of muffin before continuing on. "We know how to get under each other’s skin, but I still wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me neither, love bug." You smirk in thinly veiled amusement and triumph, and Ghost dropped his holier-than-thou attitude and rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname.

"You always know what to say to lighten the mood, honey-bun." Ghost drawled as he stripped the wrapper off his muffin in order to begin digging into the bottom half of the baked treat, his voice sounding equal parts sarcastic and genuine.

“Yew two are fuckin’ cracked, a true match made in hell.” Soap piped up as he started in on his third muffin, crumbs covering the majority of the table in front of him. And though some people found Soap’s messy eating habits disgusting, you actually thought his toddler-esque way of eating was somewhat endearing.

“You’re just mad cause you weren’t able to be Ghost’s best man at the wedding.” You replied with a cheeky grin, leaning across the table to flick Soap’s scarred eyebrow.

“I dinnae even know Lt yet! An’ it's not my fault tha’ yew impatient bastards cannae ‘ave waited a couple more years before gettin’ hitched.” Soap was quick to defend himself, abandoning his food in favor of gesticulating wildly as he complained.

“Fuck off, angel face.” You said good-naturedly, placing your palms flat on the table and leaning into Soap’s personal space, the man mirroring your movements.

“Never, ya wee feral bairn.” He shot back without missing a beat as he shifted even closer, slowly but steadily closing the distance between your faces.

“Teddy bear.” You happily continued your banter with a mischievous grin, pushing forward until your noses were practically brushing as you stared each other down.

“Both of you shut it.” Ghost interrupted your battle of wills, grabbing your forearm and gently pulling you back down into your seat, his hand sliding down your arm until he reached your hand before lacing your fingers together, squeezing in a wordless reprimand.

“So, how was the wedding? Seeing as we weren't there.” Gaz broke the companionable silence that had descended over the four of you, popping the last of his muffin into his mouth before washing it down with the last of his coffee.

“An’ who was Ghost's best man?” Soap tacked on almost as an afterthought as he leaned back in his seat as far as he could get away with without losing his balance and toppling over ass over teakettle.

“First of all, Price was the best man, which is only fair since he's the one who introduced us to each other.” Well, more like reintroduced, but you weren't about to get hung up on the schematics.

You brought your shoulder up into a nonchalant little shrug, absentmindedly tapping the fingers of your unoccupied hand on the tabletop aa you ignored Gaz and Soap's twin looks of surprise in favor of continuing. “And our wedding wasn’t anything over the top. It was just a small ceremony in a secluded church with a short guest list. We both agreed that we didn’t want to make a huge fuss.”

“And you were cool with a modest wedding? No extravagant flowers or decorations or cake?” Gaz asked, his brows furrowed and you could see where the confusion was coming from since the media made most people feel like the average wedding was supposed to be huge and expensive.

Though that being said, you wouldn’t necessarily have minded something lavish like that, you just didn’t really feel that all the fanfare was necessary for you and Simon. You were both well aware of how much you loved each other, so you mutually agreed that you didn’t need some big ceremony to prove your devotion to each other.

“As far as I’m concerned, all I needed was Simon.” You said, turning your gaze to Ghost and bringing your joined hands up to your mouth in order to plant an affectionate kiss onto the back of his hand.

Ghost stared at you for a short moment, looking a bit caught off guard, before he managed to pull himself together. He moved closer, leaning down and tilting his head in order to place his lips against yours in a soft kiss, letting the connection linger before pulling away just far enough to speak, his breaths fanning intimately across your lips.

“And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that you’ll never want for anything else.”

[tasteofthedivine93]

Attention (18+) 🌶️🌶️ - COD Fanfic

TasteOfTheDivine // Masterlist

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55605286 Rating: Mature 18+ (MDNI) Category: F/M Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Relationships: Captain John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader // Captain John Price (Call of Duty) & Reader // Captain John Price (Call of Duty)/Original Female Character

Warnings: None Words: 5,432

Summary:

Pent up and bursting with rage, you try and calm yourself down. However you find you cannot pleasure yourself to competition. You ask your Captain for help and in return he gives you a lesson.

Notes:

Part 4 of the "Callsign: Foxglove" series but all can be read as stand alone but there is somewhat of a story progression and mentions of the other stories. Enjoy! This was gonna be part 5 but think part 5 might (maybe) be the last of this little series. But we'll see! Have one more started but could be the last. Attention - The Weekend

As soon as your feet land on the tarmac, you feel the rage start to spill over. The bad guy got away again, and seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Shoddy intel and sloppy work from the outsource Shadows team left you, and the rest of the 141, struggling and behind. Which resulted in failure.

Practically kicking in the door to the locker room, you frustratingly remove your helmet and throw it across the room. The plastic clatters against the lockers, rattling metal rings around the room. Normally you try to keep composure, you keep a level head as you were taught and is ingrained into you. But once in a while, you just explode. Your mind was racing with bitter thoughts of wanting to scream and shout at someone, at Laswell, at Shepard, even at Price - which made your heart shiver with icy blood. No, you don’t want to yell at him, it’s not his fault. But deep down in your stomach, you know he should have done better.

You tear off your tactical vest, feeling the weight of it constricting your breathing, dropping it to the floor. You still feel as if you’re being bound by a snake, and you are metaphorically, the bad guy still has you in his slimy grasp.

You feel your hands start to tingle with anger, the cortisol initially rushing through your blood starting to dissipate and soak into your muscles leaving you achy and vibrating with anger.

The boys hung back a while, they knew you needed a moment alone. But they all were bone tired and needed to strip and get some rest while they could. Soap was first to walk into the lion's den. The stomping of his combat boots made you turn to him, eyes practically shining red with anger. You take in a few heavy breaths through your nose at him, twisting your face into a scowl.

Soap just stares at you, bracing for the worst - a violent tongue lashing but instead you just shake your head at him, softening your gaze and dropping onto the bench below you placing your head in your hands. He turns away and starts removing his helmet and vest and throwing them to the side of the room. You let out a sigh, raising your head and stare at the Scot. You could tell he wanted to speak, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow and twitch of his jaw.

“Go on, just… say it” you snap with a sharp tone.

Soap just continues to remove his tactical gear, ignoring you. Ghost and Gaz soon enter knowing it’s safe. They all undress in silence, while you feel your leg shake, you grip the edge of the bench and continue to feel the cortisol pump through your veins. Gaz and Ghost quickly retreat, while Soap stands in front of you, arms folded and frowning. You look up at him.

“What?” you hiss.

He smirks at your crassness.

“Go let off some of this steam before we’re reported for the post-brief.” He points his finger at you, “I danne want your attitude reflecting on the team. Go scrap with a recruit, run 10 miles, have a wank, I danne care how you calm down, just do it.”

He simply turns away, leaving you a little taken aback at how blunt he spoke to you. You’ve never been one to blush at the boy's comments before, the crass jokes, the stories of one-night-stands, the random sex discussions to pass the time. But hearing him tell you to actually pleasure yourself made your stomach flip.

You sit in silence in the locker room for a while, taking in deep breaths. However it’s not working. You feel too tired to do anything physical, maybe Soap is right? No, you wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

With heavy feet you march yourself to your private quarters, stripping off all your dirt and blood covered clothing. You enter your private bathroom and turn the shower on full, the hot water already steaming up the mirror. The power of the jet and the temperature started working on your tired muscles, you could feel the anger slowly dissolve but there was still an itching under your skin.

Slowly you wash your hair, caked blood and dirt slowly wash down the drain and you feel ten times lighter. Grabbing your favourite (and expensive) bodywash, you slowly caress your skin, letting the lather soften your hardened dermis and sweet citrus scent penetrate your nose. You explore your body, lathering up every inch. Slowly you squeeze your flesh, massaging yourself and easing the tense muscles. You let your fingers slowly wash over your breasts, kneading the plump tissue and letting your fingertips graze nipples, the sensation already sending shockwaves to your core. Letting out a sigh, you let your fingers dip to your core, you weren’t turned on, not in the slightest, but you knew having an orgasm would help - Damn it, you hate when Soap is right.

For a brief moment you remember back to when you and Price were stranded out in the cold and snowy forest and you bravely masturbated in front of him for warmth. You have a flash of worry that Price told the boys what occurred in that tiny cabin. But you shake your head of those thoughts, he wouldn’t tell. He’s a good man and doesn’t really indulge in the crass talk and sharing secrets.

You let your fingers glide over your clit, rubbing slowly at the bud and you let out a sigh. Letting the water warm your body still, you start to loosen up. Not before long, you start to feel that tightness in your stomach, you quicken your pace while your other hand squeezes at your breast, thumb and finger pinching your stiffened nipple. You feel a smile on your lips as you get closer to your orgasm, fingers circling faster and faster as you reach the peak but… nothing. You don’t feel anything, maybe a slight tingle in your lower back but not your usual burst of pleasure. You feel your lips turn downwards into a frown, your shoulders sink and you remove your hands from your body.

Maybe I’m just too worked up. You think to yourself.

Exiting the shower you dry off and dress in a simple vest and loose shorts. You towel dry your hair and leave the bathroom, a trail of steam following behind.

You feel a little disappointed you didn’t get your release. Maybe I need something more than just fingers? Flopping onto your bed you open up your bedside drawer and reach for your vibrator. Turning the device, you place it straight on your clit, the vibrations felt much better. You sink into your bed and let your mind wonder, thinking about porn, about previous lovers, about Price. The smirk returned to your lips as you thought of Price’s cock in your hand, about his tongue lapping at your clit. You’ve yet to experience such an orgasm as that day, nothing can compare.

Your hips start to twitch as you come closer to the edge, you turn the power on your vibrator up and squeeze your nipple over your vest. You quietly let out a few moans as you feel the tightness about to snap, you hold your breath but… nothing. The sensation fades away again.

“FUCK” you shout into the room. You remove the toy from yourself and throw it onto the bed, you ball your hands into fists and shake under the frustration.

You flop onto your side and let out a huff. Out of curiosity you dip your fingers to your hole to find yourself not that wet, even after 10 minutes of using your vibrator. You think about maybe watching some porn, reading some smut but you don’t have the time but mainly the patience to get horny just to have a quick wank.

Closing your eyes, you squeeze them shut out of frustration. You feel the anger bubble up inside you again, annoyed at the fact this one simple task was meant to help you, not make it worse. You get out a sigh, thinking back to Price under your cunt, lapping at you and his thick fingers inside your fluttering walls. You feel that twang of warmth in your lower abdomen, your clit twitches at the thought of him. You swear you feel yourself getting wet at just the idea.

Picking up your phone, you open your texts. Biting your lip you open your chat with Price, which is bare to say the least, mostly time and dates of meetings and replies. Closing your eyes, you think back to being bent over his desk and how easily he made you cum. You needed his help. You needed him.

Opening your eyes you quickly type out and send the text without hesitation.

Sir, I need your help… please.

You eye the text, anxiety and arousal bubbling in your stomach. You feel a hot flash over your chest and cheeks. I cannot believe I’m asking him.

The three dots appear and disappear a few times. Your mind races with thoughts of what on earth he could be typing. You go to type “nevermind” but a simple-

Okay

-appeared on the screen. You let out the breath you didn’t realise you were holding and sat up off your bed. You toy with the hem of your vest, pulling at a loose thread. It hadn’t even been 2 minutes and you were already doubting everything, despite many risqué encounters, this would be the first time you’re asking him to touch you.

Boots stomp outside the hallway and gradually get louder as they reach your door and stop. There was a pause before a gentle knock rapped the room. Despite knowing he was there, the knock still made you jump in your skin. You plod over to the door, pursing your lips as you swing the door open.

Eyes meet soft baby blues. You feel your lips part and your shoulders relax at the sight of him. But then you feel a non-existent chill, your spine shivers and you see the scowl on his face.

“What do you need, Foxglove?” he practically growls at you, voice still hoarse from the shouting and continuous chain of cigars from the failed mission. His face wary with exhaustion and frustration.

You feel your mouth turn dry, you forget to speak for a second. Blinking, you remind yourself of why you asked for his help in the first place, the ache between your thighs pulsates.

“I - erm… i just wanted you… to… “ you fumble over your words, biting your lip anxiously. You can feel the annoyance emit from Price as he folds his arms, waiting for you to make a coherent sentence. Your eyes flicker to the bulging on his arms from under his short sleeved t-shirt. You see them everyday but right now they look delicious.

“To what? Love.” He’s not mad, he called you love, but his voice sounded somewhat annoyed. Your eyes meet again and you feel a blush on your cheeks. You bite your lower lip, chewing at the flesh.

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry. I know you’re busy.. I just… fuck…” you stutter out, eyes drifting downwards. You hate feeling so weakened around him, you normally hold your own and remain strong and stoic. But god, you needed release, you needed him.

Before you can even look up, you feel his strong hands on your shoulders, the warmth of his skin soaking into your shoulders. He gently pushes you backwards and takes a few steps into your room and kicks the door behind him shut. The bang makes you flinch.

“I can make time for you, what is it?” His voice low and soft, it vibrates in your chest again, shooting down to your core.

Shaking your head, you let out a huff from your nose. The irritation is bubbling back up in your stomach and you just blurt out;

“I can't cum. I’m trying to let off this… pent-up frustration I have from the mission and I just…” you look up at him through your lashes and whisper, “I just can’t seem to cum.” You feel his fingers flex on your shoulders at your blunt honesty. He squeezes you gently as if to control himself.

He frowns at you, not a scowl, but a frown. You feel a pang of guilt or fear in your stomach. He narrows his eyes at you, taking in a deep breath through his nose.

“You called me here… taking me away from important business…” he turns his gaze away from you, smirking. His beard twitching as he tries to hold back a laugh. You scan his face, landing on his piercing blue eyes and see they remain soft, despite his hardened expression. You knew he wanted to play, he wanted to play cat in your cat and mouse game. So you’ll let him.

“I just… can't do it myself… I need you.” You whisper that last part, playing into your ‘damsel in distress role’. Even though you’re a firecracker on the team - the boys know not to mess with you, pull your strings etc, you do love to use your wiles on them from time to time. Boys are so easy to manipulate.

You feel his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, but not enough to hurt. Before you can even process his reaction, he swiftly turns you and pulls your body flush against his. You can feel his warmth against your back, his arm wrapping strongly around your shoulders, pulling you closer into him. His other hand snaking around your waist and trapping your arms to your sides as he grinds his hips into the swell of your ass.

He bows his head, beard grazing your cheekbone and jaw, ticking you a little and hisses into your ear;

“You’ve taken a high-ranking officer away from his desk after a FAILED mission…” you start to let your head loll forward but Price’s reaction is too fast, he cups your jaw and pulls your head back and up sharply. His lips still pressed against the shell of your ear; “Because your fingers can’t make your pretty little cunt cum?”

His grip on your waist tightened and he pressed his hips into you again, you started to feel his cock harden in his trousers. You let out a mixture of a moan and grunt at being restricted and try and nod your head in response.

“Must I do everything for you?” He grunts and lifts you off the floor, you let out a squeak and he drags you over to your floor-length mirror. He drops you back down on your shaky legs, turning your face towards the mirror. You meet his eyes in the reflection, black and blown out with desire.

“You’re gonna watch, so you can do it yourself next time… hm?” His breath was hot in the shell of your ear. His grip on your jaw was uncomfortable, he tilted your face so you were square on to the mirror. You wiggle in his grasp. You didn't realise you had a kink like this, you feel a small drip of slick escape your needy hole into your shorts.

“I know you can follow orders, eyes forward again, don’t you dare close them.” He nips at your lobe and you feel your eyes slowly close at the pleasure. He notices straight away and he pulls himself off you for a moment. His hand strikes your ass, the slap echoing loudly around the room. The sharp pain vibrated through your muscle and warmed your core. You can feel yourself getting wet already and you smile at his reflection.

Price returns his hold on you, fingers pressing into your arm holding you steady. With no hesitation, his free hand snakes around your hip and he swiftly pulls down your shorts exposing you, they fall to the floor with a soft thud. Without even asking; you open your legs, the cool air of the room over your hot cunt sends a shiver down your spine. The sight of you being so obedient and damn greedy makes Price groan and he grinds into your ass again.

He doesn’t even waste a second, his fingers cupping your mound and already working your over sensitive clit. Your breath hitches and you suck in air at the touch. The warmth of his fingers felt like heaven, the pads of his fingers felt like electric shocks as he circles over your bud. You let out a few moans, hips rocking in time with his movement but he places a gentle slap to your hip.

“No, if you want to cum, you’ll stay still and let me do it for you.” He hisses. You nod, already breathing out of your mouth from the pleasure. “You need to learn to be patient.”

He smirks at your reflection and kisses your jaw, down your neck and grazing his teeth along the apex of your shoulder. His hand returns to your soaking core, he ignores your clit and gently glides his middle finger through your folds, parting you open. It takes all your power to not grind into him, to rock your hips. You see your nipples are poking through your thin vest with your arousal. Your eyes dart over your body, watching as it twitches under Price’s hold.

“You gotta play with this tight hole of yours.” He mutters. “But tease it first.”

You bite your bottom lip as he begins to toy with your hole, gently circling the ring of muscles and teasing you with just the tip of his finger. His fore-finger and pinkie resting at the apex between your core and legs. You feel yourself wiggle as you try and insert more of him into you. Commanding as he is, Price nips harder at your bare trapezius, punishing you slightly. You let out a pathetic whimper at the pain as you watch intensively at the reflection as his fingers become wet with your slick.

Your eyes meet again, his once blue gentle eyes now black and blown out with desire. He plants his tongue flat against the mark he left on your shoulder, soothing the sting. A panting moan escapes your throat and you tilt your ass into his throbbing erection tenting his trousers. He lets out a hiss, eyes still locked on to each other, he slowly sinks two fingers into your molten core.

“I know you can take two straight away sweetheart.”

You feel your eyelids flutter but you don't break your gaze, slowly he glides his two middle fingers into your tight cunt, you feel the stretch immediately. The tips slowly sink further into your velvety walls and stroke over your g-spot, causing you to moan deep from your chest. Once he was knuckle deep, he lingered for a moment, letting you get accustomed to the feeling and slowly start to pump his digits in and out of you at an even pace.

You feel electric but yet like a rag-doll in his arms, you let out a sigh of relief. You’re first to break the gaze between you both, you glance down at his fingers entering you. You wish you had a better angle and could see him fully inside you.

“You have to curl your finger, like this” He does as he says and presses upwards to your front, he rubs your g-spot in tender circles first then starts to pump his fingers again, pressing against the sensitive spot. You swear you already start to feel the pressure building in your hips.

This is what you need. It felt different and much better than your own fingers or toy. You feel your eyes half close and your jaw fall slack as you pant and moan out your mouth.

You feel a rumble on your back as he chuckles at your expression. Pulling nearly out of you he parts his fingers, scissoring them and stretching you wide. You feel your eyes flutter again, you want to close them so much but the intense eye contact you’re still holding with Price is warming your core and already bringing you close to orgasm. He rocks his fingers in and out slowly, he moves his hand so the heel of his palm is pressing into your clit. The little bud tingles with getting attention again. His fingers are so thick compared to yours, you saviour the stretch.

You wished it was his thick cock inside you though, but you can take what you’re given, you’re grateful for his attention. You feel a gush of slick escape your core at your dirty thoughts and you smile at the sensation. Only Price can make you this wet. You let out breathy moans as he strokes along your sensitive walls, touching that sweet spot only he can reach. The squelching of your wet cunt invades both of your ears, and Price moans at the sound.

“Bet you never get this wet with your own fingers.” He grunts into your ear.

His grip on your arms slacks slightly but still holds your arms down and against his chest. You badly want to squeeze and pinch your nipples or run your hand through his hair. But he keeps you still and flush with his strong core. He ruts into you gently with each thrust of his fingers. You can feel his hardened cock against your ass. You imagine it dripping pre-cum into his boxers, the thought makes you smirk and grind into him a little.

“Can you feel me, sweetheart? See what you do to me?” Hot breath whispering into your ear, the gruffness of his voice vibrates your core and you feel yourself clamp down around his fingers at his words. A small moan escapes your throat.

He kisses your shoulder again, gently this time and you feel your whole body sink and relax. You still want to close your eyes and take in his kisses and touch to memory, but you refuse to disobey orders. His beard tickles your sensitive neck, sending a shiver down your spine and you squirm at the connection. You take your lower lip between your teeth, chewing at the skin as Price glides his fingers over each sensitive spot, causing your hips to twitch.

Your mind fires with electricity at each gentle tender kiss, reminding you, despite your playing, you’ve yet to share a kiss with John. Maybe you’re both refusing to as then it would make your little game real. Your stomach sinks at the thought and a small bloom of warmth fills your stomach with not lust or infatuation, but passion and longing.

Price lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He practically whispers, increasing the speed of his fingers.

“I can feel you getting tighter, god you’re so tight, bet you’d squeeze my cock I wouldn’t be able to pull out of you? Hm?” You nod and can only hum a reply. You feel your legs start to shake, the warmth growing over your hips. He finally lets go of your arms, his free hand now coming to your clit. You feel yourself clench harder around his digits at the sensation.

“You gotta give that pretty little clit some attention, yeah?” Price catches your eyes for a split second but you both gaze down at his fingers circling your clit.

You feel your hand fly upwards and wrap around his head, you lace your fingers into his short hair and rake your nails into his scalp. Your other hand coming to cup your breast, fingers pinching your nipples to aid your pending orgasm.

“Price… Fuck… John… please…” you beg between breaths. He holds strong, still pumping in and out of your dripping hole with a steady fast pace and his other hand still circling your clit.

You feel your hips twitch, the band in your core about to snap. You open your eyes to see him staring at you through his lashes - eyes black with desire. Your walls squeeze around him as you near your climax.

“Cum for me love, cum for me” he mutters against the side of your head into your ear. You blush at his words, your cheeks and chest a dusting of rose and shimmering from the thin layer of sweat.

Finally, after a few last thrusts of his fingers on your g-spot you cum… hard. You feel as if your previous attempts added to the intensity, everything came crashing down all at once. Eyes still lock onto each other for a moment till you close them and feel your climax wash over you. You try to press your knees together but they’re too weak and instead just shake involuntary.

You let out a mixture of a moan and a squeal. You try to arch yourself away from the over stimulation but Price follows, still keeping that pace inside you as you gush around his fingers. Your thighs are soaked with your release. Letting go of your breast you try to bat his hand from your core or to make him stop, but you’re too weak for him.

Price just continues to abuse your cunt, still pumping in and out of your fluttering hole. He kisses and nips at your neck again, you feel him smirk against your skin. You grip tighter to his hair, pulling at the strands but the pain seems to just edge him on. You feel him grind at each thrust of his fingers.

“Price… John… please” you pant breathlessly. His fingers still circling your over sensitive clit as he drags out your orgasm till your legs start to actually vibrate. At this point you swear he's holding you up from just your cunt alone. The hand tangled in his hair slowly falls down further and you cup the back of his neck and squeeze the muscle.

“I ain’t hearing red.” he whispers into the shell of your ear. The words make you whimper. He hasn’t let up at all, that army stamina keeping him at a steady pace still. He chuckles again. “Com’on, one more.”

“I can't,” you whisper in return. Biting your bottom lip as you feel the warmth grow again. You actually feel weak.

“You asked me to make you cum, I’m going to make you cum till I feel you’ve learnt how to pleasure yourself.” He says through gritted teeth. He gives you a moment of peace as he pulls his puckered fingers from inside you. You whimper at the loss, you felt so empty. Your mind thinks how empty you’d be when his cock stretches you and leaves you gaping.

“If it was my cock, I’d pound into you harder and faster till you forgot your own name.” he grunts as if reading your mind. You whimper as you suddenly feel the loss of him inside you. You feel as if you have a second to breathe, to give your tender cunt a break.

But before you can think, he scoops around your waist and picks you up off the floor again with ease, he slowly kneels down and plants you on the cold floor. Your bare ass smacks against the floorboards and you squeak. Keeping you close to him, he spreads his legs around your hips, caging you in close. And you, without asking, part your shaking legs wide for him, showing off your puffy and glistening cunt. His cock still digging into your lower back, you swear you feel it twitch.

He chuckles, masking the deep pleasurable groan emitting from his chest at the filthy sight in the reflection.

“You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you, love?” He runs his slick covered finger down your inner thigh. His other hand wrapping around your other thigh, fingers pressed hard into the skin you know he’ll leave bruises. He pulls you open wider and you obey.

You watch each movement he makes in the reflection, you feel your after-glow relax the muscles you’re now not using and you close your eyes as the chemicals swirl in your bloodstream. The pads of his fingers bully your swollen clit, restarting the process again, as if he’s really teaching you how to masturbate. Without warning he sinks back into you with ease, returning his steady pace. You throw your head back into his shoulder and clamp down on the intrusion.

You already feel your second orgasm growing. Your eyes glance upwards and you watch him staring at your wet cunt. His cheeks are flushed pink. The intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip, he looks as if he’s storing this moment deep into his memory.

Biting your lip you squeeze the back of his neck. He switches his glance to you and your eyes meet again. You smile at him as you pant. For a moment it was just the pair of you in the world. Price smiles back at you and presses his lips to your shoulder again, kissing you tenderly.

“Just one more for me sweetheart” he mutters against your skin, quickening his pace. You nod at his request, humming in agreement. Your free hand cups his thigh, you feel his strong muscles flex under your touch.

He removes his hand from your thigh and toys with your clit again. Swirling his sticky fingers on your swollen pearl till you feel your legs start to shake again. You want to protest its too much, but you just whimper as you feel your orgasm grow much quicker than before. You feel your eyes line with tears from the overstimulation but it felt like heaven.

He grunts and you open your eyes meeting his, you notice him biting his lip and his eyebrows arched upwards, as if also begging. Something inside you snaps.

You cum again, eyes locked on Price even though you want to watch your cunt pulsate around him, the infatuation between the pair of you was too strong. Your back arches away from him and you let out another squeak, you squeeze your hand on his neck hard, pulling him closer into your back. He hushes you as he slowly reduces his speed as he works you through the climax. More warmth flows from you, making obscene noises but Price doesn’t mind. He slows his movements but lingers inside you for a moment, feeling your walls pulsate.

You sigh and rest against his chest. He slowly pulls his slick coated fingers from you and you whimper at the loss of the stretch.

“Hope you learnt something here, soldier”. He chuckles. You laugh in return, closing your eyes and resting your head back on his shoulder, taking in deep slow breaths and the cortisol disappears from your blood and is replaced with dopamine. Price wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him. The moment is tender and soft. He kisses your shoulder one last time and lets you go. You turn your head to return the kiss, gentle and soft against his temple.

He stands up behind you but before you can process he’s gone, Price scoops you into his arms. You weakly drape your arm on his shoulders. He looks down at you, cheeks still pink from blushing (or exertion) and his eyes filled with… longing.

He takes you over to your bed and gently places you into the mattress. He turns and picks your discarded shorts from the floor, passing them to you.

You smile at him, eyes drooping as you feel a wave of sleepiness over you.

The silence was loud but not uncomfortable. Just screaming unspoken words of how you both truly felt.

He looks down at you on your bed, hair spread behind you, chest slowly and deeply rising and falling, the blush coating your cheeks and chest. That familiar flutter warms his chest and he smiles at you. He wishes he could stay, to let you help him in return but he has to get back to work. He lets out a chuckle and turns away from you.

He reaches your door but you stop him;

“Wait.”

He turns back to you, eyes sparking.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Smiling at him.

He doesn’t reply, simply nods and he swiftly exits the room.

You turn to your side and rest your head into the pillow as you bask in your after-glow as it washes over you. But despite your calm state, you feel the corners of your lips frown as you lie in silence, cold and alone.

Hope you enjoyed! Comments, criticisms, likes and reblogs are more then welcome.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Title: Union

Yandere! The ‘General!’ x fem! Reader!

(Mr Villain's Day Off)

Warnings: general yandere themes, toxic relationship, blood and slight(?) gore, violence (reader’s neck is bitten), idealization/fantasies of murder, implied possessiveness, and obsessiveness, implied codependent behavior.

I took liberation with this and created the custom of the General’s species biting the neck of their lover as some sort of vow. Like with Omega Au.

He’s out of character in this lmao.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/LURKERS/DNI

Disclaimer: I do not support or encourage any of the toxic and harmful behaviors/thoughts that may take place in this piece of fiction. It should not be romanticized or even considered normal as it is both extremely toxic and dangerous.

Word count: 1261k

---

His teeth hurt.

Sharp and pearly white, now stained with your blood. Your nails claw into his shoulders, his trench coat softening the impact. He’s more like a vampire and not an alien, you think. This twisted sense of… union isn’t really your thing. Not when it involves teeth and blood, the ritual being repeated once every other year, something that is expected and welcomed by his species.

You wouldn’t have minded it if you had decided to stay. But you do because you wanted out, tired of his little secrets, the long nights, the hidden phone calls. You would have rather that he was cheating on you, an unfaithful bastard who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Instead, you got an alien who didn’t understand what ‘no’ meant.

A little too faithful, too love stricken to see past that beautiful, beautiful tinted rose filter. And he wanted the same from you, it seems. With sharp teeth and an iron grip, he held you in place, desperate after an hour of pleas that were so unlike him.

One of his hands held the back of your neck, keeping you in place. His ring feels cold, his blunt nails feel sharp, he’s stronger, bigger than you. Resistance was futile.

His teeth dig deeper, rougher. Tears form in your eyes, running down your face in big, fat streaks, sobbing into the collar of his coat. Everything is a blur, and his free hand rubs circles into your back, attempting to soothe you. It doesn’t, it makes you feel worse because it reminds you that this man is not just a monster but has feelings and guilt like everyone else –

You genuinely, genuinely hate this alien? Man? You despise him, wanted to scalp him alive, to stab a knife through his heart until the only color you could see was red. But you would never be able to do that. Nor will you be able to drive a knife through your own heart just to escape your dammed faith.

“I’m sorry, please endure it for a bit longer…,” he gasps out before he sinks his teeth into your neck again. Your own dug into his hair, fingers pulling at his roots. The tears don’t stop and neither does his bite.

“Hurts – it hurts!” sobbing, you still attempt to push and pull his head away, but to no avail. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, breathing, and able to think. Crimson runs down your neck, stains your pretty lacy white shirt, all the while the man enjoys his sweet, sweet time with you. Like enjoying a juicy steak.

“…Hah… it’s done,” his tone, despite being comforting, was a shrill scream in your ear. His tongue pokes out, only to lick the wound, saliva mixing in with blood. It’s slimy and roughish, with a squishiness to it. Like a warm wet rag pressed against your neck. The only difference being it’s an organic tongue and not some fabric.

“… I’m sorry,” another lick, another circle rubbed onto your back. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts –

“I know it hurts… I forgot how… fragile humans could be. I’m sorry.” Too tired to fight back anymore, you fall limp in his embrace. Your jaw goes slack, eyelids too heavy to keep open. The void is calling for you.

You should have rejected his help, that day. You should have carried those heavy bags up the stairs that day, even if it meant you would have pulled a muscle or two. You should have ignored him when you kept running into him, both of you surprised to see the other so frequently. You should have kept your mouth shut and feelings hidden, your confession forgotten and your first kiss nonexistent.

Should have done this, should have done that – it’s too late to wallow in the past. The mirror cracked long ago, just like your sense of self. Like your trust in the one person who should have been your ‘everything.’ Whatever that was.

Something you realized was harmful for you, but he refused to acknowledge it. To accept it.

You should have rejected his invitation to his apartment. To get your stuff back. You should have avoided him instead of still trusting him once he let his true identity slip through that tongue of his. How naïve and stupid of you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone, before.”

Neither have you.

“You make me rethink my stance on humans.” He sits you down on his couch, reaching for the medical supplies sitting at the side. He prepared for this. He’s always been ready for this.

You never had a say-so in the matter. How cruel.

“You make me question myself, and what I’m fighting for.” Your eyes shut close, a towel – wet and warm – pressed against the open wound. He holds it there for a good while. Assuring that his prized ‘lover’ would be patched up in no time.

“Our customs are different from yours. It’s painful, even for us. But you don’t have to relive this pain.” You’re vaguely aware of the cotton ball, of the scent of medical ointments and the towel being pressed against the bleeding wound once more. You’re too tired to open your eyes, but you fear you might die if you don’t.

“… You should… have let me go.” It’s broken and weak, almost less than a whisper, but you manage to talk. It’s painful and took extreme amounts of effort, but you talked. You almost wish you would die – but the fear of meeting nothing but a black abyss on the other side of the road scares you more than this fiend.

He doesn’t say anything. Just tends to the wound that he inflected on you like it was just another Tuesday night. You never asked for this. You would have never asked for this, the pain, the betrayal he’s hidden from you these past two years.

You almost wish he only said ‘yes’ just to use you. A sick twisted sense of humor, a past time he could always forget at a later date. Amusement that would grow boring, dull. A toy he could have left in an open field, neither destroying it nor loving it.

If this was a romance story, then this would have been the best ending. Two crossed-star-lovers who put aside their differences to be together. One changing his view on the ‘enemy’ because his sweetheart was from that group. They fail to show the ugly side of ‘love.’

You had chosen a rotten apple and now it has poisoned you.

“… I know that you must hate me.”

You do, you hate him as much as you fear him.

“But I…”

Ring!

Ring!

Ring!

His phone goes off exactly three times before he fishes it out of his coat pocket, a sneer displayed on his mouth. His teeth show, dyed red. Still sharper than a knife.

You don’t get to see the caller ID.

“– General! Listen, I know that it is your off day – “

“Get to the point. I’m giving you five seconds before I hang up.”

You don’t get to hear the conversation, either. You could barely feel the wet rag dabbing your neck. Or the smell of herbs. You wonder if he would let you die just like this. Or if he would find a way to ‘save’ you.

Nothing matters anymore, you suppose.

Not when the ‘General’ decided that you were lovelier than a rose and brighter than the stars amongst a darken sky.

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 1

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family's restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn't see coming--one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn't sure they'll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Author's Note: I forgot how much I absolutely loathe writing summaries LOL but anyways! First chapter is here, let me know if y'all vibe with it. I had fun writing it and if you wanna see more, let me know! (And now I have to figure out if I remember linking everything on my blog since I haven't posted my writing on Tumblr in forever. . .)

Chapter 1

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Isla Carrera’s pleading is in vain as the engine of her car sputters out of life, and there’s just enough juice left for her to pull over onto the side of the dirt road so she’s not stranded in the middle. Her grip on the steering wheel remains tight as she sits in silence, staring out onto the dark road only lit up by the two beams of her headlights. The small silver lining, if there is one, is that she knows exactly where she is, just a little ways away from a row of houses on Figure Eight. But right now, she’s surrounded by trees on a road that has no street lamps, the sky a blanket of black above her. 

Her groan cuts through the silence, eyes squeezing shut as she rests her forehead against the steering wheel. She should have just slept over at John B’s house like her sister, Kie, decided to. But Isla’s covering another waitress at the restaurant early tomorrow, and she didn’t want to run late again or else her parents would rip her a new one. Kie’s shift wasn’t until later in the afternoon, so her sister was in no rush to get home. Now here Isla is, with a car that won’t turn over, still a fifteen minute drive away from her house.

“Fucking great,” she mutters, making sure her hazards are on and her phone is in her pocket before getting out of the car. 

Though she knows nothing about cars, Isla pops open the hood and uses the flashlight on her phone. If she’s being honest, it all looks like a bunch of mechanical junk she has no idea how to work her way around. She’s not sure why she even bothers, so instead of wasting time, she unlocks her phone to find the number for a towing service.

A rumble of a car engine catches her attention, the kind that makes an annoying popping sound, and by the time she looks up and around the open top of her hood, she sees two guys hopping out of an old Ford truck. She vaguely recognizes them. Just by the look of them, they seem to be a couple of years older than her—and clearly from The Cut. Not that it matters, since her best friends are from the other side of the island, but not all of the people from The Cut are fond of those from Figure Eight, and vice versa. Isla and her sister, though they belong on the more privileged side of the island, prefer the freedom of The Cut. 

None of that exactly matters right now, though.

Music cranks out of the car, but Isla can’t pay it any mind as unease creeps into her stomach when both sets of eyes land on her. 

She’s a girl alone in the middle of a road at night, so Isla is immediately on high alert as the guys make their way towards her, slow but confident in a way that makes her feel like a prey. I don’t like this. 

Alarm bells are ringing in her head as one of the guys in cargo shorts and a tank top shoots her a slimy grin. “Car trouble, sweetheart?”

Isla’s muscles tense. Yeah, nope. Not good. “Uh, no, all good,” she says, forcing some of that confidence into her voice that Kie is an expert at wielding. 

The other one with darker hair hidden under a baseball cap asks, “You sure we can’t help?” His grin is anything but charming. “We’d be more than happy to help.”

They don’t stop their approach, and Isla’s mind begins running through different scenarios, her pulse beginning to quicken in panic she’s trying to keep at bay. There’s no one around to help, and she can’t depend on another car passing by and stopping to help—if they even would. She doesn’t want to lock herself in her car while she calls her dad or friends for help; the idea of sitting trapped makes her heart squeeze with dread.

“You can stop right there.” She doesn’t want to give into the fear that’s slithering through her veins, but she can’t stop the words from escaping her mouth, the crunch of the dirt beneath their shoes too daunting to ignore. 

Her hand inches towards her back pocket where she had stashed her keys, fingers closing around the small can of pepper spray she’s got hooked in there. Isla has never had the unfortunate opportunity to use it before, but the vibes she’s getting right now—first time for everything. 

“What’s the matter?” the first guy asks with a taunting tilt of his head, neither of them stopping their pace. “We’re only here to help.”

Yeah, fucking right. “Stop.” Her heart is pounding in her ears, taking a few steps back.

Creepy guy number two exchanges a look with number one. “See that, Dyl? Little Miss Kook looks a little scared.”

Oh, screw this. Isla refuses to stick around and find out what’s going to happen, and she doesn’t at all feel guilty when she juts her hand forward and presses down on the top of the small can. Her aim is a little off, so she only manages to spray the first guy—Dyl. The sound of his shriek of pain cuts through the air, and he stumbles back and spits out curses as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The second guy freezes in surprise, looking between Isla and his friend, but she doesn’t stick around to see what he’s going to do next. Instead, Isla turns and makes a run for it, making sure to press the button on her FOB to lock her car as she bolts down the dirt road. She can hear the guys yelling over the sound of the breeze rushing past her ears, fear fueling more power to her legs as she nears a neighborhood street at the end of the dirt road. Isla isn’t sure if they’re following her, or if they’re even going to, but she doesn’t pause to find out. 

She runs and runs, her lungs beginning to burn, as she rounds a stone wall with greenery growing through the cracks that closes in a property—only for her vision to go black for a split second when she collides against something.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Scratch that—make that someone, because instead of falling back on her ass, a strong pair of arms wrap around her waist to keep her from tumbling down. The grip is tight and secure, and a delicious aroma of what seems to be earthy wood tickles her nose. “What the hell are you—Isla?”

The sound of her name being spoken in that all too familiar voice clears Isla’s head, and she pulls back enough to look up into the startling blue eyes of Rafe Cameron. Her pounding heart seems to slow down a fraction, and she’s not sure what to make of the mild relief that calms down her frazzled nerves because this is Rafe Cameron. Sure, he might not be as bad as those two freaks, and he’s one of her close friends’ brothers, but he’s still the same guy that has gotten into more than a few fights with her best friends. That being said, she shouldn’t find as much comfort as she does being in front of him. 

Her breathing is heavy, pulse throbbing uncontrollably. She only barely registers her hands gripping his forearms, like it’s grounding her as she takes in Rafe’s expression. His eyebrows are furrowed together as he looks down at her, his height towering over her five-foot five frame, and there’s more confusion than worry in his features, unsurprisingly. Her heavy breathy makes her privy to the scent of nicotine, glancing down to see a half used cigarette now laying forgotten on the ground. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe repeats. Isla hears the familiar thread of annoyance in his voice, but she can’t bring herself to give a damn. 

She lets go of him like he’s electrocuted her, taking a step back and forcing him to let go of her, too. It takes everything in her not to acknowledge the way her skin burns where his had touched hers. “Going for a run, what does it look like?” she snaps back, though her voice trembles on her breath. 

Rafe’s expression deadpans, though he arches an eyebrow under the dirty blonde bangs that frame his forehead. “Looks like you’re scared,” he states. 

“I—” Isla gets cut off by the familiar sound of a car engine rumbling, the popping kind, and the breath locks in her throat as she glances over her shoulder. “Fuck,” she breathlessly mutters, catching sight of the headlights creeping up from around the corner on the road. She’s not sure if those guys are looking for her—though, she wouldn’t be surprised given that she pepper sprayed one of them, and her pulse quickens again in panic with the need to hide away.

“Wait—are you running from someone?” Rafe questions, and Isla looks back at him to see his gaze pointed over her head, right where the noise of the car is coming from. A car that sounds to be approaching too close.

“You’re asking too many questions,” Isla returns hastily, stepping to go around him. “I need to go—”

Rafe lets out an exasperated huff, and if she had all her wits about her, she’d snap at him. But instead, surprise slams through her when Rafe’s hand wraps around her bicep, his grip firm but not tight as he mutters, “Come here.”

Before Isla knows it, she’s being dragged through the gate of the Cameron estate, disappearing onto the property right when the car turns the corner. Her heart launches to her throat when Rafe suddenly turns her, and she’s being pressed against the stone wall, soft leaves pressing to her back in contrast to the hard surface.

Isla’s eyes widen when Rafe’s body presses against her, the air rushing out of her lungs as her gaze snaps up to meet his. “What are you doing?” she asks, her words a mere breath.

He seems surprised by his own actions, lips pursed and that muscle in his clean shaven jaw pulsing almost as quickly as her own heart. Can he hear the thundering, feel it? “Just—stay quiet,” Rafe grits.

Part of Isla wants to push him off—the part that sounds a lot like her friends. But fear wins out, keeping her in place, as she hears the car creep along in front of the gate of the Cameron property. 

Rafe’s eyes silently tell her to remain quiet and something tightens her stomach—something other than fear—and it startles her enough to flick her gaze to the left, towards the vine wrapped gate. She can see the headlights slowly passing by, and she prays that these guys aren’t stupid enough to trespass private property.

Then again, they were ready to do God-knows-what to her, so who the hell knows?

The thought alone sends her heartbeat accelerating all over again, panic settling in her bones hard enough to rattle them. Isla’s hands fist at her sides, eyes squeezing shut as she leans her head back against the wall. How the hell had her night taken such a freaky turn? And how is it that Rafe Cameron, of all people, is the one to help her out?

Suddenly, the mid-May night doesn’t feel as warm as Rafe’s body; he isn’t close enough where his body is completely pressing into hers, but she can feel the soft material of his shirt fluttering against the bare skin of her stomach, thanks to her crop top. Isla can feel the heat of his skin seeping into hers, which makes her heart thunder with something other than panic, and she’s not entirely sure what the hell to do with that.

“Relax—they’re gone.”

His voice is low and gruff, a tone that makes goosebumps pebble her skin even in this warm weather. Isla opens her eyes with a sharp exhale and her brown eyes immediately find Rafe’s blue, her throat tightening under his scrutinizing gaze. True, she can’t hear the engine anymore, the headlights are also gone, and Isla tries to even out her breathing while nodding slowly. 

Rafe’s eyes rake over her and shouldn’t she feel unsettled about that? About how close he’s standing to her? But it seems like all of her unease has been used up from evading those weirdos, so Rafe Cameron being her rescuer doesn’t annoy her as much as it normally would. 

“So what was that about?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

Isla’s throat works, dragging her gaze back up at him. The lamps spaced out along the wall light his face, casting shadows along his sharp cheekbones. He’s so handsome—the thought crosses through her mind quickly, and though she would never admit it to her friends, she can’t help but find the truth in it—as insane as it might be.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Isla finds herself saying, lifting her chin in a small act of defiance.

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches into a ghost of a smirk, and through the light reflecting in his eyes, she can see them dancing in amusement. “Given that I just saved your ass, an explanation would be nice.”

Isla scowls, all thoughts of his stupidly good looks vanishing. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I had it under control.”

It’s a lie spoken through her teeth, and Rafe can see that. “Yeah, looked real under control when you were running for your life,” he replies dryly, eyebrows rising. But then his expression flattens out, eyebrows furrowing together once again as he says, “Seriously, Isla. What gives? What the hell was that about?”

“Just—some fucking weirdos, I don’t know,” she huffs, frustration from this entire ordeal bubbling to the surface as she rubs her hands up her face and runs her fingers through her hair. “I—Can you back up?” she asks hastily, forcing a glare. Rafe, surprisingly, simply presses his lips together and raises his hands in defense while taking a couple of steps away from her. Isla is no longer embraced by his warmth, by his scent, and there’s an unexpected tug in her chest that she ignores. “My car broke down on that dirt path behind the road. I was trying to figure it out when these guys pulled up and, I don’t know, shit got weird so I made a break for it.”

Rafe frowns as he listens to her, and Isla shakes her head, rubbing the back of her neck. “I need to get back to my car,” she says.

“Seriously?” Rafe asks, scoffing. “You’re gonna go back when some freaks are looking for you?”

Isla glares at him, not at all appreciating him talking to her like she’s stupid. “My wallet’s still in my car. I need to grab it if they haven’t fucking broken into my car already.”

She moves past him to head to the gate, surprised to hear his footsteps as he easily catches up to her. “What, you’re gonna walk back?” When Isla glances at Rafe, he’s looking at her like she’s insane. No sign of the contempt he normally saves for her and her friends, which is slightly unnerving. “After you were just running from some freaks? You do realize how much of a bad idea that is, right?”

She shrugs even as the unease from before returns at the idea of running into those guys again. “I need to get my wallet,” is her meek response.

Rafe lets out a breath, running his fingers through his hair and Isla briefly frowns at herself at the way her gaze seems to run to the flex of his bicep. And the way her stomach fucking flutters because this is Rafe Cameron. The only fluttering her stomach should be doing where he’s concerned is one tinged with nausea.

Rafe then fixes her with a stern look. “Come on,” he says firmly before walking down the driveway of his house.

Isla blinks out of whatever stupor she was in and glares at his back—and at the demand he left her with. She scoffs, hands splaying in annoyance until she realizes he’s headed straight for his motorcycle. Her shoulders drop, rooted on the spot as she says flatly, “You’re joking.”

Rafe is already pulling out a helmet—scratch that, two helmets—and looking at her, once again, like she’s an idiot while she glares at him. At least there’s that bit of normalcy. “This—” He holds up both helmets in each hand. “Is better than you walking back to your car by yourself. Let’s go.”

Isla’s disbelief only intensifies. She doesn’t walk over to him, doesn’t take the proffered helmet. Instead, she exhales sharply and crosses her arms over her chest, asking, “Why are you helping me?”

Rafe has the gall to look annoyed by her question, arms resting at his sides. His gaze locks with Isla’s, but she doesn’t shy away from it as he eventually drops his head back with a groan before looking back at her once more. “Listen, contrary to your and your friends’ popular belief, I’m not a complete dick.” Isla can’t help but scoff and roll her eyes, cutting her gaze away from him in doubt. He cannot be serious. “I wouldn’t want either of my sisters to be fucking chased by some losers, so just think of this as my good deed of the month, alright? Now will you please take the damn helmet and get on the bike?”

Frankly, Isla feels like she’s just stepped into an alternate reality because, seriously, when was the last time Rafe Cameron ever did anything nice for her—if ever?

But as much as Isla’s pride is begging for her to tell him thanks but no thanks and turn and walk back to her car, fear still resides in the pit of her belly, waiting to strike. She hates to admit it, but Rafe is right. It’d be dumb of her to walk back alone at night after what just happened. Maybe she could call her sister or one of her friends, but that would just add unnecessary time to all this, and Isla just really wants to get home. So, fine; maybe she can accept Rafe’s offer to drive her to her car, and then from there maybe she can call an Uber home and call a tow truck from the safety of her bedroom.

Rafe holds out one of the black helmets in impatience, and Isla purses her lips as she pushes herself to walk over. She does her best not to admire the sight of him next to his bike, something she never would have done before tonight. Maybe this whole freaky situation has loosened some screws in her brain.

Isla all but snatches the helmet out of his hand, though a part of her feels as though it’s just for appearances’ sake to keep up her usual attitude around Rafe, and tucks her dark hair behind her ears before pulling the helmet on, the visor still up. She tries her best not to think of the weight of his gaze on her as she fiddles with the straps on her chin to secure the helmet, but she’s unable to get it right, fingers trembling despite herself.

“I got it,” Rafe says, and Isla freezes when he gently bats her hands away and steps up to her, using his finger to push at the bottom of the helmet so she can tilt her head back enough for him to see the straps. The heat of his body greets her once more and she’s silent as she feels him secure the straps, breath hitching quietly when the backs of his fingers brush against her skin. 

He’s done within seconds, but it sure as shit feels longer as she remains standing there, watching him pull on his own helmet. Isla watches silently as Rafe gets on the bike, wondering how she got here, and he says, “Hop on.”

Isla has ridden on the back of JJ’s bike plenty of times, so she gets on with no trouble, though she does have to grip Rafe’s shoulders in order to do so. They’re broad and firm under her hands, and she mentally chastises herself for even thinking about his stupid shoulders. When she’s settled behind him, her legs framing his, Isla’s heartbeat picks up at the sudden proximity, her front against his back. 

She’s sure she’s barely breathing when her skin warms because there’s barely any space that exists between them, and when Rafe tells her, “Hold on or risk flying off,” she can’t decide if she wants to smack him upside the head or beg for the ground to swallow her whole.

Sliding the visor down, Isla inhales deeply and quietly before winding her arms around Rafe’s waist, teeth gritting together because if her friends saw her now, they definitely would believe she’s lost her mind. The fact of the matter is, right now all she can seem to focus on is the solidness of his stomach against her arms and how fucking good he smells, which is confusing and overwhelming and everything in between.

The motorcycle’s engine roars to life, and seconds later Rafe is kicking off the kick-stand and they’re riding down the driveway and onto the road. She had told him her car stopped on the dirt path behind the actual road, separated by trees, and that’s all Rafe seemingly needs to know as he takes them in the right direction. The breeze as they go feels good against her, cooling her heated skin down and she would never admit it, but riding on the back of Rafe Cameron’s bike has a somewhat calming effect on her.

The tension that had tightened her muscles since her encounter with those other guys melts away, and the rapid thumping of her heart has nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with the thrill of this moment. Maybe it’s ill advised, but it seems to be exactly what she needs as the night air mixes with Rafe’s cologne—or maybe he just smells like that in general?

God, she’s getting too weird about this.

Soon enough, her car comes into view and Isla is relieved when there seems to be no sign of those guys. Rafe stops the bike right next to her car, and another sigh of relief escapes her when she sees that her car doesn’t look damaged. Swinging her leg over, she uses Rafe’s shoulders as leverage to get off the bike, trying not to think too much about the loss of his body heat as she reaches for the helmet straps. 

They’re easier to undo than they were to strap, and she lifts the helmet off, one hand already flattening her dark hair as Rafe holds his hand out for the helmet. As she unlocks the car, Rafe asks, “How’d you manage to outrun them?”

Isla leans into the driver’s seat, reaching for her tote bag in the passenger seat. She digs through it for a moment, taking stock of her wallet, lip gloss, lip balm, and the few other things still safely inside. “I pepper-sprayed one of them,” she answers as she pulls out and straightens. 

When she turns to look at Rafe, whose helmet’s visor is up, she sees the smirk that curls at his mouth. How does a sight that made her want to knee him in the stomach before make her feel kind of weak kneed right now? Did those guys really freak her out so much that now down is up and left is right? “Nice,” he murmurs, nodding in approval. Jutting his chin towards her car, he asks, “You gonna call a truck?”

Isla shakes her head. “When I get home,” she says, pulling out her phone. 

Rafe nods as he holds the helmet out once more. “Alright, let’s go.”

Isla pauses, gaze flicking up from her phone screen where the Uber app is open to look at him. Arching an eyebrow, she asks, “Uh, go where?”

He mirrors the arched eyebrow look. “I’ll take you home,” he says as if it’s obvious when it very much isn’t.

“No thanks. I can Uber,” she answers, already putting her home address in.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as he remains sitting on his bike. “You’re just full of bad ideas tonight, aren’t you?” he says. Isla’s eyes narrow, irritation sparking through her as he splays his arms out to gesture to the road they’re on. “You’re really gonna wait out here on a dirt road, with no street lamps, in the dark for an Uber when I’m offering you a ride home right now?” Before she can respond, he carries on, “On the same stretch of road, mind you, that you just got harassed on?”

The irritation intensifies, and Isla’s expression twists into a glare as she snaps, “What’s it to you, huh? You already did your good deed of the month. We’re not friends, Rafe. I don’t need your help.”

Even with the helmet on, she can tell he’s clenching his jaw, eyes hard as he sets them on her. The look makes her chest burn in a way that’s not all unwelcome, and that alone should be a sign that she’s losing it. “We may not be friends, but you’re my sister’s friend, alright? Sarah would kill me if she found out I left you out here by yourself. So stop being so fucking stubborn and get on the damn bike, Isla. I’m taking you home.”

She presses her tongue to her cheek, shoulders bunched in frustration while Rafe glares at her, his own impatience radiating off of him in waves. Sarah has told Isla how stubborn her brother can be, and while Isla doesn’t know Rafe well, she knows him and has dealt with him enough to know he isn’t budging on this. So, with a huff, she snatches the helmet once more, ignoring the protests in her head that sound suspiciously a lot like her friends as she pulls the helmet on. 

She manages to get the straps this time and gets back on the bike, her bag securely hanging off her shoulder as Rafe starts the bike again and Isla swallows silently as she wraps her arms around his waist once more. Every part of her is warm where it touches him, and as he drives, she tilts her head back, practically begging for anyone listening to get her to calm the hell down.

Seriously—how the hell did Rafe Cameron become her would-be hero of tonight?

Luckily, her house is a ten minute drive from the Cameron house and Isla allows him to pull up to the front of the house, since Kie isn’t home and has no chance of peeking out her bedroom window and seeing Isla getting off Rafe’s bike. He parks the bike and Isla lets go of him almost immediately, hopping off the bike and undoing the straps of the helmet under her chin.

Rafe is already looking at her by the time she gets the helmet off, his blue eyes visible since the visor is lifted. With a close mouthed, saccharine smile, Isla all but shoves the helmet into his hands. “Thanks for the ride. Let’s never do this again.”

He scoffs as he shakes his head, but the smirk on his face is apparent. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Isla rolls her eyes and, without another word, turns towards her house. She’s on the front porch and fishing keys out when she glances to the right and sees Rafe still parked there, seemingly watching her. Her stomach does a stupid, weird flip as she unlocks the door and shoos him. “Go away,” she hisses, even though Kiara isn’t home and her parents wouldn’t care that Rafe dropped her off—hell, her mom would be thrilled, honestly.

Even from this distance, she can just picture Rafe’s arrogant smirk as he lifts a hand in a two fingered salute before revving the engine of his bike, and Isla clenches her jaw as he speeds off, the roar echoing down the block. Exhaling sharply, Isla shakes her head and walks into her house, shutting the door behind her just as she hears footsteps approaching her.

“Where have you been?” her mom asks, not demanding but more concerned.

Isla smiles sheepishly as she faces her mother. “Yeah, about that. . .”

[axelsagewrites]

Sage, my dear! I was reading your Daemon fic's and they are just perfect!😘🤌🏽 (especially the ones with poc!fem reader, there are so few stories where the reader is poc/non-white in this fandom… And it's great to find this kind of representation, and yours are so well written!!!) That said, could I get a shameless smut Daemon x poc!fem focused on his rings, as if reader is very attracted to his hands and rings and even fantasizes about him fingering her and he notices and gives her what she wants please?

Daemon Targaryen*Rings

Pairing: Daemon x f!reader

Word count 2540

Warnings: flirting, teasing, hand fetish, rings, fingering, orgasm, nipple play, biting, smut 18+

Translations Zaldrīzesītsos – little dragon Ñuha qēlos – my star

a/n: first of all thank u annon ur so sweet <3 but also it should not be this hard to find poc ppl for my post headers smh i use pintrest but any other suggestions are appreciated

Masterlist Here

It felt like the small council meetings drew on longer and longer as the months moved by. Sure, the wine was nice but that was only because you had it imported from Essos yourself. Most of the issues these men babbled about were of little concern to you anyhow as you were only here to represent your families across the seas while these men whined about taxes and castles. The only pleasure you got from these meetings was catching your Daemon’s eye across the table.

In all your time in Westeros he was the only one you could stand, and you supposed it helped that he was the one you were betrothed too. The arrangement had only been settled last week and you smiled when you noticed the dragon ring wrapped around his ring finger, a gift you had had carved from Valyrian steel when your engagement was struck.

Your mind began to wander further as the men droned on about something they would never decide upon anyhow. While usually you would stare into the stars instead your eyes were focused on Daemons hands. How they lazily lifted the wine to his sweet lips, how his fingers trailed over the curve of the glass in his boredom, or how whenever he grew frustrated, he clenched them into a fist so tight you wondered if his nails cut his palms.

Some may worry about a dragon being violent or unpredictable, but you were far too distracted by how you could use their fire to good use. Daemon had recently begun to deck his fingers out in fine silvers and stones with multiple rings on each hand. When he learned any man of importance in Essos wore a ring on each finger, he slowly began to adopt the practise. Three on one hand, two on the other. Soon he’d have quite the collection, not that you were complaining.

You wondered what it would feel like if he would leave the rings on. How the cool metal would sting your skin when he grabbed your hips like he so loved to do. Or even how it would feel when his fingers slipped inside of you, bringing you to the edge with only one hand. It was almost a challenge to Daemon; learning what to do to make you turn to water in front of him. It was a welcomed challenged to you.

“my lady!” A sharp voice shocked you from your thoughts, your head snapping up with a bewildered expression you tried to cover but you knew you had failed from the way Daemon smirked holding back his laugh, “are there any foreign affairs this week we should be concerned about?” Otto Hightower asked with a pointed look.

“no, my lord,” you said with a tight-lipped smile. The man was slimy since the day you first were forced to make his acquaintance. “Essos manages to run itself quite well, no issues on our side,” you said as you sipped your wine before adding, “though I think the crowns payment for their latest shipments of silks from the east is still pending but im sure you had that covered my lord,”

Otto did his best to cover his sneer as he nodded his head, “of course my lady. I’ll even see to it myself,” he said, his eyes not wavering from your gaze leaving you both in a stalemate.

An awkward clap from the king himself broke ottos gaze. Ha, you thought, bet you there Hightower. “well, that’s everything for today then. Thank you all for your sage advice and council but you are all dismissed for now. Lord Hightower a moment please?” The king said, barely managing to stand on his own as everyone began to filter out the room.

You had always made sure to sit at the chair farthest from the king so your exit would be the quickest, but it did not stop Daemon from catching up to you as you reached the stairs. “my lady,” Daemon said, and you didn’t even have to look up to see the smirk on his face. “are you quite alright? You seemed distracted today?”

“my mind had elsewhere to be my lord but do not fret,” you said, matching his tone as you took his arm to walk down the stairs, “your future wife is not gone with the fairies quite yet,” Daemon chuckled at the way you had began to pick up the Westerosi phrases the longer you were at court but with no more evidence he could not protest the issue any longer.

When dinner rolled around Daemon had invited you to join his supper in his chambers with three of his highest-ranking gold cloaks. Something about ensuring you had friends in high up places who were good with their swords as Daemon had put it. You tried to join in with the conversation, but your mind constantly wandered, your eyes flickering back to your betrothed, his hands specifically that was.

It was a fascination you did not know you had until the council meeting earlier but now you were fascinated with each movement and each ring. “careful my lord your lady wife looks like she’s readying to rob you of your rings,” one of the men’s jokes snapped your attention back to them.

All the men chuckled, and you did your best to force one out, “that’d be rather pointless,” Daemon chuckled, flexing his fingers to show off his rings. Gods that were not helping the arousal growing in your stomach. “most of them were gifts from her, weren’t they ñuha qēlos?” Daemon said, his eyes flickering back to you.

It was like the wind knocked out your lungs for a moment as you stared into those lilac eyes, “yes,” you eventually managed to stutter out, ignoring the curious look from Daemon however luckily the rest of the men had drunk so much wine they hadn’t the faintest clue this was out of the ordinary for you.

“perhaps we should call it a night,” Daemon said after a moment, standing from his chair, “before you drink me out of house and home,” he laughed as he helped the men to their feet. You did your best not to embarrass yourself again as the men dismissed themselves, bowing goodbye to you in a way you would never get used to.

When Daemon finally shut the door, you turned to begin gathering the plates into a stack, ignoring how Daemons eyes were fixed onto you. “you were rather quiet tonight ñuha qēlos,” he said, leaning against the door with his arms folded over his chest, “something the matter?”

“no,” you said glancing back at him with a fake smile, “just tired from a long day,”

“tired?” Daemon questioned, not moving from the door. You looked back ready to lie again when you noticed him playing with his rings. Your movements paused, your eyes locking onto the way he twisted the ring around his finger. When you saw Daemon looked up you quickly turned your eyes. “you don’t look tired,” he mused as he pushed himself off the door, lazily sauntering to your side as you tried to keep yourself busy.

“how kind of you my lord,” you rolled your eyes, trying to put your walls up when you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. “my lord- “

“we have servants to clean,” Daemon cut you off, pulling you to face him, your body just inches from his. You tried to think of something to say but you couldn’t as you felt his rings press into your wrist, wondering how they’d feel in other places. There was something about the way Daemon gazed down at you, his eyes unmoving that made your words stick in your throat, “if I didn’t know any better,” Daemon said as his free hand moved to hold your chin up, his lips now so close but so far away, “I’d say you were hiding something from me,”

“what would I have to hide my lord?” You said but now your voice could barely go above a whisper.

Daemon stepped in closer, his body now flush against yours, “I’ve never seen you so quiet. Tell me zaldrīzesītsos,” he mused, leaning down till his lips brushed against your ear, “what has been on that pretty little mind all day?” He whispered, before gently kissing your ear.

“nothing,” you said but you could not hide the shakiness in your voice.

Daemons hands moved to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest, “you can tell me ñuha qēlos. After all who am I to judge for what the heart wants,” he said, moving to look you in the eyes once more, “I only wish to help you, my lady. After all it is a husband’s duty to keep his wife pleased,” Daemon said before kissing the hollow of your throat, his head moving to rest on your shoulder.

“there is something,” you said after a few moments making Daemons head perk up. “its not important,” you tried to brush it off, but Daemon began to shush you.

His hands moved to cup your face, the rings metal feeling cool against your skin, “all your wants are important to me,” he said, his lips brushing against yours, “now tell me. What is it you want?”

“you,” you whispered as your hands moved to hold his wrists, “your hands, your fingers. I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you said, moving your head slightly to kiss the palm of his hand.

Daemon kept one hand on your face, the other moving to rest on your hip, “that’s all you had to say,” he said before you felt his lips crash onto yours. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your body desperate from your mind’s thoughts all day. Daemon gripped your hip tightly, his other hand moving to the back of your neck so you couldn’t escape but you had no plans of that.

Daemon began to pull at your skirts, desperate to feel your skin on his. Your hands moved to the ties of your dress, making quick work of the fittings till you felt your clothes loosen. Daemon quickly pushed the dress down your shoulders, not caring as it hit the floor and got crumpled beneath his feet. His hands moved to your ass, squeezing it harshly making you gasp into the kiss as you felt the cold metal digging in.

You began to tug on his shirt and Daemon wasted no time in breaking the kiss to pull of his own clothes. You moved back, sitting on the table as you watched him undress till, he was bare in front of you. Your hands roamed his chest as he finally pulled himself free of his trousers. As Daemon went to reach for his hands to pull his rings off your hand shot out to grab his wrist. Daemon looked at you, his eyebrow raised in confusion, “leave them on,” you said, kissing his shoulder as your hand moved to hold his. “I like the rings,” you said as you traced the precious metals.

Daemon chuckled as he stepped closer, his hands moving to grab your hips, “good to know,” he hummed, his head dipping to capture your lips again.

He squeezed the flesh of your hips, the rings digging in making you moan into the kiss. Deciding to test the waters Daemon placed a soft spank on your ass, loving the way you gasped when the cool metal bit your flesh. After a few moments of enjoying himself and your noises Daemon turned his attention to you.

Your breathing caught as you felt on of his hands trail over the tops of your thigh, inching closer and closer to your wetness where you craved his touch. You whined when you felt him swipe a finger up your folds and heard him chuckle at your noises. “someone’s eager,” he said, his lips moving from yours to your jaw, kissing down your neck as he teased his fingers around your hole.

“please,” you whined as Daemon bit down on your collarbone, “I need you,” you whined as he pushed two fingers in, feeling the way he was already stretching you out. Daemon began to leave dark purple hickeys on your chest, knowing exactly where to leave them to avoid being caught. As Daemon began to curl his fingers you gasped when you felt his rings, loving the way the cool feeling against your wet skin.

“so desperate,” Daemon muttered, kissing down your chest, “so perfect,” he mumbled as he kissed around your nipple making it harden. Daemon chuckled as he saw your body’s reaction before taking in his mouth, sucking on it gently at first.

Your hand moved to his hair, tugging on his silver strands as you felt a familiar knot tighten in your stomach. Daemons spare hand moved to your free breast, squeezing it harshly making his rings press into the soft skin and making you moan again. “such pretty noises,” Daemon said, releasing your nipple for only a moment before he began sucking on it harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud.

You gasped as Daemon softly bit your nipple. You squirmed as Daemon moved his hand, repositioning it so his thumb could rub soft circles into your aching clit. “Daemon,” you whined as you felt yourself get closer with each pump of his fingers.

“look at you,” Daemon said before biting your chest making you gasp and your hips buck, “do you like when I fuck you with my fingers?” He asked, his lips ghosting over your skin.

“yes,” you whined, desperate for his lips against you again.

“you wanna come undone on my fingers, don’t you?” He said, nipping at your skin, his fingers curling to find an all too familiar spot making your body jerk.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, threatening to spill when he gave the command, “yes,” you moaned, not caring how loud it was as your fingers grasped his hair. “please,” you whined as Daemon kissed your neck. “I can’t wait anymore,”

Daemon moved his lips to hover against your ear, his breath fanning your neck, “then don’t,” Daemon whispered, biting your earlobe again, “I wanna see you fall apart on my fingers,” he said, his curling precise and his lips sucking harshly on your neck. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your legs twitching with each curl of his fingers and rub of your clit before your orgasm crashed through your body, your hands clutching onto Daemon as you rode it out not caring how loud you may be.

As you came down from your high, your legs feeling like mush and your body sweaty, you fell into Daemons chest. Daemon stroked your back, kissing your forehead gently. “so, you like the rings then?” He said, a smirk in his voice.

You looked up, laughing slightly as you regained your strength, “I guess you could say that”

Daemon lifted your chin with a finger, kissing your lips softly, “I’ll have to buy some more then,” he said before pulling you to stand from the table, his arms wrapping around your waist, “but im not done with you yet zaldrīzesītsos,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila

[aeriona]

I literally hit 300 followers while writing this so here you go: Here is a study I've done on the various sapient species of Splatoon! Drawing them all in their entirety would take too much time, so I've stuck to just some hands. besides, it looks cool.

Quick note: Keep in mind that the art i’ve done for each group is a generalisation, there is an ABSURD amount of variation between different species so if you want to use this knowledge for your own stuff then literally go nuts! There are basically no rules!

Anyway, This is a very long and nerdy post, so strap in.

First we have the Cephalopods. This includes Inklings, Octolings and Nautili. (I made seperate sciencey-art posts for each a while ago). These guys are cold-blooded, have no bones, blue blood and suckers on the end of each finger (except nautili, cause they’re weird.) These suckers are quite strong especially in Octolings, which can use them to cling to walls and even ceilings. Squid also have sucker-teeth, these retractable, chitinous rings inside each sucker that vary in length and sharpness between species.

Inkfish (excluding nautili) have 3 main types of skin cells;

Chromatophores, which allows for colour-changing

Iridophores/Leucophores, which gives the skin an iridescent effect

Photophores (some squid only) which can produce a blue glow.

Instead of bones, they have a unique system of muscles called a hydrostatic skeleton, which uses fluid pressure (in this case, ink) as a support structure. Blood is used too, but mostly ink cause they have so much of it (once again except Nautili, as they have no ink at all). This means that these guys are super bendy, they can stretch and contract their limbs and even turn their heads nearly 270 degrees!

Next we have both Cnidarians and Echinoderms. (I've excluded crustaceans cause idk how to draw them lmao sorry). These groups include jellyfish, anemones, sea slugs, snails and urchins.

Similarly to cephalopods, they’re all also cold-blooded and lack bones, instead having similar hydrostatic system for support with varying strength between each class. For example, Anenomes have super robust supports in their legs thanks to calcified rods in the fluid cavity, however jellyfish are extremely floppy as they have extremely weak hydrostatic muscles.

On a side note, Jellyfish and Anenome are also unique, as many species have cnidocytes in their various arms and tentacles. These are cells that when stressed, will inject a venom that varies in strength from a bee-sting to literally killing you.

Urchins are similar, as each finger is tipped with a brittle spine that can not only inject a weak venom but also break off into your skin, leaving behind nasty shards that cut you up from the inside. Fun.

And then there’s Sea Slugs/Snails which are literally the sweetest little people alive, they have no natural weapons at all apart from their poisonous flesh. They don’t even have teeth at all! They’re just slimy little buddies who love you! However, urchins are immune to their poison as they eat them. Sea Slugs are actually an urchin’s ONLY source of food (they get sick/weak eating anything else), and this has resulted in quite a lot of legal and criminal issues. It’s whole other can of worms.

And finally, fish. Fish are actually the ONLY people in the entire Mollusc Era to have proper bones and red blood, literally everyone else has either an exoskeleton or a hydrostatic system, with either blue blood or none at all. Damn fish and their weird joints.

Cartilaginous fish (sharks, manta rays) have cool, rough skin that’s kinda unpleasant to touch, whereas the most of the remaining species fall under the ray-finned fish (basically everything else) category, and they are covered in shiny scales.

Also eel, there is no hand. Because eel. I’m very funny.

And with that, I have concluded. I’ve done a lot of research on this stuff so if you have any questions at all or if you want me to draw some more diagrams/related artwork, please don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask! I love talking about/drawing this stuff so it’s of no inconvenience!

[alexas-fandom-and-random-blog]

I need to get it out of my chest so here's some Striker theories/speculations fandom has come up with that I heavily dislike and why.

Striker has some royalty blood from one parent or both.

Oh God that would suck so much if it became canon cause it absolutely defeats the purpose of his character so far, that of being a lower class imp hating royals with valid reasons even if his actions are violent and sadistic.

As he is he has such an interesting antagonistic role in the story and offers a bunch of good lines directly opposing and questioning the heroes values, choices and morality.

His mere presence and open bashing of the upper class is just good social commentary! If his hatred stems from a combination of his narcissistic nature and bitterness that being born an imp (even mixed or hybrid) robs him from ascending further into the social ladder or even if he survived a traumatic encounter with a royal as its implied and it's fuelled by anger or a combo of all those things all are good for telling a compelling story! All can be done in very interesting ways!

But making him yet another character tied closer to royalty than just being a random person that got screwed over is honestly an underwhelming concept.

Getting screwed over for no good or justified reason should be common with Hell's racist and classist system as its been presented so far and we should get confirmation of that instead of having Striker added to the trend of each of the main characters having special connections with higher ups. It's not only redundant at this point but would make his motivation and social commentary that much weaker.

I swear if it just becomes another daddy or mommy issue imma rage quit so fast!

Striker is half shark demon

His sound design is explicitly constantly emulating the noises a rattlesnake makes. Since he's most likely a hybrid and he says to Blitzo how they are "superior to most of our kind" he's definitely part imp. So we got two halves and we got snake demon and imp, so it's basically covered? lol I don't know how this theory became so popular😅

He doesn't even look close to the design of the other sharks

he only looks like Chaz a little bit.

And lots of characters share similar characteristics like that snout.

This one had some merit with the ringed eyes and imma be real I haven't noticed those elsewhere but like even if he had a grandpa shark what purpose would that serve?

Bah I just don't like it. Let the man be a slimy snake! Its more unique and it suits him better!

Striker is asexual cause he got grossed out by sex jokes

No...just no..

To be clear you could totally read him as asexual! But the reason being the damn sex jokes is giving me whiplash. Striker got flustered and frustrated at best cause the timing of each sex joke was inappropriate as all hell and cause everyone did it as he tried to be intimidating and threaten/kill them. If anything they were bruises to his ego not any indication to his libido.

But like... In all seriousness asexual confirmation deserves more than a reaction to sex jokes.

Hellaverse does it better with Alastor. In his case it does tie in with his sexuality.

Same goes with all the theories that he's homophobic too.

He did the sexy villain thing trying to seduce Blitzo like so explicitly and smiled when Blitzo called it hot then! What are you talking about?

Different situation, more receptive to sexual undertones and instigating them too. That's what I'm trying to say!

And again. Asexual reading can apply. But it can't be just the sex jokes alright?!😭

(yeah yeah it's a joke on itself. still valid I get it.)

Striker is related to Crimson and Moxxie.

Oh this one is the worst one and absolutely gives me a heart attack and thank goodness for the crew's soft confirmation that they aren't via strixxie fanart cause no joke I'd cry since its my favourite ship!

It's just similar horns!!! Striker was designed as a mix between Moxxie and Blitzo and that's the only reason why!

Striker also had sexual tension with Blitzo on screen are you gonna tell me they are related too cause he was designed with half of him in mind?

I hate this theory so much.

Granted purely for shipping reasons but holy shit it got popular and I hated that!

I've had enough with turning every ship into potential incest just cause and harassing fans over it!

Got such "Fizz and Blitzo are siblings" deja vu😬

Ahem...

Anyways yeah that's all.

To end it more positively I love the snake man! Didn't spot him on the trailer but still hope we see him in the upcoming episodes🥺

Preferably doing shit like this and traumatizing everyone lmao! (with no godawful statue jokes in sight thank you very much)

[ash-rigby]

Sampling The Wares (Shark Humanoid) [F/F]

Featured Characters: Female human and a female shark humanoid. Both are adults.

Description: Enid, an adventurer seeking coin, has been tasked with travelling over treacherous waters for the sole purpose of obtaining a powerful aphrodisiac from a monstrous sea witch. Audra has what she seeks, but offers the warrior a chance to test the substance before she leaves. Enid is compelled to oblige.

Contains: Aphrodisiacs, Nipple Play, Mild Nipple Growth, Mild Clit Growth, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral, Tribbing, Degradation, Multiple Orgasms.

Completion Date: July 2nd, 2023

Word Count: 4731

-

The closer Enid got to the island, the more it revealed itself to undeniably be a place of magic. The harsh, whipping winds suddenly dissipated in an instant and the turbulent waters which had threatened her small vessel calmed. The surface was like glass, revealing swirling, pale lights and wholly unique sea creatures. Anywhere that Enid’s skin was bare still stung from the cold, so the warmth that descended—though very humid—was welcome.

She was there on behalf of a man and woman from a town she had been passing through. They were offering substantial coin to anyone who would brave the perpetually tumultuous bay and the individual who presided in it; a witch in alleged possession of a certain magical substance. A powerful aphrodisiac, to be precise. It was an extreme length to go to for some added intensity in the bedroom, but Enid wasn’t about to turn down such a payment.

Her boat was dragged up onto the shore by an unseen force as she approached. A long, dark and slimy tendril emerged from the sand which made her reach for her sword. But it simply acted to tie the ship in place, burbling quietly as it secured itself. She released a breath and disembarked.

Before Enid was a moderately-sized, craggy rock face. A staircase with stone steps and decrepit wooden railings ran up it. It could only lead to the small island’s only dwelling; the home of Audra. Several large insects scurried out of Enid’s way when she walked towards it and began to carefully ascend.

At the top edge of the cliff, she came to a dirt pathway leading up a fog-shrouded knoll to a modest shack a short distance away. She paused to look for any sign of the reportedly monstrous witch. Nothing. The only movement was that of a crow pecking at something on the cabin’s crooked roof. It eyed her curiously as she approached, cocking its head before returning to its repetitive business.

Enid made her way up the three creaking porch steps and to the shack’s door. Beside it was a tarnished bell hanging from a short, haphazardly-installed metal arm.

“Best not to assume I can just barge right in,” Enid thought.

She pulled the bell’s string, startling as it made a horrible squawking noise instead of a ring. Her attention snapped from it and back to the door which opened mere seconds later.

There stood a creature a couple heads shorter than Enid; humanoid in most places, shark-like in others. She had sand-coloured skin, muddy yellow eyes, and a shock of short, unkempt golden hair on her head. Many deadly-looking teeth stuck out from her lips which twitched into an insincere smile as the equally sharp gaze travelled to meet hers.

“Hello, pup,” the creature said in a voice like salt water.

Enid straightened her spine. “Are you Audra?”

“I am she,” the witch said. She briefly looked Enid over, her nostrils wrinkling as she scoffed. “More hired muscle to take out a coward’s perceived threat?”

Her tone wasn’t angry or fearful; more lightly condescending. As if she were speaking to an insect that could be easily crushed should it think large enough of itself to try and sting.

“No,” Enid said, taking her hand away from the hilt of her blade. “I’ve come to purchase…something specific.”

Audra sniffed. “Suppose you wouldn’t have bothered ringing otherwise.”

She turned back towards the inside of her home, the fin of her shark tail audibly brushing the door frame.

“Come in, then,” she said. “Let’s get you sorted.”

Enid followed, finding herself in a dimly lit room full of curios and magical implements. There was a scent in the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, warm in her nose and somewhat spicy. Various ingredients were laid out on a table nearby. Assorted herbs, jars full of liquid too murky to discern the contents, and a strange purple root sitting half-chopped on a cutting board. Enid had clearly caught the witch in the middle of something; she would try and make this quick.

“Now, what might a warrior want of me?” Audra asked, leaning against the work table with her thick arms crossed over her chest; which was bare and carried two matching horizontal scars underneath where her breasts might have once been. She motioned towards the sword at Enid’s hip. “Perhaps to enchant that toothpick you carry?”

Enid gripped the scabbard protectively. “It was left to me by my late father. I would not see it altered.”

“Suit yourself,” Audra said with a shrug of her broad shoulders. She blinked into their brief silence. “Speak. What do you want?”

Enid’s face burned. She had not considered the embarrassment that would come from requesting the item she had come for.

“Courtesan’s Touch,” she said.  "A jar of Courtesan’s Touch.“

A real grin found Audra then, a chuckle shaking her frame and flaring the gills on her neck.

"I haven’t brought any of that to the mainland for a while,” she said thoughtfully. “You must be desperate to come this far for it, you naughty thing.”

“It’s not for me,” Enid defended.

“Your loss,” Audra said, her yellow eyes flashing even in the low light as she walked over to a nearby cabinet. “It’s exhilarating. What your client lacks in guts to come themselves, they make up for in taste.”

Enid coughed. “It’s not my job to judge; my client or the product.”

“But of course,” Audra said. She procured one of a collection of clay jars from the cabinet. It had a burlap cloth secured with twine covering the opening. “Though it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Enid asked, finding herself oddly fixated on the way Audra’s large hand cupped the round jar.

“Come now,” Audra said with a smirk. “You’re telling me you aren’t the least bit curious? To ‘sample the wares’, as it were?”

She was not wrong; Enid had speculated multiple times about the substance. What was it about a simple topical ointment that could be worth her journey and pay? It had to be powerful. Images of heated bodies going wild together with pleasure under its influence rose unbidden in her mind.

“None whatsoever,” she said, attempting to dash the lustful thoughts away and keep her pride. “This is a—.”

“Job, yes,” Audra interrupted. “However.”

The witch moved forward into Enid’s space, her voice lowering.

“I’m hard to deceive, pup. This excites you. You may lie, but my nose doesn’t.”

She accompanied her words with an indiscreet glance lower on Enid’s body and then back to her face, her hairless brow raising.

“You…” Enid murmured, taking a half-step back as a further flush slammed into her.

Audra gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I was kidding…but I’m right, aren’t I?”

Enid’s lips pressed tightly together as she looked to the floor, her heart hammering and not just from embarrassment. She watched as Audra returned to the cabinet and procured a second jar that was half the size of the first.

“Your journey was long and you seem tense,” Audra said. She held out the smaller jar. “Why not unwind?”

Enid stared at the offered item, knowing she should refuse but feeling her resolve flaking away. She hadn’t even thought about sex for a while. Not before she had taken that couple up on their request. But surely, it couldn’t be that easy for her to give in to such an indulgent whim.

Audra was pushing. Though it did seem malicious. It wasn’t as if the witch had any reason to poison Enid or some other such wicked deed. Perhaps she was simply trying to sell more of her wares than this transaction intended. And perhaps it was working.

“You may use my bedroom. Completely undisturbed.” Audra continued, gesturing behind her.

At the rear of the shack, there was a room cut off from the home proper by a ragged but effective privacy curtain. Enid looked at it and then back to Audra. She sighed and, against her better judgement, took the jar.

“I…suppose it would be best to know its quality for certain,” she said. “Find out if the stories are just stories.”

Audra grinned. “Of course…that’s all.”

Enid brushed past her and made her way to the bedroom.

“Call if you need anything,” Audra said after her as the curtain was shut.

The room was small, mostly taken up by the bed but still with more than enough walking space around it. Despite being alone, Enid couldn’t help but feel awkward. She could scarcely believe she was doing this. The jar in her hand suddenly felt so volatile. Placing it on the bed, she set about removing her gear and clothes until she was standing topless in the witch’s bedroom.

Enid sat on the edge of the mattress. It was old, but not dirty. She laid herself down against the pillows which were individually flat and stacked to be in any way comfortable. Taking a breath, she then reached for the jar and removed the lid.

The scent of the contents hit her at once; not unlike honey with a hint of something earthy. It flooded her senses and made something pleasantly shiver its way down her spine. Emboldened by rising excitement, she scooped up a bit of the milky-coloured ointment with her fingers. She ignored the need between her legs, not quite ready to go that far with it yet. Instead, she brought it to one of her nipples.

As Enid rubbed it against her quickly perking flesh, it thinned into a liquid that ran in rivulets down the curve of her breast. She did the same with the other before leaving the jar at her side to work the substance in with both hands. A pleased sigh escaped her as she teased herself. It felt good, but nothing more than what was typical.

She added more, making the whole of her tits glisten with it. Arousal flickered to life inside of her; a small, controlled candle flame rather than a blaze. Her thighs began to rub together unconsciously. She was certainly losing herself to this more quickly, but she wondered when the real show would begin. Was this all?

Just as Enid was starting to doubt the witch’s words, she felt a tingling sensation wherever the ointment had touched, concentrated at its highest power on the now-hardened buds on her breasts. She stopped touching herself just to feel it descend upon her with fascination. It was warm and didn’t seem set on fading. Quite the contrary; it was growing more intense by the second.

Enid was helpless to it. She began to pant as sweat sprung up over her heating body. She became aware that the quick heaving of her chest was bringing her pleasure, however subtle the movement it brought to her breasts. Shaking fingers rose once more to her nipples. A loud moan wrenched itself from her as her back snapped into an arch from the intense pleasure.

Her body dropped heavily and she lay in shock for only a moment before she was compelled to continue.

“Fuck…fuck,” she whimpered, rolling a hyper-sensitive nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

Her heart knocked against her ribs. This was it. This was what she had been looking for and more. Any walls she had pointlessly held up shattered and she gave herself over entirely to the Touch.

Enid proceeded to grope herself like she never had before; hard and desperate. Her hands squeezed the mound of her breasts, all but tugged at her nipples. Wetness was gathering in her undergarments the longer she fondled. Shameless noises and curses streamed from her mouth which began to drool from the corners.

She could imagine the sight she made; reduced so quickly to a writhing mess just from touching her own tits. But she wanted more. Needed more.

Enid paused, hands falling to rest at her sides. A glance down her body showed her thoroughly used nipples. She gasped to see them having swollen to twice their original size. They were dark and lightly, but visibly, throbbing.

Enid reached for her belt. She fumbled with it, discovering that her fingers were shaking too much to undo the buckle. Her pussy demanded attention with ardent pulses. The need to please it was enough to bring frustrated tears to Enid’s eyes. Her hands dropped once more, gathering the sheets tightly into her palms.

Biting back a whine, her gaze was drawn back to her chest, slick with a combination of the ointment and her sweat. Her engorged nipples continued to rapidly twitch. She tried to resume teasing them, but a single prod caused a shock of limb-weakening pleasure. It was too much. She couldn’t keep up. The realization struck that she couldn’t finish this herself.

Laying there, set upon by relentless arousal strong enough to bring her a full-body tremble, it was hard to think. But she didn’t have to contemplate long about what to do next. Her mind wandered to sharp teeth and strong arms. To large, undoubtedly skillful hands that would be a balm on this ache. With a voice rising to an embarrassing near-wail, Enid called out in an urgent appeal to the only person for miles.

“Audra!”

Enid waited, praying that the witch hadn’t left the home. But the privacy curtain was soon being pushed aside and Audra strode into the room. Her eyes glinted as they slowly roamed Enid’s body which lay on willing display for her. A dark tongue darted out briefly over her bottom fangs, making Enid swallow hard around her heavy breaths.

Audra hummed in amusement. “My, my, what a state.”

“Please…please, Audra. Please,” Enid pleaded. “I-I need—.”

Shushing her, Audra approached the bed. She chuckled; more fond this time than ridiculing.

“Patience, pup,” she said lowly. “I have you.”

She situated herself on the bed and leaned over Enid, the scent of her heavy and intoxicating. Her hand cupped Enid’s face and she instinctively turned into it, exposing the length of her neck. Warm breath ghosted over her skin as Audra’s tongue traced its way up her throat and up to her ear, teasing at the lobe. Even that simple of an action made her cunt throb; she was done for.

Audra pulled away. “Look at me.”

Enid obeyed, meeting the witch’s thin pupils before being brought into a kiss. Though it was not as much of a kiss as it was Audra slipping her tongue directly into her mouth. She felt her eyes widen as the impossibly long muscle snaked down her throat and she couldn’t deny how arousing it was. Sharp teeth grazed her lips as the tongue explored deeply. Enid moaned around it when a hand finally found her chest.

Audra took one of Enid’s breasts, pressing and rolling the nipple under her thumb. Swollen and straining, it pulsed all the harder under the witch’s touch. She could certainly feel it and that fact should have been mortifying. But Enid couldn’t muster an ounce of care. Not when it was the source of such pleasure.

Cries muffled by the thick tongue laving around in her throat, Enid felt wild. Every brush against her nipple added to the fluttering heat that had overtaken her entire body. She thought she may very well quiver out of her skin.

Audra then retracted her tongue, licking her teeth as Enid gasped for air. Drool glistened on her chin and her gaze had become hungry. Both hands went to Enid’s tits, relentless attention fixed on the sensitive buds upon them. She gave yet another devious chuckle over Enid’s loud moans, her voice slightly rougher as she spoke.

“Look at them throbbing like that,” Audra marveled. “I knew there was a perverted body under that tough exterior. It’s always the uptight ones.”

Enid merely whimpered, ecstasy fighting against any coherent speech.

“Looks tasty,” Audra said and it was the only warning Enid received before that probing tongue descended onto her chest.

It was so much better than a hand, circling over her nipple at alternating paces as Audra let out low, satisfied noises. Like someone devouring a delicious meal. Enid weakly tugged at the sheet, head tossed back against the pillow. Her breasts were slowly wet further with warm saliva as Audra moved her mouthy affections between both. The sensation was filthy, but she revelled in it.

A fever of pleasure wracked her body. Her legs snapped open of their own accord as her ignored pussy dribbled and throbbed. She wanted nothing more than to grind it against something—anything. Her hips writhed with that desire but she could do nothing more.

Yet, somehow, it was enough.

Enid moaned when a familiar feeling, though with an unfamiliar epicentre, surged within her. It was rapidly building to a peak as she was fondled and licked. Her nipples all but pounded with heartbeats of their own; though that was likely the effect of her own racing pulse in her ears. She could barely tell what was what anymore through the haze of impending release.

Audra was unwavering, her pleased vocalizations vibrating against slick, heated skin.

“Audra…I can't—Audra, I’ll cum,” Enid said, frantic and breathless. “I…I—oh, fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cu—!”

The words were cut off by a loud, quavering cry. Completely untouched, pleasure radiated from her sweltering cunt. Her back bent into as much as an arch as was allowed by Audra remaining on top of her. The witch teased her through it, prolonging her ecstasy until it was almost unbearable.

Enid’s orgasm dropped her. She lay catching her breath, twitching periodically with aftershocks as her nipples continued to throb. Audra had sat back to seemingly admire her work. An infuriatingly arousing smugness was settled into those shark-like features.

“And that,” Audra said, fangs flashing. “Is Courtesan’s Touch.”

Her hand lighted on Enid’s torso just below her heaving breasts. She trailed her fingers downwards. They came to a stop just before travelling between Enid’s legs, toying with the seam on her pants.

“It does wonders here,” she said, undeniable excitement oozing from her tone. “May I?”

Enid nodded. “Please.”

“Good girl.”

Audra relinquished Enid of the rest of her clothes, gently sliding a single large hand under the small of her back to encourage her to assist by lifting her hips. Enid’s pants and underwear were dropped unceremoniously to the floor and her pussy was exposed to the air. She shivered, watching curiously as Audra took a moment to remove her waist wrappings and even things with her own nudity.

“Let’s not let you have all the fun,” she said.

Remaining standing by the bed, Audra lifted a foot and placed it up on the bed by Enid’s head so that her cunt was on full display. Enid couldn’t help but stare at the enticing folds and prominent clit. She swallowed at the thought of sucking it. The unrelenting heat of the aphrodisiac still raged and quickened her breath as her desirous gaze remained fixed.

Audra reached down to thumb at her clit, eliciting a pleased hum. She gestured with a flick of her head to Enid’s side.

“Hand me that, would you?”

Enid fumbled a little in reaching for the jar and giving it to Audra. The witch took a liberal amount of the ointment, using two of her thick fingers to rub it into her pussy. It quickly left a glistening, wet mess. Audra made a show of it, thrusting lightly into the air above Enid’s face as she played with herself. The scent of her soon-leaking cunt was dizzying.

“Getting a good look, aren’t you?” Audra asked in between heavy breaths. “You like to watch…I can tell.”

“Yes,” Enid admitted, barely suppressing a needy whine at the sight of flushed and dripping folds parting eagerly for tireless fingers. She would kill for that then. Her body cried out in every silent but still insistent way to be teased and fucked. She couldn’t stand it any longer.

Audra paused before any begging could occur. The whole of her pussy twitched as she remained with her foot up on the bed for only a few more moments. Enid could see a slight swelling beginning in her clit, wondering just how much it would be affected by the Touch.

Palming the jar and still breathing slightly erratically, Audra moved to sit back on the bed. Enid’s heart began to pound again in anticipation. Her head lolled against the pillow so she felt more than saw when Audra’s fingers made contact with her neglected pussy. It throbbed hard at the first stroke, sending her hips jolting.

The ointment melted to its liquid state as Audra took up an agonizingly slow pace. Enid moaned all the same, shaking and weak with the relief of finally being touched this way. Every stroke was heavenly, but they stopped all too soon. She felt movement which brought her attention to the witch.

Audra climbed up onto the bed, situating herself on her knees between spread thighs. Giving the warrior a crafty look, she reached out and grabbed Enid’s waist, pulling her forward with unexpected strength. Enid yelped and found herself with her backside resting up on Audra’s legs, her own splayed out on either side of the witch.

Audra smiled at the indignant expression she received but said nothing. She reached for the jar again to gather more ointment—and focus a generous portion entirely on Enid’s clit. The warm, wide pad of Audra’s thumb worked it in with slow circles. Enid’s toes curled from the pleasure. Her lower half trembled, her soaking cunt quivering with every pass over her clit.

She panted as a familiar tingling settled in. She felt it like hot blood rushing rapidly into her clit. Her eyes rolled back with it. This time, she was hyper-aware of the swell. Every heartbeat-like pulse filled out her clit further. The sheer increasing strain of it kept cries spilling from her lips even though the touches had ceased.

Enid knew that Audra had stopped to observe. To watch her grow with that sharp, starving animal look of hers. She could feel those feral eyes on her pussy and it only served to make her clit pound harder. Biting back a sob, she finally looked at Audra, her aroused ideas confirmed.

But more than Audra’s intense staring, Enid was struck by the state of her clit. It had grown to a fair three inches, thick and throbbing as it stood jutting away from her body not unlike a cock. She whimpered, dying to touch it, but unable to stop her mind from whirling enough to put her hand into motion.

Audra let out a low growl, but it was accompanied by a large, toothy grin. She shuffled backwards ungracefully, allowing Enid’s body to drop hard onto the mattress. The motion made Enid’s raging clit bob drastically and stars burst in her wavering vision at the shock of pleasure.

“Stay with me, pup,” Audra said huskily at the same time that Enid felt warm air puff against the skin of her sweat-slick thigh.

The witch was suddenly laying on her stomach between Enid’s legs, her pointed face inching closer to her cunt. That tongue which had enthusiastically explored her throat and teased her nipples slipped once again through deadly fangs. Enid barely had a lucid second to brace herself before it was tracing its way up her folds. A wail shook itself from her as it wrapped around the length of her clit.

Audra bobbed her head, writhing her tongue as she moved. The wet, rhythmic squeeze was exquisite. Her breath was humid against the mound of Enid’s pussy, laced with frequent drops of the saliva glinting off her fangs.  The yellow eyes had glazed over somewhat, a whisper of palpable arousal forming on shark-like features as Audra’s hips began to rut against the mattress.

“Gods…gods,” Enid gasped, finally finding it in herself to return her hands to her still swollen and twitching nipples. Her moans cracked to a higher pitch, sounding in the small space over and over. She bucked into Audra’s face when pleasure would spike. Part of her feared she may lance herself on those sharp teeth, but it was a faint concern fogged by the mounting ecstasy of a fast-approaching release. Enid whined, ready to burst.

The tongue abruptly released her.

Frustration flared, tangling with the need in her voice. “N-no…why—?”

Similarly breathless, Audra crawled forward. She was keeping her typical expression, but desperation still seeped through the cracks. Once their hips aligned, she stopped.

“Like hell am I passing up feeling you cum on mine,” she said huskily.

Looking down, Enid saw Audra’s clit; similarly augmented to a larger size and throbbing hard between her legs. The witch’s cunt was dripping, slick falling onto Enid’s body as she hovered above. Two deeply heated sets of eyes met for only a moment’s silence.

“Fuck me,” Enid breathed. “Fuck me…fuck me.”

Audra grinned and brought their swollen clits together. They moaned in near unison as she initially stilled, straining flesh twitching fervidly against each other. She began thrusting, slowly at first but gaining speed as their combined wetness eased the movement.

Enid’s hands landed on Audra’s thighs. She held on for dear life, her nails digging into muscle-taut skin. The pounding in the length (and it was still strange to apply that word) of her clit worked south, sending both of her holes twitching with pleasure. Her pussy was on fire and soaked the sheets beneath them. She cried out, any words incoherent aside from Audra’s name repeating on her tongue.

Audra was practically snarling, the sounds punching out of her with every forward thrust. She was truly bearing down. The full weight of her descended in deep grinds.

“Take it, pup. Take it,” she growled. “Let’s get off just humping together like this, huh? That’s all we need. We’re just a couple of horny beasts.”

Enid moaned, unstable from Audra’s rough thrusting. “More…more…more! Oh, gods, more!”

“Nothing—hah—nothing else to say that isn’t begging?” Audra asked, playfully proud. “What happened to that smart tongue of yours? Cum yourself stupid on that last one?”

Maybe. But did Enid care? Not in the slightest. She didn’t care that she had let things go this far. She didn’t care that Courtesan’s Touch had made a needy little fuck-toy out of her. Every fibre of her being was alight in ways it never had been before. She readily lost herself to every deep throb in her engorged clit and gushing cunt.

“Harder,” she groaned through grit teeth.

Audra gave a laugh that was aborted in part by a choked moan as she obliged and upped her pace. Their bodies all but thrashed together, clits sliding over one another in a tight, wet press. The thick, heady scent of their fucking was broken only by the occasional sweet whiff of the Touch; a reminder of the simple ointment that had reduced them to this.

Like a shot, Enid found herself cumming. Any movements she was adding to the clash of aroused flesh stilled as she shook and moaned. The ever-present pulsing of her clit reached its apex while Audra continued. But it only took a few more wild, uncoordinated thrusts for the witch to join her.

Enid felt her throbbing and watched as golden eyes rolled back under flickering lids. Contrary to the earlier feral noises and filthy words, Audra was oddly quiet in her release. She seemed to be holding her breath before letting out an audible, gravelly and shaking exhale as she came down from it. Her head remained lowered, hiding her face from Enid while she gathered herself.

With a purposeful inhale, she eventually straightened and looked down at the human pinned underneath her. The corners of her mouth perked.

“So…that meet your standards?” she said, a bead of sweat dripping from her temple and caressing her lower jaw.

When she didn’t receive an answer from a still-panting Enid right away, she moved to dismount. But she was stopped by two hands slapping down onto her thighs. She dropped back down, mild shock finding her face for the first time.

“As I said,” Enid said slowly, heat creeping into her face despite her demanding tone. “More.”

Audra flashed that beastly grin and bent forward to grab the jar.

“You should be wary of what you ask for, pup.”

End

Masterlist

[sunsetsands]

Almud Masterpost

Seemed like a good idea to create a place to compile information about the main planet project I have going.

Most of the pictures here are hand-drawn. I have slowly been improving at digital art, so I do intend on gradually replacing them with procreate recreations, but until then, have these messy pencil illustrations.

The planet’s name is Almud (pronounced “awl-MOO-duh” (yes, the D at the end is its own syllable)). It is the second planet from its star, an orange dwarf. Conditionswise, Almud is very similar to Earth, just a lot warmer and wetter, and without a single large moon. Instead, it has a somewhat recently-formed system of rings. These rings are made of the debris from the planet’s former moon, which floated in past the Roche limit a few dozen million years ago and got torn apart. Almud may or may not also have a smaller moon or two somewhere further out. I haven’t decided on that yet.

This is a map of Almud’s entire geography, which is slightly outdated. I’ll probably make an updated version at some point eventually possibly maybe. If you’re curious, those numbers on the continents were so I could keep track of continental drift to make sure everything made sense. I care way too much about tiny details.

This is a rough (and I mean very rough. Not proud of my craftsmanship on the outlines here) approximation of what Almud’s surface looks like. The foliage uses a teal pigment to photosynthesize, and the sky appears pink during the day. Obviously, not all of the planet is wetlands, but there are definitely more wetlands than there are on Earth thanks to the much higher humidity.

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out what Almud’s animal-equivalent life should be like. After several failed attempts, however, I think I have gotten it to a point I am satisfied with. Below is a phylogenetic tree of all of the “animal” phyla present on Almud, and an overview of what each phylum has going on. I tried not to rip off Earth's phylogeny too much, but there are some notable parallels.

Vaxistoma (roughly "vaccine mouth"): Small fishlike creatures that feed through a proboscis with an extendible needle-tooth-thing inside of it. The rest of their body is covered in thick, hard scales. They mainly inhabit deeper waters where aquatic duossei are less common.

Duosseus ("two skeletons"): The closest equivalent to vertebrates. First members were fishlike, with calcified plates covering the outside of their bodies and rod-shaped bones supporting the inside. The outer skeleton atrophied mostly in the terrestrial members, but most classes do still have notable remnants, as shown in the small drawing above.

Limosus ("muddy, slimy things"): Soft, squishy creatures without much in terms of an internal skeleton, but most groups do have some external armor like their relatives listed above. Can be accurately summarized as "molluscs, but more alieny", though a few members are more like worms or sea stars.

Jocomodivirae (very roughly "funny little guys"): Small velvet worm-esque invertebrates with a thick, leathery pad over their back. A very diverse phylum with many, many members. Definitely not just insects with no exoskeletons.

Planagelattae ("flat jellies"): What if flatworms had three eyes?

Xenigmalus ("strange, mysterious things"): I can't think of a good way of describing these, which is pretty fitting for what they are. Body plans vary wildly here, but are almost always some combination of fins, tentacles, and a big translucent sack. Like the vaxistomans, they usually inhabit deeper waters.

Cornivermia ("horned worms"): Pretty self-explanatory. The flat, hard bits at the fronts of their heads help them dig through softer areas of soil. Some groups use these growths instead as something more akin to pincers, fins, hooks, or shells.

Carniherbae ("meat plants"): You know those animal-fern things from the Ediacaran era? These are just those, but not extinct.

Vivitria ("living glass"): Soft, feathery insides protected by a crystalline silicate shell. Many species in this phylum are colonial, which tend to look like colorful, floating geodes. These colonies often have surprisingly complex sensory capabilities, and some have been found to be about as intelligent as Earth cats.

Xylovitria ("wood glass"): Terrestrial relatives of the vivitrians, almost all of which are colonial. The defining feature of this phylum, besides their terrestriality, is their symbiotic relationship with a wide range of plant-equivalent species. The xylovitrian colony forms a protective, glassy wall around the plants' branches, as well as a system of feathery roots beneath the soil which serve to both gather nutrients for their plant partner and exchange gametes with other colonies to create new, empty xylovitrians for the plants' seeds to land in. In return, the plant gives the colony some of the byproducts of its photosynthesis.

Chiforma ("X-shaped"): Four-sided radially symmetrical creatures. Contains such captivatingly creative groups such as "squids, but four", "clams, but four", "eels, but four", and, most creataculiciously of all, "coral, but four". A shining example of the innovation that specbio nerds are capable of.

Nodovellis ("tangled hair"): Formless, sessile filter feeders. Basically a slime mold trying really hard to be a sponge, but the closest it could get was becoming a loofah.

(Feel free to give critiques or advice on the scientific names I made. All I really did here was mess around with google translate. I know there are guidelines and policies for what is and isn't an acceptable phylum title, but I've never been able to understand what any of them mean. If anything immediately makes you go "That's not how that works!", let me know)

For some additional information, I imagine that life on Almud began in freshwater rather than saltwater. This made the transition to land pretty easy for most of the animals, since they could afford to just flop around in muddy wetlands without any risk of drying out. This does mean that their skin is very, very sensitive to salt, however.

There is one sapient species on Almud: These slug things. Their actual species name is Akada, if that's important. Akada are descended from a social burrowing species that learned how to cultivate the many plants and molds that thrived in the dark, wet conditions of their tunnels. They are herbivorous, have a herd animal-like social structure, and currently have a level of technological advancement similar to ours. For more miscellaneous and mostly jokey info on them, please look here.

I will expand on all of this when/if I find the time and motivation.

[dubylou-draws]

*Aggrieved pufferfish noises*

[Translators note: "You’re always whining about not wanting to go to work, you’re always hitting on girls, and you snore SO loud!"]

(no, I don't know what a pufferfish sounds like either)

____

Merman Zenitsu and pufferfish Chuntaro!

I was backing up some files earlier, and stumbled across this dumb AU doodle from a few years ago. Seemed appropriate to colour it with watercolours!

Cute little Chuntaro is a prickly pufferfish in this AU... but that raises the question: what marine species would the rest of the corps use to communicate underwater?

Swordfish are extremely fast swimmers, have convenient weapons/ letter clips stuck to their faces, excellent eyesight, are highly migratory loners with a massive range, and... ugh, fine. They're the obvious choice, aren't they?

Most members of the seaman slayer corps use swordfish.

Further fishy ideas beneath the cut:

Tanjirou:

My first instinct is to say sunfish, but the mental image of one of those massive creatures drifting menacingly behind him at all times is just too ridiculous.

And yet... somehow it makes perfect sense? A gentle giant that acts like a shield, patiently sheltering his sister from the sun whenever they travel near the surface.

Shinobu/ Kanao/Kanae: Butterfly fish, of course! All with polite and graceful personalities.

Shinobu fights using a variety of marine animal venoms including stonefish. Stonefish stings are treated with the applicaton of heat to denature proteins in the venom... so if Douma's an ice guy in this AU too, he's in for a rough time.

Inosuke: Briefly had a cute little pigfish, but he ate it within a day. Now he just has a regular corps- assigned swordfish. They're also tasty, apparently... if only he could catch it!

Tengen: Really wanted a Fireworks fish/ some other absurdly flamboyant tropical fish. Instead, he was assigned a bland- looking, tiny little fish that's well- suited to stealth missions.

It's been thoroughly ✨bedazzled✨by now and loves him. The most popular family member by far. Very plump and spoilt.

Gyomei: Green humphead parrotfish. These guys are massive, pretty docile, and spend most of their time crunching through rock- hard coral with big teeth to scrape off yummy algae, pooping out the rest as sand. They are cleaners that are instrumental in maintaining the health of coral reef ecosystems.

Gyomei's parrotfish is no exception; however, it used to be an insatiable glutton, to the point of destroying the coral reef it once resided in and being ostracised by its peers as a result. Wracked with guilt and with nowhere else to go, it received an invitation to serve in the corps. Its new master helped it learn self control.

Rengoku: There's no shortage of bold, flame- coloured fish species out there... but I reckon this guy just has the same generic swordfish species assigned to the rest of the corps. The only difference being that his used to be his father's loyal companion, and it's aged a bit, so it's not as speedy as it once was. It should've retired years ago, but refuses to abandon its self- imposed duty of keeping its master's son on the right path.

Was a rebellious playboy in its youth. Now it's a straight- laced military type, follows corps rules to the letter. Doesn't trust that slimy sea slug Nezuko one bit.

Sanemi: SAILFISH, hands down. Aggressive, vaguely wind- themed predator, and the fastest swimmer in the ocean. Both of them are pretty smug about that last point.

Genya: An archerfish would make sense thematically... but again, Genya just seems like another corps- assigned swordfish kinda guy to me? He definitely has a pet snapping turtle though. It's very small, and VERY grumpy.

Muchiro: A sweet natured blue- ringed octopus who wants nothing more than to be friends, but suffers from crippling social anxiety that makes it seem aloof and unapproachable.

Everyone is TERRIFIED of it except Tengen, who thinks it's flamboyant as heck, and Shinobu, who is simultaneously obsessed with it and wants to stab it dead.

Muchiro just ignores it, for the most part.

(Giyuu can relate).

Mitsuri: Blobfish lacking in self- confidence. Mitsuri thinks it's cute, and is absolutely correct in her opinion. Accepts cuddles from Mitsuri and Obanai only, and blushes at compliments. It's also insanely flexible, just like its master. Copes well under high pressure!

Giyuu: This man has a manta ray, no doubt about it. A creature of few words with a serene and peaceful disposition... yet inexplicably a huge social magnet that effortlessly draws everyone's attention (away from Giyuu). Especially popular with young merchildren, whom it often allows to ride on its back. Holds a deep respect for both its master and Urokodaki (who has a manta ray too, by the way).

Obanai: Had the toughest time deciding this one. A striped beakfish would match his colour scheme perfectly, but... I just don't think it suits him. A striped marlin, maybe? Anyone with more ideas, let me know!

Kaburamaru is a sea snake, obviously. A black- banded sea krait.

[xbunnysbrainx]

Catch me, Cradle me

Eddie Munson x Female!reader

summary: with his name cleared and a high-school diploma under his belt, eddie grapples with the lingering effects of the upside down on his life, psyche and body. his way of coping may be doing more harm than good, but he’s not entirely ready to change that… until he meets you

¡¡drug/substance abuse!!

this exists thanks to this beautiful request

It started out with smoking a little more weed than usual. Then a little turned into a lot. And then when that hadn’t been enough to chase away the horrors left to haunt him after his harrowing brush with death, Eddie turned to something stronger. Seeking solace in powders and pills.

“You can talk to us, Eddie.”

He had been doing a good job at hiding the evidence of his new crutch. To others, he seemed as though he had been quietened and matured by the harsh reality of the last year or so of his life. In truth though, Eddie had lost himself entirely. Spending almost every waking hour high and still tormented by the sickening reel of bones breaking and bats screeching constantly cycling through his mind.

“If anyone can understand you, it’s us.”

To dodge any growing suspicion from his friends and Uncle Wayne, Eddie would slip into a facade of his pre-Upside Down self whenever the situation called for it, wearing his own personality like a mask, and it had been working well until recently… but some things were harder to hide.

“You’re not alone in this.”

Periods of complete withdrawal and isolation, a rocky short-term memory, questionably sized pupils, slow reflexes, trembling hands and extreme skittishness. A more fiery-than-necessary-temper.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay-”

“I am okay.” Eddie gripes, facing his genuinely concerned friends with all mean and sharp edges, standoffish as he shrinks himself further into the couch, busying himself with the loose threads in his jeans as he tries not to meet any of the worried eyes currently surrounding him.

He’s trying even harder not to look up at the patched hole in the ceiling of his trailer. Leading to nowhere now, but still an ever-present and probably permanent reminder of the hell he had been through. Much like the scars that littered his skin.

“You’re not, Eddie. You’re acting different.” Dustin Henderson. He had been the whistleblower.

A week ago, he’d opened the glove compartment in Eddie’s van in search of a mixtape and found an arsenal of substances instead. A few months ago, Eddie could have gotten away with it, but he wasn’t dealing anymore and now, he was the victim of an ambush in his own home.

“I’m not acting different.” Eddie grumbles, defensive and closed off, ringed fingers pausing in the midst of their fidgeting when something thwacks against the side of the trailer from outside. A bird? Possibly. Some kid’s stray football? Even more likely. But rationalisation doesn’t save Eddie from the sickening churn of anxiety that swirls around in the pit of his stomach and swells up into the centre of his chest. Suffocating and inescapable.

He blinks and he sees them. Swarming him, closing in on him, hopelessly outnumbering him by the hundreds. Shrieking and slinking their slimy tails around his limbs and throat, sinking their monstrous teeth into his flesh to steal gory and greedy chunks of his muscle-

“We know that you’re using, Eddie!” Robin blurts, and her inability to dance around tense subjects is his saving grace. He tries to push the gruesome recollection to the back of his mind, adjusting in his seat as he forces out an exasperated kind of laugh, finally lifting his gaze to the party gathered around him. He can see the wood patching up the ceiling in his peripheral. It makes him feel sick.

“Using?” Eddie hides himself behind his metaphorical mask, lips curling into an imitation of that roguish grin of his-it doesn’t quite reach his eyes these days-shielding himself with falsified amusement as he feeds his friends another bold faced lie,

“It’s weed. I’m smoking weed, man. All of you came here to bust my ass over that?” Eddie laughs humourlessly and shifts in his seat again, hand lifting to toy with his hair and scratch at his cheek, hoping his friends won’t notice the shake in his fingertips or the jittery bounce of his leg.

“We know it’s more than just weed, Eddie. Dustin told us what he saw.” Nancy’s voice is as serious as her tone, and when everyone else wordlessly agrees, nodding and searing the surface of Eddie’s skin with their worried-pitying-gazes, Eddie wishes for the floor to open up and swallow him. Or maybe for the ceiling to crack open once more so that god-awful place can consume him, like it was supposed to.

It had been a little over a year since Eddie had woken up handcuffed to a hospital bed in indescribable agony with a very difficult road to recovery ahead of him.

A little over a year since Eddie had risked his life to save the same people that made him the primary target of their man hunt.

A little over a year since Chrissy Cunningham had crumpled to the floor of his trailer, shattering the foundations of the life he knew, catapulting him into a waking nightmare that still hadn’t ended.

Since then, Eddie had been pulling away from everyone and everything that he loved, and sure, he felt bad about it, but he felt worse about the pills he had stuffed into his picked in a moments panic when his monster fighting friend group had knocked at his front door unannounced. He wished he had swallowed them before this intervention.

The mediation continues among the group and Eddie can hear his friends, but he’s no longer listening.

Because yes, they’d fallen prey to the atrocities of the twisted dimension lurking below their once sleepy hometown long before he had, and yes, that undoubtedly left a mark on all of them, but they got to return to their normal lives after the storm had cleared and the dust had settled. Eddie was still living in the fallout.

He rarely ever slept through a full night anymore and the muscles and tendons underneath his scars ached and burned on the daily. He constantly suffered through serious panic inducing flashbacks and sometimes he swore he was going crazy, hearing the voice of a certain cheerleader over his shoulder, seeing her form in the corner of his eye, bloody eyed and bent out of shape. He couldn’t stand the dark or the smell of burning or loud noises and Christ, he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror anymore. He couldn’t stand the sight of himself, scarred and skittish and usually bleary-eyed.

He went from being the town’s relatively-harmless-weirdo to a killer cultist overnight. Name cleared or not, Eddie’s life had been destroyed.

Staying high was the only way Eddie could feel any semblance of normality. the numbness he found in pills and potions being the closest he could get to feeling peace and calm.

That, he knew his friends wouldn’t understand.

* * *

Eddie can’t remember what exactly he’s looking for, but he’s absolutely certain that he didn’t come here to stand unmoving and empty-eyed in the soap and detergent isle for nearly fifteen minutes.

The too-bright fluorescent lights above his head paired with the quiet buzz of gaudy pop music crackling through a radio somewhere in the store are starting to pinch at his already soured mood. He blames his fuzzy, sensitive mind on the intervention he’d had to deal with this morning and not the pills he’d stomached as soon as it was over.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” Eddie almost leaps out of his skin at the sound of your voice and the gentle brush of your fingertips against his arm-a little too close to the jagged scars hiding underneath the sleeve of his shirt-causing him to jerk and flinch away from you like a man on fire and when his wild brown eyes whip around to meet yours, you jump away just as fast, one arm raised in surrender, the other cradling an array of boxed fabric softeners.

“Jesus Christ!” He’s closed in on himself and tilted away from you with palms flat against his racing chest, his shoulders curled up defensively, one of his feet lifted ever so slightly from the floor. His heart is beating so hard against his ribcage that it feels as though it’ll shatter the bone.

“Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t- you’ve been standing here for ages. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh in between your words, soft and sweet and friendly, and Eddie has to take a glance up and down the isle to make sure that it’s actually him that you’re addressing.

“It’s uh-shit. It’s fine.” He huffs out an awkward breath of laughter and settles, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his eyelids, pinching the bridge of his nose as he laughs again but this time it’s a little colder. Cruel, mean and aimed at himself.

What exactly had he been expecting when he turned around? Certainly not some girl dressed in a horribly tacky and entirely unthreatening convenience store uniform.

You smile at him, all gentle and apologetic, and when you crouch down in front of him to offload the boxes in your arms onto the lower shelves, he thinks that you look vaguely familiar.

“Eddie, right?” You ask as you pull the older stock to the front so that it sells first before you wedge the new boxes in the back and when you shoot your gaze over your shoulder to look at him, he drops his own eyes to the toes of his boots. Messy curls curtaining his face and hiding the pink and silvery skin scarring his left cheek.

He grimaces and assumes that you recognise him from the news. The boy who killed his peers with a sinister kind of violence, the cultist, Satans vessel (as some had called him). The devil on earth. Eddie the freak Munson. The Munson Murders-

“Yep.” He swallows and shoves his hands into his pockets as deep as they’ll go,

“In the flesh, unfortunately.” He mumbles that last part under his breath, smiling tight-lipped and sarcastic, working hard to avoid your eyes as you rise to your feet and twirl on your toes to face him.

He’s bracing himself for something brutal. A cruel comment, a prying question that’ll yank everything bad right to the surface despite his pill-stewed mind, leaving him feeling raw and wounded and hurt. But it doesn’t come.

“We did a project together for our-my senior year. For English, we had to choose an author.” Your recollection and complete lack of hostility garners his full attention, and he finally meets your gaze again. You don’t miss the way that he subtly conceals the left side of his face by lifting his hand to twirl his hair around his fingers, pulling the strands across his mouth as he squints at you and blinks slow.

“Yeah?” He cocks his head to the side, takes a quick glance at the name tag on your vest in an attempt to jog his own memory but when he comes up blank he finds himself cursing the beloved pills that have started to settle into his bloodstream and mellow him out.

Because you are the first person outside of his friends and his Uncle that has treated him like a human in months, and he can’t remember you at all.

“Yeah. You insisted on Tolkien.” You grin at him and lean back against the shelves behind you with your hands tucked behind your back, relaxed and actually interested in speaking to him, and it feels weird for Eddie.

Eddie who still bares the brunt of spiteful gazes and cruel words every time he steps outside. Eddie who sometimes suffers the wrath of even crueler fists belonging to old high school peers and strangers alike.

“I did?” He tilts his chin down, brows quirking up skeptically until finally he gets a brief flash of a memory,

“Oh shit, I did! We got an A, right?” He smiles. It’s small and fleeting, but it’s there and it’s the first that he hasn’t forced in a long time.

“Uh huh, and that was all you, Munson. All I did was make the project look pretty.” You beam at him, but then your boss is calling your name from another isle, yelling about misplaced price signs and the potential for angry customers, and your kind attention is stolen away from Eddie.

“Duty calls.” You step away from the shelf and pivot on the ball of your foot to walk backwards, and the smile that you give him is so sweet. Warm honey and sweet gooey caramel. Eddie tries to ignore the sudden flutter of his heart as he watches your departure.

“Right…” His dark brows knit together, the corner of his lips quirking into a little half-grin, an expression of amusement and bewilderment.

The old Eddie would’ve taken the opportunity to make some smart-ass joke to further crack the ice between you, an attempt to melt acquaintance into the beginning’s of friendship… but Eddie now isn’t really interested in running the risk of making any more friends who’ll feel obligated to worry about him, so he lets the conversation die there and turns his sights away as you slip out of the isle.

* * *

Eddie, with all of his sleepless nights and terrifying flashbacks, doesn’t find himself thinking much of your interaction until he sees you again almost a week later with your positions reversed.

He’s working, nimble fingers flipping through shelved records to re-organise them into alphabetical order when he hears the door chime behind him, signalling the arrival of a customer.

He should be looking over his shoulder and greeting whoever just came in like he was hired to do but he doesn’t. He remains entirely immersed in his work… at least until he hears a theatrical gasp and the soft thump of your converse as you pad across the carpeted floor towards him.

“Eddie fucking Munson. Do not tell me you’ve been working right across the street from me this whole time.” You appear at his side, hands on your hips with a glowing smile brightening your features and Eddie thinks-just for a second-that you look happy to see him.

He cracks out a sleepy laugh, dopey from the joint he had smoked in record time just before his shift started to wash down the powder-breakfast he’d had at four in the morning after waking with his scars burning and his throat raw from screaming in his sleep.

“Uh, I’ve been here for like, four months. Give or take.” He shrugs and keeps himself busy, movements slow and just a touch sluggish as he pulls a record from the shelf, slotting it into its rightful home further down the stand.

You stay where you are and take a quick moment just to observe him. Eddie was different. He was loud and rambunctious in school. A charming and admirable kind of self confident. Something about him was much quieter now. Crushed, maybe.

You didn’t know much about what had happened to him. Just that he’d been wrongfully accused of some really gruesome murders (you never believed the rumours), and that he went missing for a handful of days only to resurface in the hospital half-dead. It was understandable that he had changed.

“Four months ago?” You ask and Eddie nods, once and slow as he hums a little uh huh. He’s got his hair pulled back today, pretty curls haphazardly thrown into a ponytail with a few stray strands falling around his face to frame his features.

With his left side to you, you can see the scar that starts on his cheek and pinkens the curve of his jaw, fading out as it carries on down the side of his throat. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you know you’ve been caught staring when he turns his head just enough to hide himself and obstruct your view.

“I guess I should’ve assumed that you’d end up here, actually.” You continue the conversation, hoping to get a glimpse of the Munson boy that had laughed so loud in the midst of working on your English project that you’d had to clamp your hand over his mouth in the middle of the library to save the two of you from being kicked out.

“Why?” Eddie answers you sharp and fast, suddenly seeming much more alert and awake than he had moments before. He assumes that you’re making a snide comment. A low dig aimed at the well-known fact that he had struggled to land a job in this town with his reputation of social-pariah-turned-alleged-murderer. His previously sleepy stare and stance is now rigid and guarded.

“Uh, are you serious right now?” You meet his justifiable defensiveness with a tone that’s playful and lighthearted and poor Eddie, who’s grown so used to nasty words beings pummelled into him, looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“I… yes?” His answer sounds like a question. You laugh and his tension starts to fizzle into nothing.

“I distinctly remember you being music obsessed. Of course you’d want to work in a record store. You were in a band, right? You guys used to play at the Hideout. What was it again?” You pause your rambling to search for the name that’s already sitting on the tip of your tongue. Eddie opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it.

“Corroded Coffin!” You practically burst at the seams, all bright and beaming as you grin wide at him and Eddie Munson is unfamiliar with the warm and fuzzy feeling that settles itself into the hollow of his chest.

He blames it on the weed, and not on the fact that you’re looking at him as if he were the same Eddie that marched across cafeteria tables with so much to say, the same Eddie that argued with teachers over trivial things just for the hell of it, the same Eddie that terrorised the hallways with his bright, bold and electrifying personality, entirely unafraid to be who he was. Unashamed to be taking up space. The same Eddie he was before he was crushed underneath the weight of the hate that this town had for him coupled with the trauma of battling monsters from another fucking dimension.

No pitying stare, no hateful gaze. You looked at him like he was just Eddie. You talked to him like you were already friends, and he was trying not to acknowledge that he liked it.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s us. I mean- it was. I don’t play with them much anymore. Or uh- at all, really.” He shrugs and tries not to linger too much on that thought. The last time he had performed, it was for the army of bats that had very nearly killed him. His new and twisted reputation had lost the band their Tuesday slot at the Hideout and made it near impossible for them to find a new gig, so Eddie had taken a step back.

Music had always been an outlet for him, especially performing. A way for him to disconnect or express whatever he was trying to work through. So that had been devastating for him.

“That’s a shame. You were really something with that guitar, Munson.” You tell him, noticing the subtle but sad little frown that melts onto his features after he speaks, hoping your own words will soften the sharp edges of whatever he’s thinking. It works, a bit.

“Thanks…” He smiles and its sheepish and shy, a little sliver of the Eddie you remember. You latch onto it and try to pry a little more of him out,

“So, any recommendations for me? I know you’ve got good taste.” You make a point of pulling a pop-hits album from the shelf, flipping the sleeve over in your hands to feign interest in the track list until Eddie suddenly closes the space between the two of you in three long paces.

He’s clumsy and overestimates his steps, the heat of his chest meeting your shoulder as he gets closer than intended, but you don’t mind and he doesn’t pull away as he whips the album from your grasp, settling it back into it’s previous place on the shelf.

“Absolutely not that. Come on, I’ll hook you up with the good shit.” He ticks his chin in a gesture for you to follow him. Chasing after the sliver of the boy you knew peeking through the cracks in his guarded persona, you indulge him and follow him around the store, allowing him to pile your arms high with a Munson-approved collection.

After that, and despite Eddie’s internal insistence on not forming any new friendships or relationships, the two of you start to encounter each other on a near daily basis and your newfound acquaintance blossoms fast.

Exchanging quick greetings in the streets before and after coinciding shifts spirals into stopping for banter-fuelled conversations that leave the two of you late for work more times than either one of you care to admit.

Those conversations blur into visiting each other during working hours, sneaking across the street in search of one another during your lunch breaks to smack-talk customers that you have in common or to laugh about old high school gossip.

And that turns into Eddie making an appearance on his days off with the excuse of needing another pack of cigarettes only for him to end up hot on your heels for hours, talking about everything and anything just so he can spend time in your company. Sneaking around your grumpy boss, pulling you into the alleyway behind the store to share a cigarette with you and steal your attention all for himself.

And you do the same, showing up at the record store more than once to claim that you’ve already grown tired of whatever new album Eddie has shown you, just so you can watch his pretty eyes and face light up at the prospect of getting to share more of what he enjoys with you. Helping him organise the records, lingering for much longer than you need to after he gives you a new one to listen to so that you can talk to him for just a little bit longer.

Somewhere along the way, Eddie realises that he feels good around you, and it has nothing to do with his usually-drug-altered system. He feels like himself around you and it’s a really really nice feeling.

And somewhere along the way, you and Eddie become friends, and it’s everything.

It’s actively seeking one another out outside of work to spend the evenings in one another’s bedrooms, talking aimlessly and sharing mixtapes, blasting them so loud that you can feel the music in your chests. It’s movie nights and meeting for breakfast the next morning because the entire night before just wasn’t enough time together.

It’s sunset drives in Eddie’s van and parking high on a hill, the warm weight of Eddie’s head in your lap after you climb onto the roof together to watch as the stars fill the sky. It’s Eddie always falling asleep on your shoulder in the middle of reading to you in the most silly voices you have ever heard, or it’s him wiping out on the couch for the night because he feels comfortable and safe when he’s with you.

It’s you meeting Wayne and starting to bring hot, homemade dinners to the trailer for him and Eddie to enjoy for a change. It’s Eddie finally picking up his guitar again, playing it for you and for himself, reconnecting with something that he loves so much without it feeling tainted by that terrible, terrible place.

It’s confiding in each other and sharing sweet and heavy things about your pasts with one another. Gentle childhood memories and laughably embarrassing moments trailing into whispers of rough fathers and lost mothers, the struggle to feel as though you fit somewhere and the struggle with nasty bullies in school.

It’s Eddie, with all his initial resistance to a new friendship and all his lack of interest in a relationship realising that he cares about you.

He cares about you, and maybe, it’s a lot more than a friend should.

* * *

Months pass and you have your growing suspicions about the Munson boy. You weren’t entirely in the dark, you were aware that he smoked weed from time to time-you’d known since high school, he had essentially been the local dealer, after all-but something was off.

Occasional foggy headed-ness and a sort of spaced out detachment that seemed like something more. Days where he’d been more easily agitated, his patience worn thin before it was even tested, and sometimes he’d avoid your gaze like it was his job, refusing to make eye contact no matter how hard you tried. As if he were hiding his eyes from you.

You’d even caught him knocking back a pair of pills that he’d excused as headache tablets once or twice-and he had been very convincing-but the feeling of uneasy concern that settled into your gut made you feel uncertain of his explanation.

You’d also tried a few times to ask about his past, about his vicious fear of the dark and how he had gotten his brutal scars-which you’d only caught small glimpses of-but Eddie shut down every time at the first inkling of inquiry about him and the last year of his life, and you didn’t like pushing him so much.

He was terrified of you seeing more. Terrified he’d tell you about monsters and super-powers and how much all of it had broken him. He was terrified you would go running for the hills

One night though, some time after 1am, you wake to the shrill sound of the telephone ringing from the hallway.

You’re confused at first and half-convinced that you’re dreaming but it keeps ringing as you prop yourself up onto your elbows, so you untangle your limbs from the heat of your blankets to stagger out of your bedroom.

Rubbing your eyes to shake your sleep-blurred vision, you pad down the hallway and grab clumsily at the receiver on the wall, fumbling for a moment before you steady your grip and hold the telephone to your ear.

“…Hello?” You speak quietly even though there’s nobody else in your house to worry about waking. There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other side and a watery hiccup, but no other response.

“Hello? Who’s there?” You try again, relying on the wall to hold the weight of your drowsy frame as your head lulls back tiredly, your eyes falling shut and your mouth stretching into a yawn and then-

A broken blubber of your name and a sad little sniffle choked out through a throat tightened by tears.

It’s Eddie.

You’re wide awake now.

“Hey. Hi. I’m here. What’s wrong?” You ask, heart swelling painfully at the sound of your friend’s sorrow as your pulse quickens with worry.

“It won’t work. It’s not working. I can’t-I can’t-” He speaks rushed and breathless. He’s hyperventilating, and you’re already stretching the phone cord as far as it’ll go as you make a beeline for the pair of converse that you’d kicked off by the front door as soon as you’d gotten home from your shift earlier.

“Slow down, Eddie. Can’t what?” You speak soft and calm for his sake despite the panicked pace of your heart as you pin the receiver between your shoulder and ear to stuff your feet into your shoes.

The most that you get from him is a sound of pitiful distress and frustration, something between a sob and a whine that catches on his short and unsteady breaths.

“Eds, talk to me.” You plead with him as you snag your car keys from their spot by the entrance, the metal clanking against the porcelain of the bowl they were settled in.

“I-I hear them. I al-always hear them, a-and I see her and- and- god it won’t stop- I don’t know how to make it stop.” He speaks through his teeth and hiccups again as he struggles through his words.

Again, you and Eddie haven’t spoken much about what happened to him a year ago, but you’re positive that this has something to do with it.

“Hey hey, Wayne’s working right? Are you on your own, Eddie?” You ask, half-jogging back across the hallway.

You already know the answer, but you want to keep him focused enough to talk to you as you stretch the cord in the other direction, hoping it’ll extend far enough for you to reach your bedroom.

“Mhm,” He hums, small and sad and it absolutely breaks your heart.

“Yes you’re on your own?” You push for gentle clarification and curse under your breath when the handset only reaches as far as the doorway. Screw it. It wasn’t that cold out. You’d survive if you left the house in your pyjamas.

“Uh huh.” He croaks, voice cracking on his tears in the same moment that you whirl around on your heel to hi-tail it down the hallway once more.

“Okay. Eddie?” You pause by the phone mount,

“I’m on the way, alright? I have to hang up but I’ll be there soon, honey, just- hang on, okay?” You wait for his devastating and breathless response of okay before you end the call and sprint for the front door with your keys in-hand and your heart in your throat.

When you get to Eddie’s trailer, you’re both relieved and worried to find his front door unlocked. You hear him before you see him, sharp breaths and quiet shaky sniffles, and you have to peer around the side of the door to find him.

The sight of him is devastating.

He’s curled up smaller than you’ve ever seen him with his knees tucked into his body and his eyes shut tight. His cheeks are wet with tears that you can see even in the dark and he’s still got the handset of the phone clutched tight in his fist. He’s no longer hyperventilating like he was on the phone, most of his initial panic having subsided, but there’s still an unsteady rise and fall to his chest.

“Eddie?” You whisper and he startles, flinching back as his head whips up to look at you with wide and frightened eyes but as soon as he realises that it’s only you, he wilts against the wall and chokes on a cry of relief.

You’re in front of him in seconds, shutting the door to drop to your haunches as you reach for the phone in his hand and the second that your fingertips brush his, his lower lip wobbles and he’s fighting back sobs all over again.

“It-it didn’t- s’not working. I just- I can’t get it out of my head. Any of it. It won’t stop- I can’t take it anymore. I’m so tired.” He tells you through his teeth, shaky, frantic and strained as he closes his eyes tight and scrunches his face up in what looks like frustration, winding up to bang his head against the wall behind him, but you slip your empty hand around the back of his skull to catch him before he makes contact.

“Shhh shhh. Okay, Eds. Let’s get you up off the floor before we talk, hmm?” You’re still cradling his head as you reach above him to hang up the receiver, leaning into him to make the stretch and suddenly he needs you much closer.

He melts forward to press his forehead to your shoulder in the same moment that he parts his legs and reaches for your hips with ice cold fingers, pulling you to your knees between his thighs as he snakes his arms around your waist to crush you into his chest, and your heart all but shatters as he sniffles into the crook of your neck and squeezes you like you’re all that he’s got.

“I wasn’t-” His voice cracks and he hugs you even tighter, swallowing his words with his tears as he clings to you like a lifeline.

His head is spinning and his heart is pounding and he’s afraid to look at the ceiling-just in case it’s split wide open and glowing-but he realises that he’s even more afraid of you finally getting a glimpse of him underneath the cracks in his carefully crafted facade.

He’s afraid of how much he cares for you now and how much it’s going to hurt him when you look at him with the same kind of pity and disappointment that his friends and Uncle do, but his blood is laced with the pills he’d swallowed before he called you and he can’t seem to quiet himself,

“I wasn’t supposed to make it. I wasn’t-I’m not-I shouldn’t have made it-” He stumbles over his words and hiccups into the junction of your shoulder and when your hands move to cradle his face in your palms, he resists and refuses to lift his head.

“Eddie-” You try but he’s stubborn and he can feel a heavy confession sitting on the tip of his tongue, one he’d been avoiding ever since he’d cut that rope and doomed himself.

“I didn’t want to make it.” His voice is the smallest that you’ve ever heard it and with the gentle encouragement of your thumbs swiping across his cheeks, he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours.

It’s dark in the trailer but you’re close enough to see the redness of his eyes, the unnatural dilation of his pupils. Eddie recognises the look of full realisation on your face as the pieces fall into place in your mind-those definitely hadn’t been headache tablets-and he finds himself wishing for the ground to swallow him whole yet again.

“I’m sorry. Shit- I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying, man. Fuck-” He starts but then your lips are on his forehead, pressing a plush and lingering kiss between his dark brows that silences him.

“Eddie.” You whisper with your lips still pressed to his skin, thumbing over his brow, his cheekbone, the corner of his lips, the curve of his jaw, ghosting over the scarring on the left side of his face with so much care and softness that Eddie feels as though he’s been split in half,

“I’m glad you made it.” You don’t know the details of what happened to Eddie in 86’, but you pour every ounce of sincerity into your words and you mean what you say.

He makes a small and devastatingly sad sound, a choked up little whimper as his heart turns to putty in the hollow of his chest and his eyes well up all over again, and when you look at him with nothing but warm concern and loving tenderness-and not an ounce of pity or disappointment-he breaks.

He can’t stop the new flood of tears that bursts out of him, and it doesn’t help him at all when you back up just enough to be able to peel him up from the floor, allowing him to cling to you as much as he needs to as you lead him down the small and narrow hallway to his bedroom with the sweetest,

“Let’s go lay down, baby”

He’s a blubbering mess of heartbreaking thank you’s and i’m sorry’s as you kick off your barely laced shoes to climb onto the mattress with him, choosing to ignore the mess of pills and baggie’s on full display in the open drawer of his bedside table. That was a conversation for the morning. Or for whenever Eddie was ready.

Instead, you lay on your back and coax him into your gentle hold, allowing him to rest his head on your chest and drop his weight on top of you. His arms slip around you as he settles himself between your thighs and he all but melts when your fingers find their way into his hair to scratch soothingly at his scalp, comforting him and grounding him and just holding him as he empties the weight from his shoulders in the form of tears that wet your sleep shirt and tear your heart in two.

He falls asleep like that and he makes it to the morning with no nightmares, no petrifying memories and no burning scars. When he wakes, he’s still in your embrace and your arms are draped loosely around his shoulders, cradling him and caring for him even in your slumber.

He blinks himself awake as the night before comes back to him and when he moves carefully from the comfort of your coddling to sit at the edge of the bed, his sleepy gaze immediately finds it’s way to his bedside table, eyeballing his safety blanket of pills, plants and powders.

He reaches for the drawer, fingertips brushing it’s lip before he pauses to take a look over his shoulder at your sleeping form. He admires the sliver of sunlight that peeks through his window, or rather how it falls over you features, all soft and warm.

He admires you, and he thinks about you too. He thinks about your smile and your laugh and your intelligence. He thinks about everything you like and everything you dislike and he thinks about how much he likes you and how much he’d like for you to stay.

He thinks of the way you make him feel. Strong, unbroken. Safe and happy.

Himself.

He realises that he really really wants to make you feel the same way, and he also realises that he can’t do that if he’s only half here.

Eddie shuts the drawer and decides that he’ll try actual food for breakfast this morning instead of getting high.

For now though, he sinks back into the bed beside you and melts back into your arms with his heart a thousand times lighter than it had been the night before, because for the first time since he woke up in the hospital a year ago, Eddie feels hopeful.

Eddie realises that he doesn’t have to keep suffering. He realises that he’s still just as strong as he was before and he decides that he deserves to get better.

He also decides that he was silly before, to act as though he wasn’t even remotely interested in a relationship, because now he fully intends on keeping you in his life.

He’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto the warm, lovely, beautiful sunshine that is you, even if that means facing the demons he had spent a year running from.

[afyrian]

ch. 2 - august 24 masterlist

    loud music blares through the bar and suffocates your ear drums. the band stands under the colored lights, playing a cover of some rock song that you'd hear over the radio. you sway a little to the music, sitting at the bar with an empty shot glass in front of you. the bar tender leans over the bar a little and tries to gain your attention.

  "someone down there ordered you a little gift!" he hands you a glass of something, a cherry resting on the top of it.

  you raise an eyebrow at the older gentleman at the end of the bar. watching as he gives you a slow wave and a wink, a whirlwind of nausea fills your stomach. to appease his clearly slimy intentions, you give him a soft smile and take a drink of the alcohol. it's strong, immediately burning your throat. 

  instead of drinking it fully, you set it down and cover the top with your hand. for a second, you look around the bar and wonder where rintarō could've ran off too. for the past month you’ve tried to stay together while going out. however, his lack of presence makes you hyperaware of the people around you. the chill of the glass beneath your hand, goosebumps running up your arms. 

  suddenly, a loud voice echoes over the band, right near your ear, "how you liking it here, honey?"

  you bite back the urge to roll your eyes. the voice is unfamiliar, grimy, and way too close to you. you take in a deep breath and look over at the guy. his hair is slicked back into a greasy looking bun, clothes are slightly ripped and packed with grease stains. for a second, you wonder if the grease in his shirt is the same stuff he used for his hair.

  "i said-"

  "i know what you said! why don't you go pick on someone a little more your style!" you shout back through the noise, heart beating a little quicker than normal.

  his eyebrows furrow as he sets one of his hands on the back of your barstool. his thumb just barely grazing the back of your shirt. chills run up your back and your jaw clenches, free hand forming into a loose fist. "darling, i think you're exactly that for me. i mean, you're absolutely beautiful. those hips of yours, that mouth-"

  "who the hell do you think you are?" a voice finally drowns out that of the man who just can't seem to walk away.

  standing there is rin, his arms crossed in front of his chest, back straight. he holds a scowl on his face that you don't think you've ever seen before in your years together. unbeknownst to you, he's switched one of his rings to his ring finger, fiddling with it in front of the creep standing beside you. "someone who wants you to mind your own business!"

  "well considering she's my wife..." he pauses, looking over at you, gaze softening to one you can recognize, "i think it is my fucking business. now walk away or you won't be able to walk away."

  the man mutters something about you not being worth it. however, his hand still touches your shoulder as he walks away, wanting to get one final 'fuck you' in. you bite your cheek and take in a deep breath through your nose. your gaze stares down the guy as he walks away, only being pulled away from the vicious thoughts plaguing your mind by rin. 

  rintarō gets closer to you, hand reaching out to rest on the bar, "are you okay?"

  you look back up at him, shoulders dropping. you've dealt with people like him before, it's nothing you're not used to at a bar. but having someone like rin there made it so much easier. the way he stood there, gaze unmoving from the man, you can't help but stand up from your seat and wrap your arms around his chest. 

  for a second, you can feel him tense slightly, hands hovering over your own back. however, he's quick to return the hug, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. if it weren't for the strong smell of alcohol and people sweating profusely, this could've been a sweet moment. especially when he backs away from the hug and rests his hands on your shoulders.

  "you want to get out of here? there's a twenty-four hour ramen shop down the street," rin tries to yell over the loud music, not wanting to shout your ear off.

  "yes!" a wave of relief washes over you, the thought of leaving all of this and just hanging out with him sounds so comforting.

  the two of you quickly gather your things and squeeze through the crowd of people, reaching the front door and making your way into the fresh air. suddenly, everything sounds so much more quiet and surreal. the puddles of water still on the road and the neon signs lighting up the buildings. you take in a deep breath, letting your heartbeat return to normal.

  "thanks for being the best husband ever," you lean against him, wrapping your arm around his. 

  he smiles to himself, not wanting you to notice the giddy expression he holds. he'd probably never tell you about the feelings that he so deeply feels for you. however, hearing the words that melt his brain so easily makes it hard for him to resist the fluttering in his stomach. "well, i did vow to help through sickness and health, so i think this counts," he mutters, only letting you hear it.

  “then you’re doing a phenomenal job and you will some day when you get married to an equally phenomenal woman.”

  for a second, rintarō urges to ask if that woman is you. to get down on one knee and ask if you want this marriage to last the rest of your lifetimes. despite all of this, he just keeps walking with you attached to his hip, replying that he sure hopes so. 

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

could you write Riz oral vore with disposal?

For sure! I was gonna do some prompts but then the first one uh...got away from me. So it's a story now.

T.em shakes as he stares up into the cavernous, dripping maw above him. He can’t believe this is happening. Large hands hold his arms down but even if they didn’t, he’d still be too petrified to run. The breath that washes over him smells vaguely of honey. It’s going to smell like him soon.

Was this just the inevitable end for all prey and predators? For one to eat the other? He had hoped it wasn’t. Not that it matters now. The stronger, bigger animal got to decide what happens to him…and R.iz decided he was food. T.em is lifted off the ground with ease, his face planted into R.iz’s maw. The bear’s tongue slurps over his face. It’s slick and warm and finally makes him start to wiggle a bit. But the sensation stops as he’s shoved back, and his face instead meets the wet gullet waiting for him.

The first wet gulp rings out. R.iz’s maw shuts, sharp teeth resting gently on T.em’s body. Even with his uniform on, R.iz’s tongue laps at the alpaca’s shoulders and chest, soaking up whatever flavor there is to get out of him. It’s not much, so the next gulp happens, sucking T.em deeper, and giving R.iz access to his lithe stomach. Getting his tongue under his friend’s shirt is much easier now, and when he drags it across T.em’s flesh, it makes the legs hanging from his jaws kick and wiggle.

R.iz’s hands move to T.em’s calves now and he tips his head back, gulping a third time. T.em sinks further down, thighs entering the bear’s drooling maw. The gullet wall around him are tight and slick and the heat is immense. He can hear R.iz’s heart thudding in his ears and deep breathing all around. His face is pressing against something tight, where a deep, beastiality groan rumbles up that makes him whimper.

With the next gulp, R.iz feels fullness start to settle in his stomach. T.em’s head and shoulders squeeze into the organ finally, making it bulge a bit around his head. R.iz rubs a hand along the bulge gently, the other resting on his chest. He wants more. All that’s hanging out of his maw now is a pair of twitching feet. His tongue curls around them, dragging them into his jaws. One final gulp and…

T.em suddenly sloshes down, his entire body spilling into R.iz’s stomach. It makes him Yelp in surprise at how fast it suddenly was. He’s curled up in an awkward position, head tucked between his knees, one arm squished between his legs and chest and the other at his side and under his ass. The walls around him are tight and slimy, the space too warm and hard to breathe in. The smell of honey mixes with gut stink and it’s overwhelming. T.em tries to call for help, to tell R.iz to let him out, to scream…but all that comes out of him is a choked whine. He’s going to die in here.

R.iz lets out a low, deep groan of pure satisfaction. He rubs slowly along his gut with one hand, the other cupped under it to provide some support. T.em is small, at least compared to him, but his stomach still hangs out a nice bit. The feeling of warm fullness is immensely satisfying and euphoric. R.iz has never felt like this before. Is this…the true nature of prey and predators? Does T.em feel as good as he does? He hopes so. He wants it to. He tips his head back and belches deeply.

The belch makes everything quake for T.em. The stale air is already hard on him. Having less of it is even worse. His mind is already swimming. He tries to move around, to get more comfortable if nothing else, but the space is too tight and too slick. All he really does is make the gut slosh a bit and get his arm out from under himself. The stomach is growing louder around him, the gurgled and groans it makes like rumbles in his ears. He’s just food now. He’s going to die like this. R.iz is going to kill him. Those thoughts keep racing through his mind, even as it gets harder to think, harder to stay conscious. Some spotty part of his mind reminds him that R.iz is his friend. Isn’t it better to be eaten by a friend than a stranger..?

R.iz sits down in one of the empty chairs of the lecture hall, slurping along his lips slowly to enjoy the last taste of T.em. He’s unbuttoned his shirt, letting his furry gut hang out in all its glory. He can’t keep his hands off of it, wanting to feel T.em shift around in there. It’s absolutely amazing. He wants to thank T.em for being his food and his friend, but he’s worried that if he speaks, he might wake up and find this was all just a dream. So he just rumbles, rubs his gut, and smiles. It’s getting loud now, he can feel it working hard. He’s never had live prey before but…he imagines T.em will flush through his system just fine.

The stomach sounds are so loud that they nearly drown out T.em’s thoughts. He’s sinking into himself, into the warm sensation around him. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open and his body is already feeling numb. R.iz seems happy…maybe this is for the best. This is the only way a prey and a predator can be together. Not as friends or lovers but…as food and consumer. T.em is happy it was R.iz. If it was someone else…or god forbid a stranger…that wouldn’t feel right. It wouldn’t be fair. But it was R.iz. If it had to be anyone…it should be him. Another belch makes the stomach rumble around him and the walls squeeze him tighter. All sensations start to fade away, as if they were growing distant. Still…he would have liked…to stay with R.iz…as his friend…

As R.iz’s belch tapers off, he can feel T.em’s weaker shifting fade into little twitches, and then nothing. A deep, content sigh escapes him. T.em is all his now. He’ll be his forever. He sits back in the chair, starting to rub his hand deeper into his stomach. He doesn’t care now how rough he is. T.em is his.

Digestion takes a couple of hours. T.em’s body doesn’t hold up so well between R.iz’s harsh rubbing and the intensity of his working stomach. When the first popping sounds start to come from the bear’s stomach, he had paused, almost like what had happened was actually sinking in. But then he burped again, slurped over his lips, and pressed down until he got a crack instead. His gut softened up rapidly from there, T.em’s body almost effortlessly breaking apart on him.

He could then feel the liquid weight sinking deeper. Wet rumbling noises come from his stomach as T.em siphons deeper through his guts, along his intensities and to his bowels. R.iz rubs a bit further now, letting out a pleased huff to himself as he practically feels T.em making his lower belly swell. By the time the entire process is done, R.iz is nearly asleep. He’s only woken up again by the sudden sharp pressure he feels down below.

Taking himself to the open part of the room, R.iz lowers his pants and squats down. A fart crackles out of him, making his nose twitch a bit from the smell. It’s not really improved when a solid mass begins to push out of him. But any displeasure from the smell itself is tamped down by the sensation of something so thick stretching him out and knowing what it once was.

The logs of bear crap start piling up from there. They squeeze out easily enough, slopping onto the ground with soft thumps. Bits of bone and fur are laced through the dark brown muck, with some of T.em’s more solid bones coming out with a bit more effort. R.iz grunts as he finds a shoe passing through him and then another. Should have taken those off. T.em’s uniform comes out through a few logs as well, with his shirt stuck on mostly broken ribs. The pile builds up more and more before, finally, a solid object begins to push out.

R.iz grits, giving a strong squeeze, and he can feel the solid mass pop out. It’s followed by the last of the crap and his bowels are finally empty. He gets back to his feet, looking down at his handwork. T.em’s skull sits at the top of the knee-high pile, half buried under thick bear shit. R.iz can make out other bones here or there and see one of the shoes that gave him trouble. The smell is absolutely repugnant, too. It’s a sorry sight for someone he considered such a good friend.

But…staring at the skull, he swears it’s smiling up at him. And he can’t help but smile back. Him and T.em are together forever, in the way only predator and prey can be. And now everyone will know that. R.iz lets out a yawn and stretches. It makes his slightly chubbier gut wobble and he pats it absentmindedly. After a meal like that, he needs a good night’s sleep. So he walks off, leaving the pile behind. Come morning, it’ll be found, but for just tonight, this’ll be his and T.em’s secret.