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the-shark-named-sharon · 3 days

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The Raven's Hymn - Ch 40

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

CHAPTER WARNINGS (Rated E): Explicit sexual content, monster fucking, nonhuman anatomy, non/dubcon (more on the side of dubcon), intense but brief anxiety, hurt/comfort

Chapter Summary: “Is there any other way?”

AO3

It felt like the last day of your life.

You didn’t move from the bed for some time. Waking up within the warm circle of 049’s arms, your cheek resting against his chest, was something you never thought you would have. It also came at great cost, and you would pay it soon.

But when? When would the deed need to be carried out? Were you supposed to start immediately? Wait for instruction? It was a horrible thought, but you wished Leahy had been clearer about what exactly he wanted. It was the gaps of knowledge, the unknown parts you were supposed to guess at, that left you frozen with indecision.

049 didn’t rouse you, though he must have known you were awake. He didn’t speak, and you didn’t either. There wasn’t much left to say, but it seemed there should be. You weren’t going anywhere, so why did it feel like you were supposed to say goodbye? Express regrets and wish for things you could have done differently. It felt closer to mourning than it did waiting for an execution.

049 only stirred when the food slot opened, delivering breakfast. He carefully ran his gloved fingers along the back of your hair, his breath tickling the crown of your head.

“You should eat,” he said softly.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I assumed as much.”

You curled closer, seeking out his comfort, and then you stiffened. You sat up quickly, letting his arm fall away from your shoulders. You didn’t want him to think—you just wanted closeness, not…

With a bitter glance at the camera, you moved down to the foot of the bed and got out. The bed itself had one side pushed against the wall about midway up the room. The bookshelf was at its head, and beyond that, the desk and bathroom area. But towards the foot of the bed, in the back corner, sat the camera. It would give a perfect view of… of…

You retrieved the food tray and laid it out on the counter, leaving plenty for 049 to partake, though most days he didn’t. You forced yourself to nibble as much as you could, your stomach too much a knot to allow more than a few pieces of fruit and half a bagel. It was an unfortunate side effect of your anxiety. When you needed energy the most, that’s when your body refused to have an appetite.

049 didn’t comment on your sudden departure, and the air in the chamber was somber. That’s what it felt like, the both of you preparing for a funeral. It almost made you break the silence just to say something, even if it was mundane small talk. You wanted to ask about the medical files, or his journal, or anything at all. Something to fill the space with more than just heavy waiting.

The silence stretched on, though really it was more accurate to call it white noise. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights, the dull rumble of the air conditioner. It was the ordinary ambience of an office space minus the water cooler chatter. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine you were back at your old office, ignorant to a world that made little sense and held even less compassion.

Your period of waiting was interrupted by a click of the intercom. You flinched upright on a lab stool, like a rabbit hearing a gunshot in the woods, ears perked and legs tensed to leap. You’d been staring vacantly at the medical files, not reading the words or seeing the faces, and now your full attention was on the speaker in the ceiling.

“Tonight.”

That’s all they said. You couldn’t tell who the voice belonged to—not the Site Director, but the order clearly came from him.

Tonight. It had to be done tonight.

“What time is it?”

049 had been at his desk in the inner chamber, but he stood at the threshold between the chambers now.

“Ten twenty-five, AM.”

You didn’t doubt his innate ability to sense time. He was never wrong. Your stomach roiled but you kept down your meager breakfast.

The day passed with a vicious graduality. You wished they had given a specific time. Or given no time at all. It was as if this whole project was designed to break your mind as well as shred what was left of your dignity.

At some point, you put your head down on the counter, hunched over on your stool, reports forgotten. The darkness under your crossed arms was a respite from the constant fluorescent lights, a shield from the observation window. Let them see you defeated. There was something freeing about having nothing left to hide.

Time passed in a restless haze between dozing and spacing out. Two meal deliveries signaled the passing of the day, and you ignored them. 049 didn’t attempt to speak to you, perhaps knowing this quiet deprivation was what you needed. He had always been perceptive that way.

You didn’t focus on anything at all until a gentle touch grazed your arm. You didn’t flinch. There was only one person who would touch you that way, and you wouldn’t retreat from him.

“Doctor?”

You raised your head, blinking at the bright lights and bending your back to sort out the kinks. You looked over your shoulder, but 049 didn’t speak immediately. He simply studied your face, his eyes soft with concern.

“What time is it?” you asked. What else was there to track but the time?

“Ten minutes after seven.”

“Mmm. When does the sun set?”

“Half past the hour.”

Punctual as ever, your masked physician. You gave a small smile, but it felt empty. It faded as you looked past him to the open door of the inner containment chamber where you spied the bed and its innocuous dressings.

You turned back to the counter and braced your hands against it to push yourself up. No point in delaying. Sunset was the best indicator of night, and it was better to get it done and over with.

Maybe… maybe it would be easier after the first time.

You didn’t know how you managed to make it into the inner room without stumbling. Your knees were shaking, your calves constructed of gelatin, and your lungs pulled for air.

You walked toward the bed, and then past it. You turned around and walked the other way. You paced, back and forth, your breathing becoming more erratic, spots dancing in your vision.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do thisyoucouldntdothisyoucou—

Something broad and dark blocked your way. Gentle hands held your shoulders in place, and 049 said, “Breathe.”

You tried to obey, but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Slowly. In… and out. As I’m doing.”

You copied his breaths, slow and steady. In for several seconds, hold, then slowly out. Repeat. Focus on his breathing and nothing else.

When your body wasn’t wound as tight as a coil, you swallowed compulsively and chanced a look. 049 met your gaze steadily. There was no fear or anger there, just the weight of his worry.

You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling, and your voice came out a whisper.

“Is there any other way?”

It felt childish to seek comfort in this moment, but you were weak. Too weak to find a way out of this, too weak to prevent this from happening. Too weak to face this alone.

His hand cupped the side of your jaw.

“If there is, I do not see it.”

Your head dipped in agreement. This was it, then.

049 pulled you into his arms, and he held you carefully but warmly. Always so warmly.

“This isn’t the end,” he said low in your ear. “We do as they command, we survive another day on their terms, but it will not always be this way. And there are things not even they can take.”

When you pulled back there was certainty in his eyes, along with something else. An intensity buried within that stirred something inside you, and this time, you didn’t stifle it.

“Okay,” was all you said. You took his hand and led him to the bed.

You let go when you got under the covers and made room for him. You pulled off your leggings and underwear, keeping the white smock on. Fuck whoever was watching, you weren’t giving them more of a show than you had to.

049 joined you under the covers more slowly, his movements careful as he laid down. He didn’t touch you, and it took a moment to remember what he’d said before. In this area, you had more knowledge than he did, or at least more practical experience. You would have to lead.

“Do you need to get undressed?” you asked, not sure how this was supposed to work with his robes also acting as skin.

“No. This will be sufficient.”

He was on his side facing you, but he seemed indecisive. Out of his element.

You gave him a small smile only he could see and took his arm, gently tugging it toward you.

“Come here.”

He obeyed, but his movements were still cautious, testing the waters. You continued to pull, indicating you wanted him to lie on top of you, and his eyes focused on your face, uncertain.

That trepidation vanished as soon as his weight settled on you, his hips nestled between your legs. You moved them apart, making room for him. His gaze darkened and his hands curled into the sheets on either side of your shoulders.

Your smock was caught between your legs, putting a barrier between you, and you pulled it up to your stomach. 049 closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath as your bare skin pressed against his robes.

The intercom clicked on.

“No covers.”

049’s eyes flew open, a soft growl escaping as he reached behind him to throw off the blankets from the bed. He muttered a heated, “Va te faire enculer,” in the direction of the camera.

You had no idea what he said, but you certainly liked the way the crude French rolled off his tongue.

“My… apologies,” he said, turning back to you. “I should not have lost my composure.”

You bit your tongue to keep from telling him losing his composure was necessary for what you were about to do. He would learn that soon enough.

“It’s fine.” Your voice was gravel. You cleared it. “Are you ready?”

His gaze softened, and oh, it had a dangerous affect at close distance.

“I am. Are you?”

You nodded and winced at the clinical nature of it, but that was probably the best approach. Have sex only long enough for 049 to orgasm, and then it could be done with.

Except you couldn’t stop trembling. It was equal parts anticipation and nerves. If you’d had sex semi-recently (how long had it been?), perhaps this would have been much easier. You could treat it as a chore, an item to check off your duties for the day. Or more accurately, something you had to do under threat of further torture and humiliation.

Except your body wasn’t responding as if it was under duress. The tension that had been growing each day you spent with 049 was building to a point of unbearable pressure. Your cheeks were hot, skin tingling in all the places you touched, and you could only guess what your expression looked like. With the way 049’s gaze roamed your face, taking in every detail, you were more exposed than your half-nakedness.

What did it matter how clinical you were? You ached to touch him, to be touched, and you refused to allow 049’s first moments of intimacy be cold and distant.

You hooked your arms under his shoulders, splaying your hands across his back and gently pulled him down until his chest was against yours. 049 gave a shudder when more of his weight rested on you, his breathing slightly off-rhythm.

That’s it, you thought, rubbing your hands across the back of his shoulders. Just relax.

His face pressed against the side of your cheek, the curve of his beak against your jaw, and you automatically opened your legs wider. Your heart was hammering, and the trembling was there but not as harsh. Your own body relaxed under his weight, yearning for his hands on you, but he kept them dutifully gripped into the bed sheet.

Something warm and heavy pressed against your hip. You frowned, confused as to what it was, and then understanding hit you when you shifted against it and 049 released another halting breath.

You tilted your hips up in silent permission, keeping your lips firmly closed, not knowing what sounds you would make if you opened your mouth. You wanted to take him into your hands, discover the shape of him, get him to make more of those noises that he was keeping trapped in his throat.

But you kept your hands on his back, and 049 adjusted himself, moving one arm between you. He grabbed himself to line up with your entrance, but he hesitated, even now with his eyes dark and his voice a rasp.

“Are you sure?”

You made a kind of strangled noise and nodded.

His eyes grew darker, a new hunger in their depths, and he lined up with you, the head of his cock pushing against your folds. You drew in a sharp breath. The shape was different, the head tapered, and it pressed against your entrance.

The head slipped inside with some resistance, and that’s where he couldn’t go any further. He was wider past the head, larger than a human, and you weren’t nearly wet enough yet.

“Keep going,” you grit out. You kept your face as blank as possible, but something of your pain must have shown through.

“I have- in my satchel, there are bottles. Lubricants I can retrieve—”

“No.” You gripped his arm. “No, don’t leave.”

If he left now, you’d lose your nerve. You couldn’t start this over again. You couldn’t.

“Stay,” you repeated, your voice shaking as if you were on the verge of crying. Because you were. “Please.”

He released himself, settling his weigh again as he cupped his other hand against your hair.

“I will not hurt you.”

You wanted to say he wouldn’t, or if he did, you could take it—you’d endured far worse. But you remained quiet, distracted by his thumb stroking your hair. His gaze was thoughtful, slightly off focus.

“There are… other methods I can employ to make the process smoother.”

“Okay.” You would agree to nearly anything at this point, just as long as he didn’t leave. “Whatever you want.”

Your nerves were frayed, the trembling was getting noticeable again, and you regretted not eating anything all day. You waited, not sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t for 049 to bring his hand towards your face. He hesitated, his thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. You searched his face questioningly, and he took a breath.

“Since I cannot do it myself, I will need you to coat my fingers with your saliva.”

Oh. Oh.

You swallowed and nodded. For having all the experience, you were the one slow to catch up, but your apprehension melted when his fingers touched your lips. The tip of your tongue tasted him without thinking.

His eyes grew sharp as he pressed his fingers past your lips into your mouth. You welcomed the intrusion, sucking the digits automatically, tasting the strange, living leather.

The pads of his fingers pressed down on your tongue. He probably wouldn’t need to do anything more than that to get you ready, but you weren’t going to stop him. Heat pooled low in your gut, fueled by his single-minded focus on your mouth.

There was no true reason for you to swirl your tongue around his fingers or to suck them down nearly to the last knuckle. No rationale behind it, yet you did it, imagining another part of him heavy and full in your mouth. 049 sucked in a breath and shifted his weight. The warmth of his cock against your leg along with the pressure in your mouth had you salivating. By the time he removed his fingers with a wet pop, they were slick with your spit.

049’s hand slipped between you again, touching your inner thigh. His fingers trailed upwards, dipping between your folds, and his fingers pressed against your clit.

Unlike when he joined you in bed, filled with uncertainty and doubt, his fingers moved with precision. Surgeon’s fingers. They pulled you apart with gentle eagerness, coaxed with deft certainty. First one finger than two circled around the sensitive nub, stimulating it into hardness with startling ease.

A surprise moan punched out of you, and you tilted your head back, fighting to control your breathing.

049 dipped his fingers down your slick folds to your entrance, prodding inside without much resistance before dragging his fingers back up, drenching your nub with your own arousal.

“What—” you choked out. “Where… did you learn to…”

He spoke into your ear, a hint of smugness to his words.

“The human body is familiar territory I have traversed countless times. It has its secrets, but I know them all.”

You nearly choked on your own breath, your chest rising and falling too fast as you tried to remain somewhat in control. His fingers slipped back inside your entrance, rubbing against the spongy material on the inside wall as his thumb rubbed circles against your clit.

You weren’t going to last long like this. He’d already made you wet enough so penetration would no longer run the risk of injury, but he didn’t stop. You didn’t want him to stop, you wanted to come on his fingers just as you’d wanted to when he’d given you that first examination, unfairly making your body respond like a well-tuned instrument to his ministrations.

Your peak was rapidly approaching, and it was not one you would be able to bear in silence. It was going to hit you hard, for everyone to witness for their dissection and cataloguing.

You couldn’t—you didn’t want them to—

“Stop.”

It was a testament to his self-control that 049 stilled his movements. You were breathing hard, sweat damp on your skin, a ruined mess with just a few strokes of his hand.

049’s focus was sharp, devouring in the way a predator would savor over their prey whimpering between their claws. But he didn’t move, and concern crept into his eyes as he searched yours.

“I don’t… want them to see.”

Your eyes burned with humiliation, with the force of your need and the shame of it.

“Turn me over.”

His gaze flickered with understanding, but there was concern there too, and he seemed as if he was going to speak. But then he removed his fingers from inside you and lifted up, a hand on your hip turning you onto your stomach.

When his weight settled along your back, his cock pressed against your thigh, you bit into the pillow to muffle the moan. It felt different in this position, your hips automatically lifting from the bed, desperate to rub against him. There was no hesitancy this time, your need far greater than your fear. You didn’t care what the cameras saw now, what little they could see. He was once again shielding you from your watchers, his broad form keeping their prying eyes from your skin.

Your smock had ridden over your breasts, and your pert nipples rubbed against the sheets, drawing out another low moan. 049 adjusted himself so his cock hung just behind you, heavy and hot against your folds.

“Please,” you begged, your knees braced against the bed, lifting your hips as much as you could with him weighing you down. “Please.”

He growled low, his face pressed into your hair just behind your ear, and he lined himself up. He pushed, the head of his cock breaching your entrance easier this time, followed by the wider length of his girth.

You whined between your teeth, the stretch almost too much even with your arousal making a mess down your thighs. He held your hip with one hand, biting out something in French.

Insatiable, you tried to meet him, pushing back, and forcing another inch or two inside. He gave a gutted noise, as if the pleasure was almost too much. It was a beautiful sound; you wanted to hear it again. You tried to wiggle further backwards, take more of him, but he grabbed your hip firmly with his other hand, making you still.

“Wait,” he spoke in that same breathless shudder. “One moment.”

You didn’t have a choice with his vice-like grip on your body. He breathed heavily, a shiver rippling through him, and God, you wanted him fully inside you so much it hurt. The cameras, the observers, they didn’t matter in the face of the hunger that licked up your thighs and heated your core.

“Please,” you whispered, his face so close you didn’t need to speak louder. “I can do this.”

He let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.

“It is not a question… of your capability.” His words were taut as a wire. “It is a matter of strength, and how I must... restrain mine.”

You took his hand and placed it on the bed, slipping yours underneath. You twined your fingers with his, your knuckles braced against his palm. What should have been a lethal touch, but for you, never would be.

“I trust you.”

049 shivered, his forehead pressed against your hair, his body trembling in an effort to remain still.

“I need you.” You squeezed his fingers. “I want you.”

You sensed when he stopped fighting it. His posture relaxed, no longer rigid, and he pulled back a few inches. He pushed back in, the sudden intrusion hot and wet and sending sparks up your spine. You arched back against him, and the next thrust went deeper.

Unshed tears blurred your vision, the stretch and fullness almost too much and yet not enough. It was on the third thrust that his hips connected with yours, snug against you as his cock filled you past what any other human could.

You could barely think, barely breathe, your body a useless, lustful thing. A moan dragged out of you as you leaned back against him, and with his own answering growl he pushed you flat against the mattress.

The restraint he’d tried to maintain was gone, though his movements weren’t careless. Each thrust down into you, each roll of his hips was done with intention, a drive to ruin you for anyone else. You were completely full, your walls clinging to the strange textures of his skin, the curve of his cock striking a deep bundle of nerves you didn’t even know were there.

His skin was hot, almost burning every place he touched you, his cock sending jolts of heat down your gut. His breathing ran ragged, accentuated by the harsh metallic effect of this voice. Any moans that slipped out were quiet but choked with pleasure, driving him harder into you.

Your mind was a bubbling, staticky mess. 049 wasn’t just thick, there were ridges along his shaft, a pattern you couldn’t discern, not with your mind a jumbled haze. Every thrust rubbed against more than one sensitive spot, leaving you a drooling, panting mess as your walls slowly tightened around him. You were close to reaching your peak, and this time, you weren’t going to stop.

His hand hadn’t left yours, his fingers clawing the sheets underneath. But his other hand rounded your hip to press flat against your abdomen, right above your pelvis. Comforting. Protective.

Possessive.

White light burst behind your eyes. You were a vice around him, forcing him to slow as you throbbed and arched your spine. 049 growled, losing his rhythm. Something large pressed against your entrance at the base of his shaft. You didn’t know what it was, but you grinded against it with a single-minded need even though it was far too large for you to take.

More French expletives spilled from him as he forced you to remain in place, but the hot barrier pressed against your entrance as 049 shuddered with a low growl that was almost animalistic. He throbbed inside you as he gasped for air, each breath hot against your neck. He dipped his head against your shoulder, releasing your abdomen to slide upward, wrapping his arm around your waist.

You released a heavy breath and relaxed, bliss washing over you like a soothing wave, aided by his warm weight on your back. You still pulsed around him, but it was a dull, pleasant sensation. Closing your eyes, you let yourself stay in the moment. No thoughts or worries or fears.

Just him. Only him.

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the-shark-named-sharon · 3 days

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The Anomaly Archives - Reality #003

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Sex pollen, non-consensual drugging, dubious consent, noncon, mutual noncon, cold!049

AO3

SCP-049 was a wonderful subject to work with.

You didn’t really work with him, as such. You watched him perform his mysterious surgeries, scribbling in his leatherbound journal as you observed from the security of the room adjacent. He was fastidious, intelligent, and above all, polite. At least, when you gave him instructions through the intercom, he obeyed with a pleasant, “Very well, Doctor.”

You weren’t a doctor, but you didn’t correct him. He knew of your credentials from when you’d introduced yourself roughly a month ago. 049 was a new SCP in your rotation, and he was a nice change. You already had so much new data to work with, as something had sparked the SCP from his lethargic state soon after you assumed your new station.

Logic would dictate you were the introduced variable that stirred him from his dormancy, but you doubted it. A new researcher was... well, nothing new. As far as you could tell, you simply had good timing.

Still, the anomaly paid close attention to your presence. The glass was mirrored—so you’d been told, you’d never been inside the chamber itself—but the way he gazed at it, straight to where you sat before the monitors, left you feeling exposed.

Despite the unsettling attention, your hard work paid off. Just on the other side of the door was the anomaly, currently being restrained and secured in the interview room. Dr. Puli had finally acknowledged your progress and allowed the interview, despite his reservations.

You didn’t understand his hesitancy. SCP-049 was a relatively tame anomaly, and your new methods had helped placate him further. Sure, he wasn’t technically allowed any human subjects, but no one would miss the corpses from the morgue. They were tagged to be destroyed, and it would have been a waste of resources.

“Are you ready?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your mostly empty cup of coffee. They must have upped the caffeine concentration; you’d been jittery all morning after taking your first sip, sweat dotting your forehead as your skin prickled with heat. You reminded yourself to cut back the next morning.

“I am,” you said to your boss where he stood beside you, facing the interview room. There was a second door to the right that led to the observation room.

“Good. Because I, uh... won’t be able to sit in on this one, unfortunately.”

You eyed his apologetic smile, spotting the frustration underneath.

“Oh? Why not?”

“We have a couple of humanoid transfers and I’ve been asked to oversee it.” Dr. Puli glanced toward the two doors, releasing a breath. “But I know you’ll do well. And if anything goes wrong—not that it will—you’ll have all the help you need. Our new Site Director will be observing, and he wants things to go smoothly.”

You nearly choked on the coffee you’d brought to your lips.

“The Site Director is here?”

“Yes, he... asked to sit on it. It sounded like he was impressed with your progress. No one else has been able to get the anomaly to engage, let alone cooperate.”

You gave a nervous smile. At least no one seemed to be mad about those bodies you designated for 049’s use. Still, the news put a damper on your excitement. Dr. Puli wouldn’t say what happened to the last Site Director, and no one else would speak about him either. Your interactions with Leahy had been sparse and rare, but you hadn’t had a problem with him.

But his replacement, Site Director Johannson, was another story. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s judging by the white hair, but there was nothing grandfatherly about him. When he looked at you, you got the sense he wasn’t seeing you at all.

Your assessment of him didn’t improve after you’d been requested to wear a very specific ensemble for this interview. No one had asked you to wear a skirt before, and you felt like progress had been set back a good 50 years.

A radio chirped to your left, belonging to one of the guards where it was clipped to his vest. He clicked on the microphone and spoke to his counterparts inside.

“You’re clear,” he informed you, though his head remained stiffly forward.

“Wish me luck.”

You handed Dr. Puli your empty coffee cup when he held out his hand for it.

“You don’t need it, but... good luck.”

He gave you one last smile and stepped away, your two escort guards moving at your back. It was overkill, in your opinion, but you wouldn’t wave off the extra security. You didn’t plan to make the same mistake your predecessors did, underestimating what 049 was capable of simply because of his disarming presence.

There was nothing very disarming about the SCP waiting inside. The door slid back to reveal the dark form sitting at the table, his shoulders hunched, and his head bowed. His mask lifted upwards so quickly it was almost a jerk, his eyes focused on you like a large hawk spotting a mouse in a meadow.

You frowned at the unusual behavior but continued forward, your tablet held against your chest as you entered the interview room. The Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness was in place, two extender bars connecting the collar around his neck to the grips of the two guards who flanked him. Even sitting down with his wrists shackled to the table, they weren’t taking any chances.

Typically, you would be at ease in the SCP’s presence, but something had clearly agitated him. You assumed the guards had been rougher than necessary, leaving the poor entity ruffled and misused.

You sat at the table opposite of 049, laid the tablet flat on the table, and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions today. Is it okay if I record this interview?”

The SCP stared at you, but his grey eyes seemed fixed on the wall behind you.

“SCP-049?”

“I would not suggest making a record of what is about to transpire, but I fear that decision is outside your control.”

It was your turn to stare. His words were low, grinding in his throat as if it was difficult to speak, and his gaze was on you, too sharp and jagged.

“SCP-049, are you feeling all right?”

One of the guards behind you clicked his radio, but you heard nothing else, indicating he had switched to his headset. Behind the glass, the weight of stares were heavy on you, a reminder that your position was on the line.

There was a crinkle of chains as 049’s folded hands shifted on the table.

“Are you?”

The question brought you up short. The way it was presented was fairly neutral, but this level of stubbornness was unlike him.

“SCP-049, if you are unwilling to cooperate for this interview, then you will be escorted back to your cell.”

“No. I will not.”

He leaned forward, chains pulled taut at the movement.

“Neither you nor I will be leaving this room. Not, I suspect, for a while.”

You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, and then fell into shocked silence as the two guards at his flank unhooked the extender bars. Without explanation, all of the guards turned away, opened the doors on their respective sides of the room, and walked out.

All you could do was watch, frozen until the room was emptied of all but you and the SCP.

You leapt from your chair, tablet forgotten as you swiped your keycard in front of the reader. It didn’t so much as beep. You pounded on the door, calm professionalism forgotten as panic crawled up your throat.

You went to the mirrored observation window next, banging your hand against the surface so hard it wobbled, and then you stared at your reflection. Your forehead was beaded with sweat, your hair already damp, and heat sufficed your skin.

“You are feeling the effects.”

You met 049’s reflected gaze in the mirror.

“Of what?”

His head tilted, as of the answer was obvious.

“Of what they have given us both.”

Your mind immediately backtracked to earlier that morning and the unusually bitter coffee some tech had handed you before the interview. You’d heard of things like this happening before, mostly through sensationalized rumors after someone disappeared, but you never thought it would happen to you.

You and the SCP were caught in an experiment, exposed to an unknown chemical, and the results would be documented.

049 must have glimpsed it in your eyes, the hollow dread eating away the pit of your stomach. The SCP yanked through his chains, the links scattering across the floor like spilled jewels from a broken necklace. He rose to his feet, broad shoulders blocking out the light behind him, his beaked mask dipped as his gaze burned through you.

You bolted to the far corner of the room, but the entity was right on your heels. He grabbed a fistful of your coat, yanked you backwards, and slammed you sideways into the closest wall. Your scream was choked off from the hand wrapped around your neck.

Your struggles to escape were as fruitless as a bird slapping its wings against the side of its cage, his fingers as unyielding as the bars. He glared down at you with that same predatory focus, and you were so terrified of what he would do that your mind took several long moments to catch up.

049 gripped you with direct skin-to-skin contact, and you were still alive. That shouldn’t be possible. No one understood why his touch was lethal, or if he had control of it. Perhaps this answered that question.

But his eyes narrowed and searched your face, as if he too was stumped by the situation. You weren’t given a moment of reprieve; 049 pulled you way from the wall, readjusting his hold so it was on the nape of your neck, and he shoved you down onto the interview table, bent over its edge.

An animal noise was ripped out of you as he followed you down, his torso pressed against your back, his metallic, rasping words in your ear.

“You have been betrayed, Doctor,” he said low enough that only you could hear. “Though I do not believe you were sent in here to die by my hand. After all, what would be the purpose of dosing you if the expectation was for this experiment to be done on a corpse. Of course, these charlatans conduct nonsensical and disturbed tests and call it science; I would not be surprised if necrophilia was on the agenda.”

His tone was almost conversational, as if you weren’t trembling and gasping in his grip, the gazelle trapped under the lion. You winced as he leaned closer, belatedly remembering he couldn’t actually bite.

“They must already know you are… special. This does not bode well for you.”

You agreed with that—none of this looked good. Had you done something to piss off someone up the ladder? Or was this Johannson getting rid of Leahy’s hires to make room for his own?

You supposed it didn’t matter, you were here now, and your only real focus was on trying to ignore the ache between your legs, made worse the longer he leaned on your back. You pressed your forehead against the cold metal of the table with a desperate attempt to remain still, but your body was traitorous, swayed by the drug that had been slipped in your coffee.

049 let out a strained breath as you lifted your hips and rubbed against him, desperate for friction through the thick fabric of your skirt. You’d never worn a damn skirt to work before, had never been required to, and now, you were almost grateful for it. Every second that passed made your skin burn hotter, and you whined low in your throat. You would do anything to make it stop.

049 released his hold on your neck; he no longer needed to worry about you running. His hands trailed along your sides, the touch curious, and when he reached the hem of your skirt and pushed it up to your hips, you arched your back in anticipation. You were aware of the mirrored observation window, but it was a thought at the back of your mind, nowhere near as important as the promise of relief.

The SCP surprised you by flipping you over, your back now flat against the table as he loomed over you. He reached under your skirt and pushed your underwear to the side, his fingers sinking deep inside with one smooth motion.

The back of your head banged against the table as you bucked against his hand, and your legs naturally found their way around his hips. He plunged deeper, his fingers squeezed between your tight walls, and when his thumb found your clit you lost the sense you had left.

“Please,” you begged for something you weren’t sure he had. Previous researchers hadn’t found evidence of any sort of genitalia, but they hadn’t exactly been looking. Even if all he had were his fingers, you didn’t care. You just needed something. Anything.

But he removed his fingers, kept your underwear pulled to the side, and something unmistakably phallic prodded your cunt.

You pressed your heels against the small of his back, the head of his cock breaching you not enough, and he snarled in response. Fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, he hauled your hips off the table and slid inside you with a single thrust.

There was no air in your lungs to scream with, and honestly, oxygen didn’t seem a priority when it felt like he was going to split you in half. You didn’t know if it was the drugs or the fact you were dripping wet, but it didn’t hurt—in fact, it only ached when he stopped moving.

You sensed a similar restlessness from him, even as he paused to take a breath, he couldn’t hold still, his hips rubbing against yours. Your fingers dug into the thick fabric of his arms as he held your hips at an angle, beyond words and even thoughts at this point.

049 pulled back only a couple of inches before thrusting in again, as if he couldn’t bear to not be buried in your heat. Your fingers increased their grip, and 049 gave an irritated growl at your impatience, snapping his hips forward in answer. You let go of him, pleasantly boneless as he decided to stop testing the new sensations and started to fuck you in earnest. He thrust forward in the same movement of pulling you to him, like you were a thing he was using to chase his own pleasure.

You throbbed around his cock at the idea of being used like his personal toy, and you weren’t sure you could blame it on the drugs.

049 changed his angle, laying almost flat on top of you as he hitched your legs around his waist. Your hips were on the table again as his pace slowed, but the deeper thrusts hit a spot that wound you tighter with each hit.

Your breath staggered and small whimpers escaped. Able to remain silent for most of it, you couldn’t now as you gripped him like a vice.

A litany of French expletives spilled out of him, and the harsh sounding vowels and the loss of control behind them shot straight to your gut. You wrapped your arms around his chest and clung to his back, desperate for something to hold onto, and then you crashed over the edge.

You buried your face in his shoulder and gave a wordless cry, scratching your nails into his thick hide. And still 049 continued to thrust, fucking you as you continued to throb. Something large and warm pressed against your entrance, and you didn’t know what it was, only that you wanted it inside you.

049 hissed and grabbed your thighs, forcing you still when you tried to push back against the barrier, and then he groaned and shuddered. He remained inside you for a moment before he abruptly pulled out, come spilling onto you in thick, white ropes.

The remainder spilled onto the floor as he aimed downward away from you, and you caught sight of the bulbous knot at the base of his cock before he covered himself with his outer robes.

The SCP was trying to catch his breath, and you were doing the same, your thoughts still fuzzy and distant, as if a part of you didn’t want to go back to reality yet. But 049’s eyes were focused and clear, and to your surprise, gazed at you with regret.

“I… did attempt to avoid ejaculation inside you, but I fear I may not have fully succeeded.”

His attention drifted to the door, and at the reminder, you pulled down your skirt and winced at the mess between your legs.

“Why?” you asked as you sat up and tried to collect what was left of your dignity. There wasn’t much to find. “What’s it matter at this point.”

049 turned his focus back on you, his eyes grim.

“Your Foundation may lack humanity, but everything they do is with the intention of an outcome. And what, pray tell, is the outcome one would wish when breeding two assets?”

Two assets? Breeding?

“That’s not… not what this is.” You shook your head. “You’re wrong.”

049 rose to his full height, dwarfing you where you sat on the edge of the table.

“I rarely am.”

He reached forward and took you by the chin. Though it was a gentle gesture, you still trembled at the touch, and the unreadable coldness of his pale eyes.

“And if I’m correct, then we’ll be seeing much more of each other.”

“N-no. This has to be a mistake.” You didn’t believe the words even as you said them, and tears collected unwillingly at the corners of your eyes. “Doctor Puli wouldn’t let them—”

“He would, and he has.”

049 released you and leaned in, so close his mask brushed your neck.

“You’re one of us now, my dear.”

You closed your eyes and the tears spilled down your cheeks. 049’s arms went around your shoulders, and you were too tired to fight it, and you leaned into the embrace. The muffled footfalls of guards outside the door signaled you wouldn’t be alone for much longer, and 049 tightened his grip.

Possessive.

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the-shark-named-sharon · 3 days

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bookbird [do not repost]

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the-shark-named-sharon · 3 days

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SCP-049 🩺

Illustration of my favourite morally grey Doctor I made a few years ago

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the-shark-named-sharon · 3 days

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SCP are still alive?? Apparently??

Some attention to one of my favorite creepy things and 049 specifically. Just a small redraw of the previous 049 pic to feel the character

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the-shark-named-sharon · 3 days

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here's come redraw of my old comic!

'the hanging tree'

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the-shark-named-sharon · 3 days

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The bird guy again AND a background? Today is the day.

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the-shark-named-sharon · 17 days

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Summoning demons while drunk is a bad idea II

Part 1

While Alastor had never seen the appeal of having a little wife waiting for him at home, now that he had such a darling wife, he understood why others were rushing to get married. The prospect of returning to a warm room with an adorable bunny flitting about in it swelled his blackened heart with a strange mix of love, obsession, and possession.

Ah, his lovely little bunny…

Usually, he mingled with the hotel’s residents and other staff members after finishing his broadcast, but these days, he opted to go straight to his room since retrieving his darling love, wanting to hold them and love on them once more.

The demon whistled a jovial tune as he made his way down the corridors, his heart almost bursting with glee upon reaching and unlocking his door and stepping over the threshold.

His sweetheart was once again curled up in their large bed, cocooned in a bundle of blankets and pillows, and it didn’t look like they’d moved at all since he’d left that morning.

This worried him.

He knew that his bunny might lash out and react in various ways upon being relocated to his world. Still, Alastor was sure they’d come around soon and see things from his perspective – after all, their quality of life back home wasn’t as good as they deserved, and they weren’t treated with the care and affection that Alastor knew they needed in order to blossom.

Depression wasn’t something he’d expected or anticipated, but the redhead had made sure to do as much research as possible on how best to help his dearest.

He cleared his throat, announcing his presence and came to sit by their curled-up form, carefully unravelling the blankets around their face so he could behold them in all their beauty.

His bunny yawned and tried to hide from the change in lighting, but he wouldn’t let them, pulling them into his lap and purring as they burrowed into his chest, almost like a real bunny.

“And how are we feeling today, my love?”

You hummed noncommittedly, and Alastor stroked your soft hair, picking up a lock and pressing a kiss on its ends. He wanted an actual answer, and while you weren’t actively fighting him, he preferred compliance… most of the time.

Stroking your velvety bunny ears, he lifted one to his lips and kissed the end, feeling you still in his arms before taking the end into his mouth and teasingly nibbling at it.

“Hey!”

Ah, there was the reaction he wanted.

You wriggled in his arms, hands coming up to bat him away from your ears, and the demon reluctantly released your ear from his bite as you gently massaged it, looking up at him balefully.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your antics, “I’m not a big bad wolf to be feared, my darling.”

You scoffed, pointing at him accusingly, “Those teeth of yours disagree.”

You had a point there; he had to concede and teasingly booped your snout, laughing when you tried to bite at his finger.

“Now, will you tell me what’s wrong, sweetness?” his ever-present grin took on a teasing edge, “or do I need to nibble the truth out of you?”

You huffed, settling back into his chest and playing with your favourite plush bunny, and he resisted the urge to coo at the sight.

“I… nothing’s wrong.”

Few were brazened enough to lie to the Radio Demon’s face for fear of his retribution, and while he usually revelled in this, he wanted you to tell him the truth because you loved him and knew he could alleviate whatever was plaguing your pure soul.

His silence must have said something because you sighed, “I… I need something to do.”

Alastor blinked, his eyes turning to your empty desk and bookshelves lined with tomes he thought you’d enjoy, and you sighed again.

“No, I mean art.”

There it was.

You were quite the talented artist, especially by his standards, and while it hurt him to deprive you of something that brought you great joy, Alastor felt that you needed to earn that privilege or that he’d reward you with your tools once more when you had gotten used to him and being here in hell.

It seemed that plan backfired spectacularly since it only caused you pain, which brought an unexpected pang of sorrow to his blackened heart. His poor darling had been suffering alone for who knows how long, and he hadn’t picked up on it until it began to seriously affect her health! What kind of a husband was he? He was no better than those brutes who only saw their partners as assets or tools to be used and controlled.

His mama would be ashamed of him! He could almost imagine her right before him, a stern and unforgiving expression on her face as she took in what her son had done to his beloved – she had raised him better than this.

He needed to make amends with his poor bunny.

A soft hand cupping his cheek brought him out of his thoughts, and while he usually abhorred anyone touching him, he would make the exception for you. He softened, seeing your concerned expression and kindness dancing in your eyes.

Oh, how could he not adore you?

None had shown him such concern since his mother, and he kissed your forehead and two cheeks, only pulling away when you batted at him.

“Have you considered mingling with the others below?” he hated the thought of sharing you with anyone else, especially with the fools that resided in this hotel, but he needed to power through it. He needed to do what was right for you.

“I… I don’t know them,” your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and smugness filled his entire being.

You were clinging to him.

You, his darling bunny, the love of his life and reason for living, were clinging onto him for safety, security, and comfort.

How could he not feel flattered and overwhelmingly smug at his wife choosing him above others for safety and security? Yes, this may be because you didn’t know anyone else here yet, but Alastor knew everything about you – what made you tick, your personality, your third favourite colour, even which tooth you’d lost first as a child (second molar).

This was genuine.

You were introverted and always had been since you were a child, shields raised up while you sought comfort in the fictional world of books or your own art, and childhood bullying had led to you being slow and resistant to making new friends and trusting others, including him. Oh, but Alastor’s shadows had more than taken care of anyone and everyone who’d wronged you in your life, and while he didn’t need their rotted souls, the sacrifices of their lives were enough to help him rebuild his power and open the door home.

He’d built your trust slowly and surely over time and knew for a fact that it would take longer with the others, so it lay on his shoulders alone to aid you.

“Alastor?”

Your melodic voice broke him from his thoughts, and he held you tightly, tucking your head under his chin and breathing in your scent.

A snap of his fingers filled your desk with only the very best art supplies and tools, everything you were used to and more. He reluctantly released you from his grasp when you wriggled to get out, practically floating over to inspect your new tools and beaming with delight.

Ah, there was that smile he had sorely missed.

“Oh, this is perfect!” you sang, quickly capturing him in a tight hug and releasing him before he could snatch you back into his arms, clever girl.

He hummed, watching you twirl to your desk and begin working on something, utterly unaware of his adoring gaze on you. Oh, what a marvellous creature you were to give him a chance to correct his grievous mistake.

He truly didn’t deserve you.

You were chatting about something excitedly as you worked, and an idea came to Alastor. He sent a few shadows to organise a few things as he put his plan into action.

Alastor was an asshole supreme, but the man did have taste when it came to art supplies and clothes, which you reluctantly had to admit.

A shadow minion had delivered you a note requesting your presence on the hotel's roof that evening, and while part of you wanted to stand him up for whatever he had planned, the kinder side of you urged you to hear him out and go.

So this led to you scrubbing up in the ensuite shower of his room, which, for some reason, was stocked with all of your favourite toiletries. The vanity by the impressive wardrobe was also filled with your favourite makeup and skin products, even ones you had bookmarked to purchase later when you had more money. And you hadn’t even looked into the wardrobe yet, afraid of what you might find.

It was all so fucked.

Part of you felt violated at him rifling through your things and invading your personal space and that he needed a good kick in the nuts the next time you saw him, but the other part thought it was sweet that he was so attentive to your likes and wants – your ex certainly hadn’t been, often drowning out your concerns and problems with a boatload of her own which only led to you keeping quiet about what plagued you as you tried to fix her seemingly unending issues.

Dealing with her was like battling with a hydra.

Sorting out one problem only led to two more sprouting in its place because she refused to follow your easy instructions and ran to you to fix the inevitable storm that hit her—like that time you had to shell out to avoid her car being repossessed after she made zero effort to make payments on time, or you emailing her professors to extend the deadline for one of her essays that you had to cajole her into doing.

Man, you really needed better romantic partners.

Back to the point at hand.

You dried yourself with a super fluffy towel, went to the wardrobe, took a deep breath, and opened it.

You were surprised to see that the clothes there didn’t repulse you.

Gingerly, you ran a hand through the rail of clothes, catching a beaded sleeve, a flowy skirt, and pieces of your own clothing from home also hanging in there. When did he have the time to get all of these, and just how long had he been planning this?

You ignored your questions for now and picked out a lovely maroon dress you’d worn for semi-formal events back home. Then, you approached the lingerie drawer slowly. Opening it revealed nothing out of the ordinary, just your lingerie from home… and a few more expensive-looking pieces that looked to have been commissioned recently. One bra even had a rose daringly intertwined in the straps.

Oh yeah, you were definitely going to kill this man, Radio Demon or not.

Muttering curses under your breath, you hurriedly got dressed, applied minimal makeup, and chose flats to wear, as they would make it easier to ascend the stairs, and you started your journey all the way up, his note still in hand.

Reaching the rooftop, you went to open the door, yelping when it swung open by itself to reveal Alastor on the other side, his ever-present smile widening upon seeing you.

“Were you just waiting for me behind the door the whole time?” you snapped, trying to regain some composure after the little he gave you.

“Of course not, darling,” he took your hand and lifted it to his lips for a chaste kiss, making crimson stain your cheeks. You still weren’t used to his antics.

“I might not have come at all; what would you have done then?” you tugged your hand back, ignoring his wide smirk as he examined your outfit with a more genuine smile.

“Why, I would have carried you up here myself!”

You rolled your eyes at his drama and turned to examine the rooftop, not having been up here before, but Alastor’s gloved hands came to cover your eyes before you could see too much.

“Ah, ah, darling!” he crooned into your ear, his free arm wrapping around your waist as he guided you forward. “you’ll ruin the surprise!”

You were now very glad you wore flats, just in case, as you moved forward.

“Surprise?”

The demon hummed giddily as you both moved closer to something before he finally removed his hands from your eyes.

“Surprise!”

You blinked, looking around to see a picnic set on a comfy-looking blanket before you, along with a few bottles of champagne and glasses.

You were too stunned to speak, so you allowed Alastor to guide you to sit with him. He poured you a glass of bubbly as you tried to figure out what to say.

This was possibly the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you.

The spread was filled with all your favourite desserts and fresh pastries that smelled delicious. Sandwiches were stacked on a nearby platter with your favourite filling, and a nearby pot gave off a familiar aroma that you couldn’t quite place until Alastor lifted the lid, smiling softly as you gasped.

“Is that…”

“Jambalaya! My mother’s recipe,” Alastor confirmed, spooning a bowlful and pressing the warm bowl into your hands. This scene reminded you of the first time you had cooked him Jambalaya back at home, and you lifted a spoonful to taste it, your eyes widening as the flavours danced and fizzled across your tastebuds – now you knew full well why this was his favourite.

“It’s delicious,” you smiled at him, feeling flattered at him sharing his mother’s famous dish with you, not to mention organising all these delicious foods that you couldn’t wait to sample. Your earlier boiling ire at him invading your privacy and clothes seemed to reduce to a simmer. It didn’t seem like the right time to discuss it, so you shelved that discussion for a later date. “What’s the occasion?”

Alastor chuckled into his own bowl of rice, “Can a man not celebrate his lovely wife without there being ulterior motives?”

You twitched at the title of “wife”, which he thankfully didn’t comment on, and raised an eyebrow at him.

His reason was pure bullshit, and you both knew it, and he seemed to realise this, sighing and placing his bowl down, eyes looking upwards.

Since hell didn’t have stars, this was clearly meant to replicate a picnic while stargazing, and your heart warmed at the thought before Alastor began speaking.

“I realise now that my actions have hurt you, my bunny…”

You opened your mouth to speak but closed it, seeing him raise his hand for silence.

“I…” he exhaled slowly, turning to look at you with eyes that burned like molten lava, and you resisted the urge to look away from his intense gaze.

Stand your ground.

“I realise that preventing you from enjoying your hobbies and keeping you cooped up is detrimental to your health and wellbeing, and certainly not how a gentleman should act.”

‘Kidnapping me and keeping me in your room also isn’t a gentlemanly thing to do, and yet here we are,’ you wanted to say but swallowed those words down, knowing it wouldn’t end well and that this wasn’t the time to voice those thoughts.

Alastor continued at your silence.

“I am more than willing to spend my life making amends to you, my love, but to start, I’d like to invite you to sit in during my broadcasts.”

That wasn’t what you were hoping for, but it was a little freedom you could work with; the walk to his tower and change of scenery would do you some good, too. Maybe you could read over his scripts, too?

“I understand that you want your freedom, my love, I really do,” he cupped your cheek gently, and you turned your gaze away from him to your neatly folded hands in your lap, “but it’s dangerous to do so without me being there. Now, I am happy to go out with you for whatever errands you may want to run or sightseeing, as it were, so you aren’t completely isolated…”

He must’ve noticed your slump because he sighed, removing his monocle to rub at his eyes.

“And I feel that introducing you to my friend Rosie would help too, so you can discuss with her what you feel you can’t discuss with me.”

Your heart leapt at the thought of meeting someone new, and Rosie at that! She was one of your favourite characters; meeting her would make your life, never mind your day!

Alastor chuckled at your excitement, booping your nose, which made you bat his hands away as he continued, “Though I hope that one day you can come to trust me enough to talk about what weighs on your soul…”

“You’ve got a long way to go for that, deer-boy,” you said, ignoring how his smile brightened at the nickname. You hadn’t realised you hadn’t used it in a while until now.

“Indeed, and I will spend however long I need to build your trust in me,” he kissed your hand again, looking at you with such a loving expression that made you glance away, wanting to bring up anything that would get him to stop looking at you like that.

“Well, you can start by staying away from my clothes and out of my lingerie drawer,” you eventually settled on saying, your eyes narrowing as he glanced away bashfully, crimson colouring his cheeks.

Who knew the Ratio Demon could be embarrassed?

“Ah- but you understand why I needed to…” Alastor trailed off with a weak chuckle, seeing your glare and cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best for you to handle your undergarments from here on out, my dear.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, focusing on just your lingerie, “you mean all my garments.”

Alastor sighed but nodded, “Very well, my love. I shall stay out of your wardrobe and clothing from now on.”

“Good,” you nodded affably, “I’m still not happy about you meddling, deer-boy!”

Alastor’s ears seemed to wilt atop his head before they perked back up, his expression turning mischievous.

You didn’t like that look.

“Then perhaps I can try to apologise this way,” he said, rising to his feet and helping you up, too.

“Al, what are you doing…” you trailed off as his staff began playing a song probably from the 20s, and Alastor bowed deeply to you, offering his hand in a silent invitation to dance, which you accepted.

“Hold on to me, my love,” he whispered as he held you close, the two of you swaying under the crimson skies. "I won’t let you fall."

Somehow, you knew he’d keep that promise.

The two of you danced the night away under the night sky, and for the first time since you’d arrived in hell, you started to feel better.

A/N: haha how we feelin besties? do yall like this chapter? Alastor kinda makes up for being an asshole but deffo don't trust him lmao eowpfjghi

Anyway this fic is over and thank you for joining me on this journey.

Again, PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK SO I KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

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the-shark-named-sharon · 1 month

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Yandere! Sea Monster x Reader

In the spirit of Mermay, I come to you with a slightly different approach: an octopus hybrid, dwelling in the dark depths of ancient waters. :) Hopefully close enough to the sea monster you imagined, @wally0117

Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, monster romance, reader likes sharks (a lot); inspired by The Shape of Water and My Octopus Teacher; photo from Whalebone Magazine

He’s always been aware of humans, naturally. Observed them from the beginnings of time, from the very first rudimentary attempt of a boat that crossed his waters. Though he can only guess how these creatures exist, how they breathe, how they move. What arrives in his depths is always a corpse of some sort. Bloated, decaying carcasses, rarely intact, whether chipped by fish or by time. Everything else is left to his imagination.

Until today. The fish are restless, the currents are stronger. Something must be happening above, stringing him along curiously. His many legs sway in tandem, opening and closing, as he investigates the source of interest. His pale white eyes narrow to a mere squint, unused to the light of the surface levels. At last, he finds it: a human.

Yet this one is unusual. Intact - save for the bleeding wound - and unlike the washed-out, cadaveric blue tint he’s normally accustomed to. He notices a twitch of the limb and it dawns on him: this one is still alive.

You wake up with a violent cough, thrusting out the leftover liquid that had invaded your lungs earlier. You clearly remember drowning, so how did you end up on shore again? The answer reveals itself rather quickly: a monstrous creature, albeit humanoid for the most part. The upper half resembles a man, but the torso ends in thick, enormous tentacles, now flopped onto the sand, surrounding your body. You search for the creature’s face, framed by translucent tendrils that seem to replace what you’d expect as hair.

“Thank you”. He scans your features and remains silent. Does he even understand human speech? After a moment of consideration, he looks ahead, surveying the water, then returns to you, giving you a nudge. He most likely wants to know how you ended up in that situation to begin with. “That’s, well…”

Conveniently enough, the monster has brought you back to your little camp, so you reach for your backpack and pull out a book. Of course, no words can ever replace the image itself. With renewed enthusiasm, you open your encyclopedia and turn it towards the man, showing him a photo of a sand tiger shark, tapping on it excitedly. “I was looking for sharks!”

Ever since the bizarre, life-saving encounter, you’ve been returning to the same spot most days. And without exception, the monster will be waiting for you in one of the neighboring caves. Judging by the pellucid, pale skin and his reluctance to be in the light, you guessed early on that he might be a creature of the depths.

One that has been around for a long time, it seems. Once he understood your interest in sharks and other aquatic animals, he developed a liking to play guide for you, silently touring you through forests of kelp, hidden caves, labyrinths of reefs and hills. He knows where the animals linger, and they don't scurry away when you approach. You've never dreamed of being so close to them, staring into their eyes and tracing their fins as they swim past you, unbothered and relaxed. The monster will gaze at you from a distance, amused by your passion.

On ground, you’ve begun your own little experiment: can the octopus creature learn sign language? You didn’t need long to discover how intelligent he is, mimicking your gestures with flawless ease, instantly memorizing the meanings, the connections, the implications. He seems to be terribly delighted by this newfound tool of communication, often asking you questions with earnest curiosity.

Ah, yes, the questions. It makes sense that he’d want to know more about humans, though his interrogations are rather…particular. Specific. It’s less about humans as a whole, and more about you. How long have you been swimming here? How deep can you actually swim, with or without aid? Might you have a family waiting for you back home? A mate, perchance? No? Interesting.

"My vacation will end soon", you sign with pursed lips. He tilts his head. "Leaving?" his webbed hands gesture, somewhat uneasy. You nod. You can discern a glint of melancholy in his eyes. Eventually, he resumes: "Would you like to see my home?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise. His home? Down there? Was such a thing even achievable for a human like you?

The plump suckers attach themselves to your skin, one resting over your mouth. "Do you trust me?" You cast one final glance over the underwater abyss, a black hole trapping all light and matter. You shake your head in approval. Without hesitation, he plunges over the cliff, pulling you after him and into the yawning void of darkness. His form glows eerily, and his movement is swift and elegant. You can tell this is his land, his territory. You would've been dead a long time ago.

He releases you on the wet stone, inside the air pocket of a cave. You need a few moments to overcome the wave of claustrophobia pressing against your lungs. As you catch your breath, you recall your long path from the surface. It would be impossible to make it back out again without your friend. A cold shiver runs across your spine. "Have a break, and I'll show you everything else afterwards", he gestures with a smile. "How long will it take? I don't want to walk back at night", you explain.

Silence. You stare into his empty orbs, awaiting a reaction. There's not a sound, not a gust of wind, not a shred of light. "You're not going back", he finally answers.

You see, he's done a fair amount of research himself. He doesn't need an encyclopedia to figure you out: how you breathe, how you move, how you exist. In fact, he is rather confident in his ways of helping you adapt to a life spent together. He would've never brought you down here if he wasn't certain of your survival. His grin widens in anticipation, a strange warmth enveloping his innards at the mere thought of it: a future with you in it, right here. However, one question remains, a cheeky, perverted detail that has been on his mind from the moment he met you, yet he could never investigate it properly.

How do humans mate?

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