Been thinking heavy of a psychic!reader and Nikto.
You grew up normal, your concerns boiled down to grades and the boy and girls you liked, but once you hit eighteen, that changed.Â
You always had an affinity for the spiritual, feeling things around you that you cannot see, but after becoming an adult, you began to realize all that is around you that the others canât perceive. Your dreams became cryptic- scary even. Each night, when your conscious mind is gone, do you see the monsters and angels that reside over everyone. At first, you truly believed they were just nightmares, something your mind conjures up to deal with your past trauma.Â
Then, you see them when youâre awake.
A constant torture, a mental battle between you and the things you cannot see.
It all came to a head when Nikto walked into base. You were strong by now, your mental fortitude beyond anything anyone has ever seen. The U.S government needs you on their side, manipulating politicians and other world governments to suit their needs. Sent along the world without care for your stability, you find yourself in Germany. Your Colonel is a big mountain of a man, and he explains how other PMCâs will be brought to the base.Â
Spetznaz is another private militia that was hired to work alongside you and Kortac, their soldiers much more brutal and rugged than youâre used to. A fact that wouldnât bother you- and it doesnât- but what does.. Is the silent man that walks through the front gates.
Your knees almost give out, and you stand there for longer than what is normal. This man, one adjourned in black and secrecy, is a man youâve seen before.Â
It was years ago, when you saw him for the first time. At that time- he was broken, more so than he is now. His face was bloodied beyond recognition, the skin on his body flayed and battered, the look in his eyes were vacant- scared.Â
You stood before him at that time, eyes and body rigid as you looked at the zombie.. He looked dead- the only evidence of him being alive were the short, shallow breaths he forces himself to take. His eyes were coated in blood, and only on past reflection do you register that he was looking at you.Â
Young and scared, you do what you believe is right- you try and loosen his restraints, tugging and pulling on the chains that keep him in place, only for your efforts to be futile.Â
Youâre not there, not really.Â
Crouching in front of him, tears run down your face. The image of a man skinned and tortured lives freely in your mind.Â
You convince yourself it was a dream, that the blood and gore was a manifestation of your psyche. The man isnât real. His pain isnât real.Â
Until you see him.
His face is covered, his body adorned with black and secrecy, but you feel him. He feels the same as the man you found in your dreams all those years ago. That thought makes you feel sick. You believed it was a dream- that what you saw wasnât real- but now, you know that it was.
``
Nikto felt you before he saw you. A perverted sense of safety melting in his mind, the same feeling he felt when the man he used to be was murdered. It felt safe. He knew it was you before he could deny the feeling, intrinsically he knew it was the girl that tried to pull him out- that tried to save him.Â
His eyes immediately snap to you- he doesnât need time to think if itâs you or not. He knows it is.Â
Youâre young- beautiful. Youâre older, but itâs you. The same girl that saved him. Despite not being aware, your mind called for help. The day after you saw him, he was rescued- as much as he could be at that point. He knew it was you. You were his guardian angel. His reason for living. And now, knowing he wasnât hallucinating you, he knows that you are meant for him. You are his angel, and heâll spend the rest of his life showing you his gratitude.Â
You see him. But, he felt you long before your sight caught up.
A/N: I want to make this a series. If anyone likes the premise, please let me know!
Things were never truly different for you, your imagination and spirit nothing beyond what a normal childsâ is. You grew up normal, not right or happy- but normal. You never had imaginary kids to play with, nor old loved ones that would come to visit you. The spirits watched, but never truly engaged. They loved you- sought you- but only watched. It wasnât until your eighteenth birthday did things start to change. Youâre not quite sure what the age manifested- maybe because youâre legally an adult? That this specific age has a significance to your soul? Youâre unsure, and youâll remain that way.
When you turned twenty, spirits amped up. You would see them everyday, the decomposed souls crawling to you for help. Your soul was like a beacon, any and all tortured spirits around you would find you- try and feed on that light. By this point, you hadnât had a good grasp on your mind, the days were filled with fear and stress, your brain doing its best to ignore the rotted flesh that used to be faces staring at you, silently begging for help- to consume.Â
Night was worse, always worse.
This particular night was different, though. You dreamed. The same dreams you would have before all of this started. Saw worlds and people you wouldnât otherwise ever see. They were smart, kind, and they understood you. Maybe it was a different world, or maybe it was your mind trying to soothe the stress it always brings. What you did know- what you felt- when you transitioned to a moldy, concrete coated room, was the man in front of you was real. Even if it was a dream, his soul was real. Real- and it called to you. You didnât know why. Maybe his soul shone like yours. Maybe he could see things, too.Â
You didnât recognize him, anyone that saw him that knew him wouldnât either, there was so much blood and puss coating his skin, his cheeks seemed to be gouged out, the flesh on his arms, legs, stomach and back were flayed. The skin was cut, then looked to be torn off the rest of the way. Fingernails were ripped off, you could faintly see, and the smell of burnt skin lingers in the air, along with the screams. He was scared, in pain, and you could almost taste it. The air coated in misery.Â
You stare at him in horror, this being worse than any nightmare youâve had thus far. It felt real.
It was real.Â
Though, you didnât know that yet.Â
Tears fall down your cheeks, but you canât be bothered to be aware of them. The man's chest rose and fell quickly, like breathing has become too hard, too much effort. You step forward slowly, unaware that his blood coated eyes have seen you. He doesn't know if youâre his imagination- a pretty girl keeping him company in his final hours, or if youâre another soldier dressed down to throw his guard off. He assumes the latter, his senses and nerves frayed but still on high alert. He doesnât thrash or move away from you though, he canât.Â
Instead, he stares. Prepping himself as much as he can for inflicting pain.Â
It doesnât happen. Instead, you fall to your knees in front of him, tears staining your face- he canât help but think how pretty you look when youâre sad. You pull on the restraints holding his legs and arms down, but your grip falls straight through. With a sickening feeling of dread in your gut, you realize you canât help him. This is only a dream. A dream Nikto canât wake up from. But, you can.
You hadnât realized you were screaming, the sight of such torture too much to bear, and you startle awake when your mother shakes you. As soon as you wake, the depth of what youâve seen has dissipated somewhat, and you immediately write off the scene as just a bad dream. The man wasnât real. His pain was only a manifestation of your own. An excuse you told yourself for years, despite the sight of him never leaving- the feeling of dread and helplessness never going away.Â
The very next night, and the subsequent other ones, you spent time at the computer. Every word and occupation you could think of you typed down, hoping that that one word would be the one to bring you to the man you searched for. Maybe a police officer? P.I? Soldier? You searched and searched to no prevail. Without your knowledge however, the closest soldier to him, you jolted awake. His dream also coated in pain and fear- in the exact room heâd seen before. He searched for his friend. Even going to the same room he was tortured in, but hidden away, and eventually left, finding nothing.Â
A year later that room echoes in his mind. He missed something, he needs to go back.Â
When he does, without any time for the perpetrators to hide anything, he finally finds his friend. Igor Yagorivisch. A man now dead. All thatâs left is a person no longer bound by identity. He is everything and no one. Nikto.
He is dead and alive, any sense of self is gone. The one thing that remains is the girl. The pretty girl that tried to help. The same one that set him free of Mr. Z.
Cock warming Nikto is so calming. When Nikto needs to be as close to you as possible, he'll pull you with him to the bed. Pull you to his body so your back is flush with his chest.
And once he's inside you, be prepared to stay in bed for the next few hours. His hand resting against your chest so he can feel your heartbeat. Him breathing in your scent. Being so close to you helps him relax and helps his mind quiet down a fraction.
---
When Nikto is reading a book on the couch, you'll come to him. Already naked and lubed up, asking him to fill you. He obliges, letting you climb on his lap. When you sink down on him you both let out a sigh. You rest your head on him, one of his hands resting on your lower back while his other hand holds his book.
He'll read his book while you're snuggled on him. Both enjoying the intimacy.
.˳˳â§.â à„± deer hybrid!reader x bear shifter!price
18+ only. afab reader. hibernation. kidnapping kinda. first time meeting. mw4 price with a beard. age gap. not mentioned but yk. prone bone. unprotected p in v. breeding kink. somnophilia. daddy kink. cream pie. fingering. spitting. anal.
.˳˳â§.â à„± word count: 2.1k
ౚà§
Deer shifter!reader that likes frolicking through the woods with cool winter-around-the-corner air blowing into your hair and nipping at the ears that sprout from the top of your head. Follow the trail, donât worry too much when you wander off it because the woods are second nature to youâŠuntil you get caught in a foothold trap. Ears glued to your skull, panicked bawls tumbling past your lips as you fumble with the trap through the blur of tears in your eyes.
Too distracted to notice bear shifter!Price who hears you from his cabin and follows your pathetic cries with thundering steps. Scoffs when he sees you caught in the trap left by one of those local hunters, in his backyard nonetheless.
You squeal, freeze like a deer in headlights when he comes into vision, failing to scramble away when he snatches you by the calf to keep you still.
The warmth radiating from his palm courses through your bones, makes you fuzzy and relaxed. Has you pliable when he sucks a gruff breath in and snatches you up, soft bleat making him growl lowly in his chest.
Heâs so warm, smells of smoke and sweat that drives you crazy. Makes heat coil in your stomach and eyes go half-lidded with drowsiness.
Heâs impossibly big, broad shoulders under your palms, soft pudge smashed against your hips, and a wide arm covered in dark coarse hair pining you to him. Has a beard too, full and thick, covered in that scent that has you fantasizing turning your cheeks raw with how much you nuzzle into it.
You donât question where heâs taking you, couldnât run with the distant throb in your ankle, not that you really wanted to with the warm admiration growing in your chest. Gaze fixed on the side of his face, shiver shooting down your spine at the sharpness of his features.
âWhatâs your name?â You manage to murmur.
âPrice.â He grunts, low growl in the back of his throat. The gruffness of his words sends a blanket of drowsiness over you. Rumble that you feel against your chest has your tail swishing, rubbing against his forearm. You bleat at the feel, love your fur against the roughness of his own.
He looks at you then, has your ears flattening, tail moving quicker. Gulp at the bulging vein in his neck and sweat collected at his brow. You imagine licking it off.
Your name tumbles past your lips even though he never asked, heart squeezing when he turns away with a clench of his jaw. A heavy paw pets at your ears. Makes you shiver and whine softly, has you melting into his shoulder with a yawn.
âBig day fâr ya tomorrow, little doe.â He rasps, settles his paw at your neck till you fall asleep. Keeps his twitchy and too-easy trusting little mate pressed to his chest until he makes it to his cabin. Room smokey with half blown out candles and a lit fire place, windows covered, pantry stocked, and once he locks the door behind him, no one goes out.
You hum lowly in your throat against his neck, puff soft breaths that have something hot and angry boiling in Priceâs chest. Make him chuff and uneasy until youâre tucked into his chest and buried in his bed. Covered and protected in his scent, Price rumbles with satisfaction, noses into your neck so he can fall asleep to the one thing heâs been waiting for.
You wake with a start. Throw off whateverâs covering you because youâre burning alive. Would panic about the glue that keeps your eyes closed, but it takes everything out of you just to sluggishly peel off your sweat ridden clothes.
Wake up sometime later with slow blinks to a ceiling, exhaustion so heavy behind the back of your eyes that your eyes flutter shut for just a second and youâre sleep again.
You rouse with the sound of snoring. Obnoxious bellows that end with a low growl, make you huff and puff into a sitting position. Palm at your face to see past the sleepies in your eyes. Room covered in soft light from a dozens of candles and Price whoâs so loud you fall back onto his pillow of an arm to shove at his chest.
Contact making your skin prickle and now you only notice youâre somehow naked. Nipples pebbled and legs so slick from the furious throb between your legs. He doesnât even stir, you pout, shake his chest and run your palms through his soft fur.
Mind so dazed and thoughts soft around the edges, you donât even blink an eye at your situation. It feels so natural to be curled into Prices side, only when heâs quiet though. A hum sings in the back of your throat as you fight the need to shove the covers down his stomach to feast on the pudge of it just so you can get him to shut up.
âPrice.â You whine, bawl escaping your throat and boy he jumps up then. Eyes quick to find and scan over you before huffing and rolling from his back to sling a heavy arm around your waist. Face so close that your tail sings.
âWhat?â He chuffs, voice gruff with sleep and eyes glazed as they drift to your chest. His hand paw at your waist, callouses scraping over your back.
You bleat, arch your chest forward at the attention and almost forget your words till you scramble your thoughts back. âStop snoring. Too loud.â You huff.
Price growls, makes your instinct howl as you flatten to the bed, but your tail never stops flickering. Hands finding purchase at the hair that covers his chest, mewl at the smell of him blanketing you.
He leans down, presses his nose to your nipple and chuffs as he takes in your smell. You keen at the quick breaths caressing your skin, sends pulses between your legs. Tail working in quick speed when he laves a languid strip across your nipples. Tongue big and rough, scraps at your skin and makes you mush.
Soft tuffs of air snort from your nose as you fight against the sleep that tugs at your mind. Chirp and dig your nails into his thick hair when he nuzzles his beard into your skin.
You reawaken and doze off dozens of times before youâre finally able to keep your eyes open for longer than a second. Donât know how long youâve been there and donât really question it because Price feels so good pressed against you. So warm and soft and youâd want to curl into his skin if you could.
Pinned to the bed now, Price pressed firmly to your back and the feel of his chest hair rubbing against you makes you moan lowly. Has Price stirring awake and shoving his face to your neck.
âPrice.â You whine, body shuddering and legs slipping against each other. Need coiling in your stomach that fuels the raise of your hips.
Price growls, paws at your hips and fits his heavy cock between your ass. You bleat pathetically, keen at the throb of his cock. Mind buzzing as you blabber. âInside, inside.â
Price braces a heavy arm at the side of your head, hand skimming a slow trail down your back to knock a knuckle against your wagging tail, draws a chirp and shudder from you before lining himself up.
âBig stretch coming, little doe.â He rasps into the ears at your head, has your spine locking up and when he slowly pushes in you bawl loudly, braining whiting out and when you nod back to reality, your bodyâs lurching forward in a steady rhythm.
Lewd, wet slaps echoing in your ear until your mind clears of the dazed fog to register the loud, broken moans tumbling from your lips.
Price groans, settles his weight on your back and gives short, sharp thrusts into your sloppy cunt. Every push in you swear you can feel him in your throat.
He chuffs into your ears, makes them twitch and send shock waves to your clit. Price can feel the brush of your tail against his stomach, drives him mad, makes him really put his back into it.
Thereâs a delicious burn from how wide Price stretches you. Feeling surging through your body every time he humps into you. Has sweat collecting on your brow, hands finding purchase on the bed sheets. Eyes rolling at the flex of his forearms at either side of your head.
Your nipples rub against the bed every times Price sends you forward, has your mind buzzing and hand flying up to his wrist braced in front of you. Admiring how small you are to him, how rough and hairy he is.
Quick pants adding to the heat coiling around you two. A thin layer of perspiration coating both your bodies that allows your scents to mix into the air, drive you both lightheaded.
You keen, clit slamming just right into the bed when Price slams hard, whines when he lifts your hips away and higher to get a better angle at your womb. Hopes that his seed will catch and youâll be big and swollen with his cubs come spring.
He grunts and growls, sound sent right into your ears. Works you up and has you babbling. âFeels so good, Price.â You hiccup through tears blurring your vision. âSo big and warm! âM so full.â
âDaddy.â He growls with a sharp thrust into your leaky pussy. One that travels up your spine and makes you woozy. âCall me Daddy, doe.â
You squeal, flutter around him at his authority. Chant his name in your mind until it bubbles from your throat, tear slipping down your cheek.
âFuck.â Price croaks down into the space between you both, eyes on the froth collecting at the base of his cock from your needy cunt.
Head falling onto the bed, too tired to keep it up. Mouth opening and moaning so drool leaks out onto Prices fingers.
âCock hungry deer.â He seethes, gripping your jaw to smash your lips together. You do your best to keep up, but the fierceness of Priceâs movements makes drool slip down your chin and teeth clink together. Beard scratching your face and making you squeeze around him.
Price licks the strip of combined saliva off your chin and spits it back in your mouth, watches you gulp it down before quickening his pace.
You feel him so deep inside you, pussy stretched wide around his bulging cock. You whine when you feel him a little too much, tell him to slow down and he only laughs.
âIs Daddyâs cock being mean, baby? Too rough for your little pussy? But youâre sucking Daddy in so good baby, you sure you want me to slow down?â He coos, brushes his beard against your sensitive ears.
You moan, his scent making your ass push higher into his thrusts, upcoming orgasm making you whiny, hips fucking back into him.
Price groans when he shifts off you, mesmerized at the sight of you pushing back into him that for a second he stops, has to grind his teeth together to stop from cumming into you too early. Watches you moan mindlessly with your eyes clenched shut, back arched as you shove your ass into his hips. Curse at the jiggle of yours hips, can tell youâre gonna cum the way you flutter around him, so he bullies his cock into you with long, quick thrusts, grunts and clenches his jaw with each jerk forward.
âCum with me, little doe. Gonna blow my load inside you. Get you to give Daddy a baby.â
You squeal when you cum, pussy squeezing so tightly that one last lazy thrust from Price is all it takes for him to spill into you with a groan. Teeth sinking into your neck during your orgasm that you donât even feel it, only catch Price laving at the spot as you huff tiredly against the bed.
Hot and sweaty and buzzing with satisfaction, Price slumps against you, doesnât pull out to make sure his cum stays inside of you for a good while. Gives a shallow thrust for good measure that makes you both groan.
You feel his cum leak out, shiver despite the furnace at your back and mewl softly. Price licks up sweat lacing your neck and chuffs into the crease of it, lulls you to sleep to dream of your stomach big and round.
Wake up again later to Price fingering his fallen cum back into your pussy, makes you cum on his fingers before eating it out of you and testing your resistance at your back door. Only squeak initially before relaxing once his finger breaches through.
a few friends had gathered to celebrate a mutual friendâs engagement, and of course, to fawn over the giant rock sitting pretty on her left hand.
âit was the most beautiful thing iâve ever seen,â she says, eyes misting up. âflowers everywhere. candlelit dinner on this beautiful terrace. he even hired a string quartet.â
everyone awws at once.
you twist your own ring around your finger.
âyouâll never believe what james did for me!â someone else says, and like it always does when you all get together, it becomes less of a conversation and more of a contest.
they all take turns gushing over their partners and all the grand, romantic gestures that have happened recently, each story somehow bigger than the last. flowers. surprise trips. hotel rooms covered in rose petals. tickets to shows they had only mentioned wanting to see once.
all in some absurd, glittering attempt to prove who is adored more.
they all turn to you.
what had you and simon been up to recently?
you swallow.
the last date the two of you had been on had been watching a movie on Netflix, takeout and wine littering your coffee table, your legs thrown over his lap while he rubbed absent circles into your ankle.
it had been nice.
it had been normal.
but at this table, normal feels embarrassingly small.
âwhen youâve been together so long, and with his schedule, itâs hard, yâknow, to find those momentsââ
another friend waves her hand, not unkindly, but ready to move away from what clearly wasnât going to be an interesting enough story.
âthatâs why you have to find those moments. what has he done for you lately? like for example, jack just planned this entire weekend getaway for us after my boss had been such an asshole and it was so romantic. he bought us tickets toââ
her voice begins to fade into the background.
you look down at your ring again.
itâs not that you think simon doesnât love you.
of course he loves you.
he loves with the weight of his hand at the small of your back in crowded rooms. he loves with the way he always sleeps closest to the door. he loves with the way he notices when you are too tired to eat and sets something in front of you without asking. he loves with the way he comes home half-dead and still checks the locks, the windows, the thermostat, anything that might touch you before it touches him.
but sitting there, surrounded by candlelit dinners and surprise weekends away, a different question curls itself beneath your ribs.
does he still care?
you had already known what youâd signed up for when starting this relationship. simon was never one for giant declarations of love or grand, pretty spectacles. he didnât perform affection well. never had.
hell, you couldnât even remember the last time heâd brought you flowers or planned a proper date.
you shuffle in your seat.
âthatâs really sweet,â you sigh.
rugby playing on the tv is what greets you, simon fully settled on the couch, a beer in hand.
his head lifts as soon as he hears your key in the door, shoulders falling even more relaxed at the sound of your footsteps entering the house.
usually, that would be your cue.
youâd toe your shoes off by the door, wander straight to the couch, and drop yourself onto him like it was the most perfect fit. heâd grunt like youâd knocked the air out of him, even though you both knew he could carry you around the house with one arm if he wanted to.
youâd recount whatever pointless gossip had been fed to you that morning, and heâd pretend not to be listening while remembering all of it.
instead, you busy yourself with the mail in the kitchen.
simon notices.
because of course he does.
you try the sink next, if only to give your hands something to do.
the tap sticks.
you yank it harder, and when nothing comes out but a high-pitched wheeze, you let out a frustrated groan.
simon is behind you before you can even turn around.
âprobably clogged,â he says.
you sigh.
âi can call a plumber tomorrow.â then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn to face him. âwe should do something tonight.â
his head tilts.
âwe are,â he says, voice low and rough with confusion. âwatching that new movie you wanted to see.â
you make a small noise under your breath.
his eyes flicker from the sink to you.
âno, si. i mean get dressed up. go out.â you swallow around the embarrassment already forming. âa real date.â
âwhy?â
your stomach lurches.
you know him. know he doesnât mean it with any malice or cruelty.
but after an entire morning of listening to women talk about being chosen loudly, extravagantly, beautifully, that one word lands like proof.
why would he need to?
why would he think to?
why would he care to?
why would you ask for more when this is what you agreed to?
âforget it,â you say quickly, already stepping away. âi have a bit of a headache. âm going to take a nap.â
simon says your name, but you donât turn around.
the clanking of metal banging against each other is what wakes you.
for a moment, you donât move.
you just lie there, blinking at the dim light of your bedroom, listening to the low metallic scrape from somewhere down the hall. the house is quiet around it, warm with evening, the television now turned down low enough that you can barely hear the commentatorâs voice.
another clank.
a muttered curse.
you rub at your eyes and make your way to the kitchen.
simon has wedged himself inside the cabinet beneath the sink, broad shoulders barely fitting in the cramped space, one arm braced against the floor while the other reaches up into the mess of pipes above him.
âsi?â
he grunts, focused on giving the valve one final screw and your gaze follows down to the toolbox lying next to his hip.
âline was damaged,â he says from under the sink. âitâll need replacing proper, but iâve got it for now. try it.â
wordlessly, you step to the sink and lift the handle.
water rushes out, hot and clear.
for some reason, it makes your eyes burn.
simon shifts, dragging himself out from under the cabinet with a quiet exhale. he sits back on his heels and looks up at you from the floor, forearms smudged, hair mussed, expression unreadable except for the little crease between his brows.
âi told you i could call a plumber,â you say.
he shrugs.
âgot me right here, donât you? i donât mind.â
your chest tightens.
because it was never going to be flowers. it was never going to be candlelit dinners. it was never going to be a string quartet playing underneath a perfect night.
it was always going to be simon, sitting on your kitchen floor with a wrench in his hand, looking at you like the solution to a problem is obvious because heâs already there.
you sit down at your kitchen table, eyes already watering from overwhelm, when a memory comes so quickly it almost embarrasses you.
you, curled on the couch with him months ago with your laptop open, showing him a table from architectural digest with the sigh that you do when youâve found something you absolutely loved.
âlook at this, simon. isnât it perfect?â
he had just hummed as you continued scrolling before you start laughing.
âabsolutely not. who spends five thousand dollars on a table?â
simon hadnât said much at the time. he rarely did when something lodged itself somewhere deep in his mind. continued stroking your hair, looked at the screen for a second longer than necessary, and went back to whatever match had been playing on the tv.
three weeks later, there had been lumber in the garage.
then sketches.
then sawdust tracked through the hallway.
then simon, scowling and cursing at a video tutorial, rewinding the same twenty seconds over and over until he understood the joint he wanted to make.
youâd laughed then.
you remember that, too.
you remember standing in the garage while he sanded the surface smooth, remember telling him he was insane, remember him saying it wasnât that hard with all the grim seriousness of a man who had absolutely made it hard.
you remember the first night you ate dinner at it.
you remember how pleased heâd looked when you wouldnât stop touching the grain.
you remember tearing up at the effort before sinking to your knees beneath that very table and thanking him so thoroughly that, to this day, he canât sit at the damn thing for too long without his eyes darkening and his pants growing tight.
your eyes move across the room.
towards the cabinets he sanded down because you said the old ones made the kitchen feel too dark.
the backsplash he learned to tile because you had paused too long on a photo of handmade ceramic.
the wall he knocked through because you hated how boxed-in the room felt.
the bedroom he painted three times because the first two colors looked different once they dried, and he had only sighed, changed shirts, and opened another tin.
a house that had been perfectly fine when you bought it, just never quite yours, until simon got it in his head that he could make it so.
your heartbeat quickens.
the whole morning suddenly feels absurd in a way that makes your chest ache.
his gaze lands heavy as he watches every expression form across your face.
âyou wanna tell me what got you in a mood earlier?â he asks.
his voice is even, but his hand drums once against his thigh.
your six-foot-four lieutenant of a husband, nervous at the thought of upsetting you.
you shake your head at first
then stop.
because no, that isnât fair either.
he does love you. he loves you in fixed pipes and sanded wood and walls torn down to let in more light. he loves you in the things he can touch, carry, mend, build. he loves you so steadily that it has become the floor beneath your feet.
but you still want flowers sometimes.
you still want to be asked to put on a dress.
you still want him to look at you across a dinner table he did not build and make you feel, just for an evening, like loving you is not only something he maintains but something he celebrates.
âi know you care about me,â you say quietly.
his brow furrows.
ânever said you didnât.â
simon stills.
âi know that,â you repeat, softer this time, because you do. God, you do. âI just⊠I think I need more sometimes.â
something shifts in his face.
âmore,â he repeats.
you huff a laugh, embarrassed now. ânot more than this.â
your hand moves over the table again and his eyes follow the movement.
âjust moreâŠâ You search for the words, then give up on making them perfect. âmore on purpose, maybe. dinner. flowers. you telling me to get dressed because you made plans. stupid things.â
âtheyâre not stupid.â he immediately corrects you, firm and like heâs already offended on your behalf.
you look up at him and he pushes himself off of the floor.
you watch him stand, slow and heavy, wiping his hands on a rag before setting it aside. he comes toward you with that careful, deliberate look that always makes your stomach dip, like every bit of his attention has narrowed down to one target.
you.
âfriday,â he says.
you blink. âfriday?â
âdinner.â his gaze drops over you, not subtle in the slightest. âwear somethinâ nice.â
despite yourself, you laugh, small and wet in disbelief at how easy it is with him.
simonâs hand comes up, thumb brushing beneath your eye before a tear can fall.
âare you asking me on a date, riley?â
his mouth twitches.
âseems like i am.â
you look down at the table, at the careful seams, the polished wood, the impossible thing he made with his own two hands because you wanted it and he saw no reason you shouldnât have it.
then back at him.
âgood,â you say, standing slowly. âand since you fixed the sinkâŠâ
simonâs eyes darken.
you take one step toward him, then another, until your fingers catch in the waistband of his jeans and tug him close.
his hand finds the edge of the table behind you.
your table.
his eyes flick down to it, and whatever memory crosses his mind makes his jaw tighten.
you smile.
âcareful,â you murmur. âyou look a little proud of yourself.â
his hand settles heavy at your waist, lifting you to rest on the edge.
What if captive mer reader and mer ghost were like betas and some other fish where domestic ones were bright and colorful and had exaggerated fins and stuff and the wild ones were duller and had more appropriate fins !
Ohhhh this is so close to how I pictured it!!!!
In my mind juveniles of the species are bright red, because red light doesn't reach their usual depths. However, captive mers are displayed in bright/well-lit tanks, so their red color is very vibrant and attractive to viewers. For that reason reader was bred to retain those bright red colors with black patterning (adults of the species are fully black with white patterns)
Just like you said, I also imagine reader to have larger fins, selected to be visually appealing at the cost of reader swimming a bit odd. That, with the fact reader grew in captivity and is quite small for an adult, means they really do look like a weird pup.
Aaggggagag I wanna draw it when I get homeee( ÂŽĐ`)ă
Still thinking about [captive bred mer!reader and wild mer!ghost] and their first feeding time together....
You spend so long in that little cave, tucked into the shadowy corner whenever the big mer swam by. He was just so big! And spiky in places you aren't, and all the wrong colors!
After awhile he leaves you alone, instead swimming laps in the giant pool, chirping...something. you still don't understand him. It was easy to calm down in your cave, knowing he couldn't fit. It was harder to ignore your growing hunger.
You don't know how you'll get food, it's too scary to swim up and do the tricks! Just the thought of doing your usual splashing and flying from the water with the big mer around....no. best not to.
So you hunker down, tuck your tail over your arms and open you vents for the long night. It's not the first time you'll go without food but it never gets easier.
Something thunks outside your cave entrance, startling you out of your half-sleep.
A....crab? It's definitely a crab! Oh, wow! You didn't know there were any in the pool! Excited, you swim out to say hi. chest brushing the rock so you can be eye level, you chirp "hai!!! Helloooo!!! Hi!!"
The crab doesn't move. Hrm. Strange. You bat at it, churring in curiosity when it simply floats away a bit, still not moving. You paw at it, inspecting it, worried it might be sick andâ
A loud rumble above youâ the mer! You go to dart back into your cave only to realize it's so far away. He rumbles more, reaching a giant hand down to pluck the crab from its place, and instead place food down!
Ah. He must be helping the crab out.
You eat the food, making sure to save some for the big mer because even if he's scary he's helping the crab so you suppose he should eat too. He brings more and more, and you eat your fill for the first time in...a long time.
Above the surface, two workers talk to eachother about your feeding method. It seems whole foods don't work, but ghost is willing to tear them up for you. They will continue to monitor.
Thinking about mer!reader who was born in captivity meeting mer!ghost who was born wild...
You both meet in a mer sanctuary, you having been rescued from an aquarium going bankrupt and ghost under treatment for a boating strike. You've never seen another mer before, but the strange creature in your tank undeniably is one, that much you instincts tell you.
But....but he's so big, bigger than anything you've seen before! You doubt he could ever comfortably fit in your tank! Just looking at him makes your fins flutter nervously, hiding in the rocks on the shelf built into the pool.
He keeps peeking into your cave, chirping and churring in a way that makes your instincts perk but you don't really understand. Safety? Pod? You don't know.
Meanwhile, ghost is losing his mind.
This strange mer is too damn small, and he keeps trying to ask "are you okay? I'm safe, did they hurt you?" But all it does is squeak like a pup and hide!
Ghost can't fit into the tiny cave with the mer, and his instincts are already freaking out because he's separated from his pod! He needs to protect the weird pup!
....how the hell the workers intend to care for you when ghost is at risk of drowning anyone who tries, they have no idea.
Request fill for nonny who wanted captive vs wild mer!!!
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in most of your works where reader is a parent/guardian, the hild is always a baby and rarely a toddler. I think they're cute, I love every single one of them, but I was wondering, would you ever write something involving a bigger kid? (like 7-8) I'm a sucker for storylines that have the kid be jealous or apprehensive of their parent / guardian's partner, the ones I see are always been wholesome and just tooth rooting fluff.
I know it's a cliche, but I love it.
Idk i honestly don't find kids that appealing to write about đđ like they're cute and all but parenthood kind of freaks me out and writing kids makes me think too much about that lol
With babies it'd like....at least they're cute and tiny. So that's why I write so many babies hehe :3
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