Currently obsessed with: Redacted Audio, Bastards vs Zombies, Arcane, Wind Breaker, Kpop Demon Hunters, The Apothecary Diaries, any crappy dating show, any and all music.
I also write NSFW(18+) stuff sometimes because I'm an insatiable goblin, so please peruse my letters with caution.
P.S: message me if you ever wanna talk ^^. I'm a little awkward but we can just ignore that
P.P.S: You can read more fully fleshed work from my ao3 here♡
You can also see some of the stuff I post on Tumblr on my kinda updated masterlist
Write to you soon,
Ruubric ♡
[Obviously don't engage of you're a weirdo with any -ists or -ics that are unsavory (read: disgusting; you know what i mean).]
They cooked. He cleaned. Grocery shopping was on his shoulder because he didn't want them to carry the heavy bags, and they did the laundry, shirts drying together, sleeves touching, like their hands whenever they would watch something on TV while cuddling on the couch.
Domestic, much.
Just two friends living together.
Sometimes, when the movie night turned longer than expected, their head lolling onto his shoulder or chest, them asleep soundly, he would just lay there, still and quiet, letting them catch some rest. Insomnia was not welcome, not when he could easily remedy it, magic not necessary when he had the power of old comedies playing.
Sometimes, they would study together, stealing glances at their respective notes. He would end up with doodles on the notebook's margins, kitty faces, and hearts with cupid's arrows going through the middle. They would often find a note between the pages, a reminder to smile or drink some water, or text him back. Simple things friends did for each other.
They were best friends. They were content with that. He, was content with that.
So why was his hand shaking when he opened the door late at night, groggy and in his pyjama pants, looking at his best friend who had smudged glitter on their face, slightly tangled hair and few bruises on their neck that looked like hickeys?
"Sorry, I forgot my keys." he let them in, lockign the door as they stepped inside, wobbly on legs that danced for too long.
"How was it?" he could see, but the question was more out of being nice rather than the curiosity. Trying his best not to let his voice crack, he scratched at his neck, muffling a yawn.
"Good, actually. Can't believe I didn't want to go." oh he heard all of it, his ear being talked off as they complained.
It's too late. I will have to cancel my shift so I won't have enough cash by the end of the week. Exams are coming, I shouldn't be partying. You weren't invited, are you really sure I should go? Won't that be rude to you?
"There was a happy hour, and hey, there were so many nice people getting me drinks. The bartender was a nice guy too, he complimented my shirt." the one he helped them pick out one shopping spree ago. It matched their style and it looked good indeed. He told them that too, on so many occasions.
"That really sounds great." he couldn't stop eyeing their neck as they slumped down onto the couch, shoes kicked off and legs placed on the arm rest, back popping with a nasty sound.
They were just friends. He had no right to be jealous, even if he wanted to be. The whole world seemed to notice what he saw in them, the pretty eyes, cunning smile and charming face that melted his frustration the moment it turned to him, all flushed and teasing his senses that tingled.
"And there was..." they started waving their hands, pointing at the neck. He would listen to every gossip they would share, talk shit with them for hours. But he wouldn't stand listening to them talking about someone who manages to do that, while he was asleep in his own bed, unaware.
Best friend. He was just their best friend and that had to be enough.
"You can tell me that tomorrow, okay? You sure must be tired." half smile offered, he had to calm himself somehow. Sitting by them, they shifted around, immediately cuddling up to him, arms wrapping around his torso, head back to the spot it rested so perfectly on. Faint smell of booze lingering, masked with their perfume, they almost smelled so divine–
"I wish you could have gone with me." they hummed, voice muffled as they pushed closer, nose pressing against the freshly healed tattoo on his chest.
"Maybe next time." he would love that, actually. There was a new club opening soon, he could take them there. Get some drinks, dance a little, spend some time together that he wanted to have with them.
"Mhm... next time."
"Promise?"
"Of course. Now, let's get you out of those clothes and into bed." he would take care of everything. Pick them up, carry to the bathroom so they could wash their face and brush their teeth, bring them clean clothes to change into, lay them on the bed and leave a kiss on the forehead for better dreams.
Bestie is sooooo "Carmen" by Lana coded. They are effortlessly gorgeous, always turning heads, making friends so easily and getting drinks just because.
All while Blake stands beside them, cursing at the world for noticing the same things he deemed perfect in them, hands clenching whenever someone got too close to what he wanted to have for himself only.
make this picrew and put your name in the incorrect quote generator!
I was tagged by the wonderful @commander-krios. Thank you so much, Kay!!
No pressure tags @kimberbohwrites @purpleasters-inseptember @reverieblondie @tealfling @cursed-nyxan @wasteful-sam @cinder-rellish181 @optimisticgrey @ellessario @tealfling @barbwillbrb @charmedtenderness and whoever else would like to join in!!
My mutuals, no pressure! (Hope it doesn't matter if some of them aren't in the fandom): @cas-fandoms @indigonightmar3 @florasomnia @urnewroomie @102booksfan @naokikui37 @pseudomutuality @maxismeyhem @kijumizstudios @jeli-in-tea @elvishdemigod @ruubric @wontyourecognizeme
and for my next trick, I'm going to summon an Asher fic!
✨️woosh✨️
the magic spell was too potent, because it turned the fic into an au of almost 6k words. oh well.
but, on the au part - shaw pack but make them light house keepers, with David being given the duty after his father's passing. After talking about it with my beloved mutual (mwah!) the brain came up with this "monstrosity" (in length, I mean. I didn't expect it to take up so many words lol). I've been informed of mermay being a thing, so it's only fair to pair slight whump with a siren :))
So, behold. Babe siren (of depths and horrors) and just a little bit half-drowned Asher. Sea salt, seaweed and fisherman sweaters.
@ruubric it's only fair to give back after your last fic. I hope it scratches the Asher itch (and is considered a worthy payback)
When one is asked to think about a creature of myths, what answer blooms in their mind?
Some may say a unicorn, an ethereal being born of magic, gentler than any other soul on earth, kind and innocent. Maybe some will speak about werewolves, sharp teeth and sharper claws growing during a full moon, ripping through the treeline while on hunt, the prey bee-lining for their freedom with the predator's sickly hot breath on their back.
Vampires. Nymphs. Satyrs with their horns and flutes, maybe even angels, high in the sky with their white feathered wings and halos shimmering of gold. There are many options to choose from, not one taken as the "proper" answer, not when there is so many to consider. Whether to believe in them, was always a personal choice. Some may say that there is always a grain of truth to whatever is being spoken, after all, myths and legends were known to the mankind from the beginning of times and had to be sparked by something. Spoken by the campfire at night as a bedtime story, maybe a cautionary tale for little kids to stay safe and close to their parents, various monsters were living on people's tongues since forever. Few friendlier than the others, other few more helpful, most of them with the reason of only serving one purpose – to induce fear. Or warn of its existence.
Not many dare to stare into the shadows, darkness of a moonless night spreading goosebumps on one's skin like the stars that litter the blue endless high above our heads. But below the horizon, lurks something even darker, place of pitch black nothing, where sunlight never dared to linger, where the smell of sea salt is lost between cold currents, and warmth is a luxury of unknown to those unfortunate who are forced to live there, never ending night their whole eternity. No one questions how is it there, at the forgotten bottom.
It's dark. It's cold. It's littered with species used to no sunshine against their skin, no eyes to see through the absolute abyss surrounding them, an occasional wreck of a ship here and there, a memento of a dream that never came true. Sandy depths offering nothing but sea pickles, weird creatures that wear the morbid look like the most expensive dress ever made, silence that spreads endlessly.
And loneliness. It sure has to be lonely, in a place where nothing alive accommodated itself for kindness towards another. Yet, the sea takes and it gives, be it shelter, a reprieve, melancholy. Sometimes much more than initially asked for.
~~~
On the shore between cliffs, loose rocks and waves crashing against the old and haggard stone, stood a building, tall and proud, with paint weathered by years of harsh climate and salt, red and white chipped over the cracks. Beacon of hope and light, the lighthouse acted on its role of guiding ships safely to the docks, keeping vigil day and night over those unfortunate enough to lose their way back. Precaution, aid and symbol of land finally found after days or weeks spent in small cabins, with nothing over the horizon but endless blue and wooden ceiling above the small bed, logs with lanterns hanging off of them by a jute twine. Stench of fish, dried algae or seaweed as a constant company, hum of ocean interrupted occasionally by the yells of captain or crying seagulls, trying to snatch the food, bread a delicacy for them despite being unhealthy. The feathery thieves persisted, annoying the sailors.
Docks, compared to the lighthouse, were a busy place, something always happening there, be it a new shipment, big boxes of everything and nothing hauled onto the ships, or another group of fishermen that has returned, nets filled with still jumpy fish, the scales and empty eyes shining in the obscured sunlight that fought with gray clouds on most of the days. Constant chatter of various people, everything out in the open, no secrets or places to hide if anyone wished to. The crates were moved too far often to treat them as a safe space, and the noise that seemingly never ended caused a headache. Those working there clearly had to be used to it already, no other choice but to pull through yet another shift with the feeble payment as a carrot on the stick to makes end meet.
It was not a lonely place at all, but staying there for far too long was too much for them. They opted for the lighthouse, lingering just on the edge of society and hermitage, where company kept between the closest only.
When they were younger, none of them expected to actually end up there. Sure, they played around, like curious kids tend to, imagined and pretended to be the ones sitting behind the desk, turning the lamp on and off, guiding the ships home, jotting down in the journals they made from loose pages torn from their school notebooks. Their parents only shook their heads at that, only an innocent play and nothing else. When Gabe died and his duty was passed down onto his son, the play-pretend turned out to be real and the only comfort they could take out of it, was that they were sort of preparing for this for their whole lives, up until this point. It couldn't have been too scary if they still had each other.
And it wasn't. With duties divided equally, three of best friends lived in the lighthouse, keeping the sailors and each other safe, days soon enough turning monotonous due to the same chores on their shoulders. With occasional leave to the city to get supplies for yet another week or two, it was the same repetitive thing, over and over again.
Surely, after years of playing, it had to turn out boring.
They didn't think so. And another "they", they who were unseen by the three occupants, they who remained even more off-grid, shared the sentiment. They who were born of myths and legends, never taken too seriously and yet, still present and very much alive, judging by the raise of their chest and movement of their gills against the skin tinged with green, hue almost similar to algae that grows on things left in water for too long. They certainly were, since they spent their whole life there. And legends tend to be old, most of the time.
The weather was off since the moment in which the sun was supposed to rise over the tides, casting its oranges and pinks on the calm waters, seagulls screeching their usual song, wings flapping by the small window of the lighthouse standing tall by the stony shore, the light long gone in the morning hours. Bur the sun didn't, heavy gray clouds looming with their dreadful weight, threats of rain and storm present in the wind, in how it blew, in how it kept the waters peaceful despite sky's impending wrath. They were perched under a demolished pier, rotten and eaten by bugs, the wood a shield and shelter from prying and unwelcome eyes, only their head visible from under the dark water. They fiddled with a mussel shell they found earlier, trying to pry it open with their fingernails, hoping for a pearl inside.
It was not their usual route, used to greater depths and chill of the sea against their body, but lately, routine was under a change, interest turning into fully blown fascination, curious eyes stalking every movement coming from the tall building that shone so bright during the nights they spent on the shore, stars hung so high, yet the brightest one being so close, almost within arm's reach, were they bold enough to do so. They weren't. It was a world of differences they didn't understand, not versed at all in the nuances of being human, the word so foreign in their mind. Observing wouldn't hurt, and the three men genuinely made them turn their head left and right, like dogs do when they are spoken too.
Distance was kept, of course it was, safety and caution always first when it came to new things. No need to jump into deep water, not when you are already living in one. Depths not always have something interesting to offer, and they weren't too keen on disappointment.
One of them who lived inside, was out in front of the building, a bag thrown over his shoulder, smile on his face, as always. They began to tell them apart early on, three of them a stark contrast to one another, like day, night and a sudden rainbow woven in between the sharp edges of the individuals.
The shortest of the group, sometimes hot headed and loud mouthed, was often seen outside in the evening hours, a small notebook in his hand. He would sit down on their own pier, legs dangling above the tides, a pencil that turned shorter with every day scribbling something on the paper pages, graphite leaving its silvery stains on his hand, occasionally humming a tune that was carried over the tides, reaching their ears, making them sway their head to it too, once again, unseen. He could sit there for hours, unbothered and focused, until someone from inside yelled at him to come back.
The one that screamed "responsibility" was broad in his build, usually hunched over in the upstairs room, back surely aching from the duties. They recognised him, he was similar to the previous lighthouse keeper, the same glint in the eyes and the same furrow above his brow. He was mostly quiet, voice low whenever he spoke, gruff but somehow gentle at the same time. While the short man was outspoken, the second of those who lived there kept the words short and not many. They saw him most of the time in the very early mornings, taking a stroll around the properly and checking for any damages to be repaired.
And the third one. The rainbow and sunshine in the golden hour of the short man and darkness of night of the gruff one. Tallest of them all, with head always high on his shoulders, smile that never ceased from his lips, no matter what was happening. The laughter that was missing between the rest of the group, the joke said maybe not in the most appropriate of times, but those are always the ones that get the most attention, good or bad.
Asher, was his name. They knew it because how much the other two kept yelling it, angry, tired or worried, welcoming after his absence or berating him for something he wasn't supposed to do. The only name that stuck to them, uninterested in the other two anyway. It was his demeanour that pulled them in, curiosity caught on the fish hook of his being. Fish caught and not fighting, slowly reeled in closer and closer to the shore where they lived.
"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" they heard the voice of the short man, hands crossed on his chest, dark, woollen hat on his head, hair sticking from underneath it in messy curls. He had a golden hoop in one of his ears, the metal shining whenever he moved his head, an uncertain frown painting his expression.
"You're telling me you're getting worried?" the tall man answered, setting the bag into small boat, one leg already inside, making it sway on the water. It was still tied to the pole next to the pier, a safety precaution to not let it swim away from them.
"Maybe. We can wait another day."
"Tomorrow is supposed to be even worse, you listened to the radio. Heavy rain, from the crack of dawn till the middle of the night. It's today or not at all." he grunted, stretching his back a bit before lifting a small crate from the ground, settling it next to the bag.
"Weather forecast is not always one hundred percent right." he scoffed, much to the other's eye roll.
"Oh, admit it. You just don't want to be stuck with David for the whole day, because he's pissy about the mouse."
They knew of it. Few days earlier, one of them woke up with a scream upon seeing a small rodent on the table in their living space, nibbling on a piece of cheese and toast, the leftovers from supper. Judging by how loud it was, and the swear words that followed the initial shock, it surely had to be journal keeping man.
"Asher–"
"Shush, I'll be fine, Milo. I know the drill far too well at this point, right?" so, it was Milo and David. They were pretty sure they would forget the names the next day.
"You're way too cocky."
"And you're way too grumpy. Cheer up. It's a short distance. I go there, pick up the delivery, and go back. I swear, no flirting with the Sweetheart behind the counter, they're all yours." Asher chuckled, seeing Milo's reaction. His cheeks quickly darkened, caught on a matter that was not supposed to be well known to anyone other than himself.
"I don't know what you're talking about." dodging the topic it was. Humans tended to do it often, they judged, water splashing around them when a lone fish jumped out, breaking the tranquil surface. They finally opened the shell, discovering nothing inside. They let it go, seeing how it sank onto the bottom.
"Sure. Go help David and please, try to keep the screaming down. I don't want the town's people to hear how much you resemble a little girl when you're scared."
"I do not sound like that!"
Whether he did or not, he still went over to the boat, checking everything himself to make sure Asher didn't miss anything. The uneasiness was palpable, even from the far away and safe hideout they took as their own to watch them from.
"Be careful."
"As always." that easily offered smile reminded them of the pretty sea glass they sometimes stumbled upon on the beach, hidden under heaps of sand, little treasure trinkets shining of bright and pretty colours. He shone like that too, for some reason, and they kept wondering why they were observing them in the first place instead of keeping to themselves.
Sea was a lonely place.
When the engine of the boat's motor roared to life, they quickly ducked behind one of the wooden supports, only one eye peeking at the man who made his way towards the town nearby, water rippling behind him in triangular waves, hood of his jacket pulled over his head to shield him better from the wind. It was an usual occurrence, they knew and remembered. Every other week, one of them dragged the boat from the shore and packed it with empty crates and sacks, smell of food lingering in the air. "Supplies" they called it, always coming back with enough to need the help to carry everything inside the storage of the lighthouse. It was usually the gruff one doing the heavy lifting, Asher and Milo bickering over carrying smaller packs.
Sometimes a foreign boat arrived at the lighthouse, men of unknown origin bringing the crates to them instead. Exchanging few pleasantries, sparking some small talk, never lingering for long enough to get a closer look or better, a judgement on them. They were always different, older men with gray beards or tattoos on their arms, smelling of fish and rust. Workers from the docks, they heard one day, when the people were talking while unpacking the boat, boxes set aside. Fresh fruits and vegetables, sacks of things they were yet to see, scents making them scrunch their nose up. Unknown is not always bad, yet they could not get around this particular unknown.
Being mindful of proper distance, they slowly let go of the wooden pole, quietly following right after the boat, head underneath the water's surface, body wrapped in the veil of cold abyss. It was never an issue for them, like it was for those who came of land. They had their clothes, heavy and thick sweaters, hats, and jackets, yet they still seemed to tremble when the breeze blew too harshly. But the colours were pretty, though mostly kept in neutral browns or blues, wool knitted into patterns and designs, something very popular among the humans they encountered in their intrigued observations.
They followed him, right to the point they would never cross, a border drawn on their mental map with a big, harsh line. The docks were already visible, machinery painfully loud, and they could only look as his silhouette turned into even smaller and smaller dot in their sight, the engine finally ceasing its whirring when he stopped, stepping onto the bridge. Waving to someone, with that smile on his lips they knew far too well at this point, they could only imagine and guess what was being talked about, enhanced hearing obscured by the town's noise they still resented. Retreat it was, waiting patiently for him to emerge once again in the dock, sit himself down on his spot and swim back home, with the sun setting down on the horizon. They all always took their sweet time in the town, knowing it wasn't often that they had the opportunity to visit it.
And every visit was a break from the routine.
It started raining at some point, heavy droplets causing the water surface to ripple, circles growing bigger and more as it continued, smoke coming from the house chimneys distorted in the weather. Hidden in the sea foam, they were safe, unlike the ones on the shore, running quickly back inside to shield themselves from the element. Weird. They had no issue with working by the sea, yet the rain was something unwelcome. They didn't understand, but it was not theirs to know. Differences were stark between them.
The rain quickly turned into a downpour, his friend was right about it. It was not smart to sail that day, the storm was certain, but apparently, the ray of sunshine embodied in flesh and bones decided to ignore the better judgement for whatever reasons he had. No man is truly ready when on sea, no matter how many years he spends there, weather is always unpredictable. It's easier to agree with it instead of fighting the force of nature not many were able to win against. Better count on yourself than on others, but this time, he should have counted on their judgement and the advice they spoke of. The wind picked up too, swaying the boat back and forth, tides turning more aggressive with every splash, foam and lone seaweed washed up on the old wood, barnacles attached to it.
When the first thunders began to roll in, they grew worried, not seeing him anywhere. It would be a first, when one of them wouldn't return to the boat on time, town's escapades always lasting no longer than one day. Though, with the current weather, only a madman would decide upon sailing back.
The sky was ripped in half by a flash of light, loud noise following right after. He wasn't coming back and they couldn't be more happier to not see him anywhere. They could go back. He was safe.
~~~
The storm lasted whole night and well into early hours of the morning, leaving the air crisp and fresh, mouth breathing it in with ease, when their head emerged from underwater, the usual spot they took fortunately left unscathed by the terror of previous day. The seagulls were screeching as always, circling low around the lighthouse, one of them growing bold enough to poke its beak against a glass pane of what they understood, was the kitchen. Smart bird, probably taught by one of them to expect some crumbs from breakfast. It usually was left on the windowsill, free of charge, only to be eaten. Despite the gruff demeanour, even David could possess the vulnerability of having a gentle heart, though it later turned into constant grumbling about the birds leaving a mess behind.
They slept in. Or stayed inside longer, the window of the upper room wasn't open like it usually was, there was no movement coming from the small garden by the light house, nothing. And there was no familiar boat docked by the pier or pulled onto the beach. No sign of him coming back.
Maybe he stayed the night, surely, someone could be so kind to offer a place to wait out the storm, a very human thing to do. In the town, there was an inn or a pub, always smelling bitterly of beer, with rowdy laughter carried over the tides for them to hear the shreds of conversations held over playing cards and greasy food. He didn't look the part to indulge there, but it was better to stay, with how much the skies roared and got angry, wind blowing hard enough to make a proper mess in the docks. More work for people to wake up to.
When the front door suddenly opened, they dove right back down, only a faint splash of water an indication someone else was there, not like they could hear. The one called Milo stepped outside, looking around, with his nose slightly red from the morning chill.
"No sign!" he called to the other man still inside, few pots banging against each other. Right. Breakfast.
"Then maybe he's smarter than we took him for, and he stayed." David rarely spoke, yet every time it happened, they felt smaller than they truly were just because of how authoritative he sounded. A creature of the depths, intimidated by a mere human. Unbelievable.
"Maybe." Milo closed the door, tone really hopeful that his friend was right, and Asher was okay.
They swam away, threading through the waves, the course set for the same way they chose yesterday. And many days earlier, a silent follower and quiet company for them all, whenever they had to sail away. Hiding under the surface, camouflage working in their favour, they got closer to the men on accident, fascination turning itself into something akin to hobby. Watching them work, interact with each other, smile and scream their heads off whenever it was needed, things so foreign to one used to tranquillity and endless nothing. Suddenly, sea was not as lonely, and they were not as isolated, only ever able to admire the scales on the fish or whales drifting away into the distance, singing their songs, words not needed to call for one another.
The sun was up already, rays of light grazing their skin, sand getting warm no doubt. They would sift it later, in hopeful search for more sea glass, after a storm like that, there was always plenty of it washed up. Shiny trinkets, soft edges and weird choice of pattern lured them in again, but who wouldn't be dazed? To be able to trace the fingertips against smooth glass, to hold it above their head and see how it reflects sunlight, it was a wonder they were guilty of indulging. Pure magic in its simplest form.
Their favourite spot was not too far. And they would sit there, skin drying off, water droplets falling onto their lap and the ground, creating abstract mosaic.. They hoped for some green ones, perfect to wrap them in a string if they could find some stranded, make a bracelet or another accessory out of it to add onto the stack on their arm. The collection began to grow quite impressive in amount as of late, the sea washing up many wonders they liked to look at, marvelling at the beauty of it. Like a jay, always drawn to the most shiny of things.
This time, the sea was generous enough to wash out not only boxes and more debris, but a very familiar boat, with its front still dipped in the shallow end of the shore, foam gathered around it, painting it with bubbly white. And its owner was drifting close, body still and only moved around by gentle waves. It was carried off close to the big rocks littered with other remains, and before it could hit the obstacle, or worse, turn itself and dip him in the water, they swam closer, grabbing the hood of his jacket with their hand, tugging it towards the beach.
In water, he weighted nothing. Carried in a way that would not allow any of it to cover his nose or mouth, it turned into an issue when they literally had to drag him onto the beach, their strength barely enough to manhandle a grown up adult. They gasped upon finally managing to do so, the half drowned man safe and away from his demise among the wreckage of his boat.
With that. they finally could take a closer look, never being in such proximity with anyone other than the sea turtles and jellyfish far away from the spot they were at now. His face seemed peaceful, despite the slightly off colouring, a faint grayish-green hue to it, his lips a little bit too purple than what they remembered. Eyelashes still dripping with water, messy hair slicked against temples, he lost his hat somewhere between the tides. His neck was…smooth, and they felt the sudden urge to press their fingertip against it just to check how it felt.
His clothes stuck to him, all soaked, a lone seaweed attached to the sleeve of his jacket, they pulled it off easily. He was laying still, eyes closed and facing the sun that slowly began to dry him too, colour returning to his features.
He was different. No gills, ears of rather round shape, jawline soft despite having the jawbone right underneath the skin, they could see it all. His hands were limply laying at his sides but there were no claws growing from his fingertips, unlike theirs, sharp and long, perfect for hunting. He was tall and below his stomach were legs, something they grew fascinated with and what sparked the initial interest in humans, They had no fins yet they could swim, although much slower and less efficient. No scales, only the soft skin everywhere, no way of protecting themselves or defending, if ever attacked. No sharp teeth in mouth, ready to shred apart the food they got and no tail.
They kept looking, curious eyes inspecting everything, starting from the undone laces of his shoes to the very tip of his nose, few speckles of darker brown littered here and there. Freckles, only visible because of the exposition to the sun. It almost looked like the stars they admired on clear nights, stars embedded into his flesh. Around his neck was a necklace, simple silver chain with a small pendant, white stone with few black spots embedded into silver frame. Nothing special, so they continued, hand curiously hovering over his chest, finger tugging on the zipper of his jacket, undoing it slowly, surprised at the sound it made. More clothes, soaked til the last strand.
They moved upwards, now admiring the peaceful face again. His forehead was slightly creased, eyebrows set above the still closed eyes, they wondered what colour they could be. High set cheekbones, few grains of sand underneath his eyelids, his lips, previously tinged purple finally returning into a more natural for humans colour. Their interest took over their rationality, and the hand that hesitated earlier was raised, tips of their fingers carefully inching closer and closer to touch the neck–
They screeched and backed away immediately when they felt the cold water against their face, his mouth wide open and gasping for air after spitting the leftover liquid. He jolted upwards, coughing and wheezing, saliva mixed with the liquid salt being spewed on the shore in frantic bouts. Suddenly, all the lax muscles began to flex, body shuddering in a moment of vulnerability.
Prey.
It ceased, after a moment, as he spit for the last time, clearing his throat for good measure, eyes slightly teary. They were different too, they noticed, not only from their own, but from each other too. One blue, like the water they dragged him from, murky but still clearly blue, the other green, like olives they once saw painted on a lone, abandoned crate. And when he looked at them, they stalled in confusion upon seeing the phenomenon.
"Holy shit." he sounded raspy, voice still off from his usual tone, scratchy because of the raw feeling in his throat.
They only bared their teeth, an instinct and warning, mouth filled with sharp set of pearly whites.
"W-w-wait wait wait." he was quick to raise his hands in the air, still slightly coughing, body bent forward. Uncertain. Vulnerable. Unable to defend himself if they wished to attack, barely awake with salt still lingering on his tongue and the wet clothes weighing him down.
"I'm…not going to hurt you." they knew, He had no strength for it, compared to them.
They stayed still, mouth closing, teeth hidden away. Their head tilted to the left a bit, eyeing him warily.
"Oh shit." he managed to whisper, looking around. The boat he swam in was still on the shore, though its contents were probably floating somewhere far away form there. One paddle was stuck in the sand, the other lost too, a sacrifice to the tides.
Sea gives and takes. Fairly or not, he came out of it with more luck than he probably should have.
"What are you?" he finally asked, eyes growing wider and wider upon taking them in. The unnatural physique, the predatory features reminding him more of pictures of deep sea creatures he once saw in a book when he was a kid. A gift for his birthday from his sister, one book he actually read in his life. The similarities were striking and the more he looked at them, the more he was sure of hallucinating. Maybe he hit his head when he crashed? He barely remembered what happened, everything fuzzy and hazy when he tried to rile his brain into functioning properly.
They kept silent, water splashing when their tail flopped around, to his even bigger surprise. The way his breathing hitched and heart began to pump faster, he was scared. They knew.
"Siren" they nodded, flapping the tail once more for good measure, it shone underneath the surface, colours clashing against the yellow of the sand. The fins were thin, almost translucent in the shallow water, moving with a grace no human would be ever capable of. The tail covered their whole lower body, reaching up to the spot where a belly button should be, colourful layer of scales blanketing their skin in abstract patterns. He saw some on their arms, chest, few on their cheeks. Their eyes were half lidded, looking at him with suspicion hidden deep, sending shivers down his spine. Wide in the open, he was being observed like a a game to be hunted.
They dragged their claws against their hipbone, and when they turned their head slightly more, he saw the gills, red and flared, embedded into the side. They were used to land, but their intention was saved for other habitat, more natural to their nature. A pearl dangled from their pointy ear, tied around it as an earring.
"You're not real." he whispered, legs kicking the sand to get him away, at what they only hissed. An insult. They dragged him from his demise, saved his life and he dared to question their existence?
The same book had a section of stories he found far too entertaining for his young mind. His mother always told him to stop with the fiction and to focus more on his homework, but he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. While living near the docks, he heard those tales too, of creatures lingering in the depths, with voice sweet like sugar and songs beautiful like wind chimes, luring the folk into a trap with no happy ending. Overcoming the senses, hypnotising the sailors, they led them astray right into their arms for one last embrace before the inevitable and painful death. He heard those while sneaking around when his parents weren't looking, fuel for the nightmares. His sister made fun of him for it, but he never stopped.
That was supposed to be only a legend. So, what was one legendary being, doing right next to him, starring daggers right into his soul?
"You lured me here?" they hissed again, fingers digging into the sand, hand shaking at the question. They were growing irritated and he was the cause of that. Great start.
"S-sorry." a naive response. Would sorry be enough to spare his life?
He looked around, seeing the familiar coast. He was not that far from the light house, and if he stood up now and started running, he would probably be fine. With a tail like that, they had no chance of catching up to him on land, and he had no desire to try his luck in the waters, not when he still wheezed, lungs only starting to ease on the pain after almost coughing them out. His gaze lingered on the treeline that began right where the sandy shore turned into a stony path leading to his home. Few good minutes of walking and he would be on the couch, in dry clothes, away from the way too bright sun against his eyes, and with a lecture incoming on the importance of being a responsible individual.
When he felt the sharp tip of the claw on his jugular, he only swallowed, life flashing in front of his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he managed to muster, afraid to move and hurt himself on it. It tugged at the silver chain he wore, wide open and slightly milky in colour eyes focused once more on the necklace they earlier ignored. The pendant was shining in the light in various colours, its previously dull white, now shimmering with flashes of prettiest blue they've ever seen, when it caught the sunlight.
"Y-you like it?" keeping the conversation with the monstrosity surely was a great idea, especially, when it only communicated with threats and screeching. Another one to get a lecture on, he already imagined David throwing his hands in the air upon hearing the story. None of them would believe him, calling for a doctor to check him out instead. Truth be told, in that moment, when all he could see were their gills flaring, and smell the fish and murky water on their hair, he also wished for it to be a result of a concussion instead of reality. The siren hissed, mouth opened once more, tips of the pointy fangs almost lunging for his neck.
Death.
Death also lingered on their breath.
But the creature finally nodded. And before he could say or do anything else, they tugged harder, the silver links breaking upon the force, his nape stinging a bit. He blinked and they were gone, only the fin of their tail visible when they jumped into the water and disappeared from his sight.
The sea takes and gives. He was given a second chance in life, with a small price to pay, considering everything that could have happened.
Milo would have his head for this though. It was a gift.
Despite him being Asher, and one of the goofiest, childish, highly overactive people in the Pack, he has a massive respect for his friend’s boundaries.
My main point comes from the Shaw Game Tournaments, specifically his player name for Darlin’, “Make It 2”
It wouldn’t be out of character for him to make some kind of innuendo to the others when they ask what it’s a reference to, that would clue them in that it’s a spicy reference. “Well, you know how vampires will last forever” or something like that. Not outright giving details about when it was said, but enough to clue others in that it’s a reference to Darlin’ and Sam’s sex life.
But he doesn’t. And he hasn’t. And I’d wager that he never will. Because he knows that they wouldn't appreciate it. And he won't cross that line.
Hullo! Would you, perchance, be willing to write some Gavin nsfw..?
No pressure ofc ✌️
......so... I'm baaaacck haha.
sorry.
But here's Gavin. And extremely late, fuck I'm so sorryyyyy. University does not love me.
(listened to @cudavianka's gavin playlist while writing this hehe.)
nsfw ♡
"You know what's funny," Dear says into the air of their and Lasko's apartment.
Lasko and Gavin shift their attention from the TV, where they were half-paying attention, to the professor. "Hmm?"
Dear narrows their gaze on Gavin. "Lasko has kissed both of us--"
Gavin snickers at the way Lasko's eyes bug out of his head as he splutters in shock. "Wh-where did that come from?"
Gavin smirks at Dear, knowing their little game. "I knowww," he simpers. "Isn't that so unfair?"
Dear nods, mock seriously. "So unfair."
Lasko is just in awe, watching this whole exchange with his jaw slackened.
"Sooo, were you wanting to even the score?" The incubus makes a pretty show of batting his eyelashes at Dear.
"What do you say, Lasko? Are you gonna be fair?" Dear cups Lasko's chin and playfully brushes their lips against their lover's own.
He lets out a shaky breath, but nods anyway, too scared to open his mouth in case a moan slips out instead of actual words.
"Words, baby," Gavin presses a hot kiss against the shell of Lasko's ear. The poor air elemental nearly melts.
"Yeah," his voice wavers as he whispers out, "get even."
"You heard the man," Gavin says to Dear. "Get over here, professor."
Dear can't help but giggle as they get up and make their way to Gavin's lap. Lasko eagerly shifts his whole body on the couch to face the two of them. They don't give him the pleasure of acknowledging him as they begin.
Gavin's hands are planted firmly on Dear's hips as their lips collide... firm lips, hot tongues, heavy breaths, wet mouths... It's euphoric.
"Ah, fuck," Lasko whimpers as he basically leans towards the two melding bodies.
Gavin can't help but let out a little chuckle, therefore allowing Dear to mark his skin with sloppy nibbles down his jaw, down the slope of his neck to his shoulder. Gavin feels his eyes flutter shut at the delicious pain; he finds his fingers digging into their back as he lets his head loll back, wanton moans drifting up to the ceiling.
God, they were good. He basically can't be blamed for rolling his hips up to meet theirs.
The pure pulsing heat of Dear's core meeting Gavin's causes them to drool onto his skin before they urgently return to his mouth.
"Too many clothes," Lasko pants, crawling closer and reaching between the pair. He grabs onto Gavin's cock through his pants, and Gavin bucks harder into his hand. Dear rubs themself on both Gavin's crotch and Lasko's fist, shivering at the difference in textures.
At last, Lasko finds it, the button of Gavin's jeans. He pops it open and pointlessly tries to wriggle the incubus' pants down. Gavin, strong as he is, raises his hips, lifting both himself and Dear up, and he shuffles out of his clothes. Lasko is quick to help Dear take off their pants too.
They take much less time taking off their shirts, and soon it's heated skin against skin as Gavin grinds up into them. Feeling the heavy pulsing cock press into them, Dear knows what had Lasko going back for seconds.
Gavin kisses their shoulders, the delicate action a complete juxtaposition to the merciless thrusts that Gavin is performing downstairs.
"L-Lasko," Dear moans out, their burned-out eyes lock on their boyfriend, "kiss--"
And that's all they need to say before the velvety warmth of his mouth meets theirs. They melt into his mouth and receive three good thrusts before unraveling in Gavin's arms.
With their last ounce of strength, Dear angles Lasko's lips to Gavin, who immediately picks up the mantle. Dear feels Gavin's dick jump inside of them as the two men's sloppy tongues tangle with each other.
Dear helps out, and darkens the marks they already made prior. That's all it takes, and then Gavin shudders, shooting thick ropes of cum up into one of his best friends' partner.
The heavy breathing of the trio slowly settles into playful giggles as the heat of the room fades away.
"Now, we're even," Dear pecks Lasko's and Gavin's cheeks.
It isn't often that Honey finds themself in this position.
Back arching up off the bed, legs wrapped around their boyfriend's snapping hips and arms being pinned into the mattress by Guy's one large hand.
It's quite rare, actually. Since they're the ones usually doing the pinning.
But they honestly can't complain.
He looks so beautiful, staring them down like this. His wanton moans slipping from his lips and his skin glistening with sweat. His hips slamming against their ass is becoming more erratic. They squirm again, trying to touch him, but he just strengthens his grip.
Honey's whole being flutters. God, they love it when he manhandles them.
"Y-you're gonna cum," they grin up at him. They always win, even on their back.
Something between a laugh and a moan is squeezed out of him. He leans down, pressing just enough weight on their body as he slows his hips down. He brings his gaze to theirs, watching every stroke of pleasure flash in their eyes with every roll of his hips. "You think so?" Honey can feel the rumbling in his chest.
"Mmm-hmmmghfuck," they whine out. And yes, they know he's going to tease them for that in the foreseeable future, but that's Future Honey's problem.
"Fuck," Guy buries his nose in their neck. "You're so tight." His warm mouth starts to plant kisses down the slope of their neck to their shoulder. He whispers, "and you smell soo fucking good."
They don't even have a chance to think of responding before his dick pumps inside of them at a speed quick enough to turn their brain into mush. And they can't even hold onto him!
Guy, ever the opportunitist, uses his free hand to snake between their legs and start rubbing their most sensitive place with his slick fingers. It's like turning on the mute button, he thinks to himself, watching Honey's whimpers be snatched away, their mouth open, heavy breathing. No sound.
"Wait, what's that?" He huffs out, still thrusting heavy into them. "Shit, Honey, I can't...uh...I can't hear you."
He feels Honey's wrist jump in his grip, which he quickly tightens, their muscle memory telling them to give him a loving smack. He snorts, amused, but that quickly melts into frantic moaning as they squeeze down on him and attempt to buck up to meet him.
Oh fuck.
One... two... three.... release.
An orgasm ripples through each of their bodies, draining all the strength and form out of them as they both go limp. Guy still does his best to not completely squish his lover underneath his body.
He presses his forehead against theirs though, a beat of silence. Before the two start chuckling out, their breathy laughs mingling together.
He kisses their nose, "sorry I was so mean."
Honey smiles up at him, their smile weak on their lips but shining brilliantly in their eyes. "you're allowed to be mean sometimes." They press a sweet kiss to his chin, "I liked it anyway."
for @chimckenns, who is soo cool and treats all of us with some tasty stuff and @cudavianka who writes some bomb stuff and gave me the sickest Asher music playlist that ended up inspiring this.
Love ya.
also.....
nsfw♡
[This is a part two to this drabble].
Asher slips his fingers into his mouth and makes obnoxious licking noises.
"Napkins exist for a reason," Milo rolls his eyes as he wipes off his own fingers with one of the paper towels sitting in the center of the table.
"You're such a mess eater," Angel nudges Ash with a big grin that leaves no room for innocence.
Asher snorts and nudges them back, "you should ask my spouse about that sometime."
Angel laughs and shakes their head, "I've heard all I needed to hear, trust me."
Babe, who would normally playfully scold the two for their uncouth behaviour, is silent. They just can't erase that image out of their mind; Asher's head bowed as if in a prayer, lapping up every molecule of slick on his fingers. His unfairly beautiful lashes fluttering the moment his tongue is coated in the taste.
"Ugh, Ash, your hot dog is basically drowning in ketchup, how are you gonna taste anything?" David grumbles, giving his most serious side-eye at the hot dog that's almost completely buried in the red substance.
Asher looks down at his food, as if just seeing it for the first time. "Y'know, it kinda looks like a bloodied appendage... Sam, does this look tempting to you?"
Sam narrows his eyes at the golden retriever, causing Darlin to bark out a sharp laugh. "Ash. No."
Asher shrugs, completely undeterred. "It's fine. Besides, I like my food dripping." His eyes instantly lock onto Babe's, blazing with... to even call it desire would be underestimating it. They're blazing with promise.
Babe would have probably drowned in his eyes if they weren't obscured by a heavy white substance.
Sweetheart had thrown a napkin at Ash's face. "Behave." Their eyes dart to the beta's spouse, "both of you."
"That's rich coming from you," Asher throws his head back and laughs. Babe catches a glimpse at the fading lovebite at his collarbone; they're gonna have to renew it tonight.
But the way his curls tumble past his shoulders, and his eyes are squeezed shut as he howls with laughter, the way the moonlight catches his skin and makes him glow... they might crawl across the table and do more than pepper his skin with hickeys.
"Your hair is getting so long these days," Angel notes once Asher's done with his cackling.
"Yeah, I'm thinking of cutting it--"
♡♡♡♡♡
"You're... not... cutting your hair," Babe hisses out between whimpers pumped out of them with every thrust up of Asher's hips.
Sitting in the exact place he was in when the pack ate together earlier, the other seats are noticeably empty. The only sounds amongst the chirping of crickets and the occasional frog ribbit was the slapping of Asher's balls and thighs up into Babe's ass, every time they slammed down onto his dick.
"Oh yeah?" He mumbles into their neck, pressing wet and sloppy kisses to every slope. "You think you can stop me--ah!" His breath and words fizzle into desperate whining as Babe clamps down on him, using all their muscles to squeeze as tight as they possibly could.
Asher couldn't escape if he wanted to.... which luckily, he didn't.
"Evil." He whispers at their jaw, nibbling the flesh there.
Babe tangles their fingers in his hair, drawing his face up firmly to look at them, a pitched moan slips from his lips as his hips mindlessly piston up. His eyes are blown out, hungrily taking in every feature of them that he can see. He looks gorgeous, his sweat like a glossy sheen in the moonlight.
"Go slower," they whisper, their lips just a mere inch from his own. Their grip in his hair, preventing him from closing the distance. "There's a certain vein I want to feel."
The pride in their eyes sparks the moment they watch his own roll into the back of his head as his fingers dig into their ass. They can feel how painfully delicious it is for him to slowly ease and lower them up and down his pulsing cock.
And yet, he has this watery smirk as he looks up at them, revelling in the growing, tantalizing torment that grows in Babe's eyes as they regret asking him to go so slow with every push of the ecstasy envelope.
Ruu, any thoughts/ideas on Avior in those trying times?
AHHHH AN AVIOR REQUEST IN THIS ECONOMY???
happy to oblige :)
also....
slightly nsfw ♡
Starlight had gone to work earlier this morning.
Their eyes wide with their caffeine buzz as they scrambled for their boots, half-heartedly making jokes about how even though they escaped hell, they're still working a dreaded nine-to-five, so did leaving even make a difference?
They had given him this smile before they left. "I can stay. If you need. Call in sick or something," they had said. Avior insisted they go... and so they did.
...and so Avior is all alone.
In his lover's house.... which he has never been in before.
His bare feet pad on the wooden floors as his eyes take in all there is to see about them, without them sheepishly explaining that they were in a rush the last time they left their house for two years... unknowingly.
His eyes take in all the ferns and beads and little trinkets hanging from every corner. He can picture them excitedly bringing all these treasures back home.
His fingers trail over the spines of the books that stand old but proud on their bookshelf. He can't help but chuckle slightly to himself, envisioning them poring over each of them with their big, curious eyes that hungrily chase after words previously read, looking for something new to discover.
Their house is the very picture of a creative mess. And even though Starlight had fidgeted awkwardly, eyes on him as they showed him around their home, he thought it was beautiful.
It was them.
He could see them... in the random paint sploshes in their kitchen sink and door handles. In the sticky notes of random questions and reminders scattered throughout the house... he notices one on the back of the door that says: drink more water. He should remind them to do that more.
His adventures lead him to their bedroom, where they had spent the night tangled in each other's arms. They had attempted to make it before they left.So, there were a few bumps and lumps.
He eases himself onto it and buries his nose in their pillow. It smells just like them. From here, he can see a crumpled receipt from their favourite coffee shop. His lips tug up. That's a lot of coffee.
He reaches for the jewellery that sits on their bedside desk. The pieces they wore for those two years. He remembers how warm each of the beads felt under his fingers when he held them for the first time.
If he could've met them differently... if their first intimacies together wouldn't have been in hell... metaphorical or otherwise.
He takes another sniff of their scent and feels his body melt into their cush bed. His hands tangle the sheets, much like theirs had a few hours ago.
Their sexual energy was served to him as a full buffet; their love, their happiness, relief, excitement, nerves... all of it felt like a power line being plugged into his chest.
He remembers how shyly they looked up at him. As if having sex in their house exposed them more than being naked ever did... and in a way, they were right.
But Avior showed them that he adored every single part of him with the way his tongue painted between their legs.
