★ — synopsis
pulled under by a sudden storm, you wake in a salt‑slick cave with a silent, watchful merman. he leaves you offerings, guides you to a moss bed, and courts you in a way that’s patient, predatory, inevitable. when the hush finally breaks, the claim is raw and explicit—tail, scales, and all.
the storm had rolled in sudden, a shiver down the spine of the horizon. one moment, the sea was glassy and gray, the next, the sky cracked itself open in veins of white, thunder crawling low across the water like a beast waking from its sleep. you had only meant to walk the shore, to feel the salt damp on your lips and listen to the distant cries of gulls as the world softened into dusk. but the tide had been sly—creeping, coaxing, then dragging. the first rush of cold against your ankles had felt harmless; the second, up to your calves, had tugged. then the wave broke against you like a hand, rough and greedy, and you were gone.
pulled under. spun and dragged, lungs seizing with saltwater, the world folding into liquid darkness. you thought you saw light—silver streaks in the water like ribbons of moon—but it was only the storm above refracted, teasing, vanishing. your chest burned, your limbs thrashed. you thought you would drown.
and then—arms. not arms, not exactly. something stronger, sure as a current itself, closing around your waist, tugging you deeper when instinct screamed up. panic, black spots bursting like fireworks across your vision—until it blurred into nothing.
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you woke on stone.
a cave, hollowed out by time and tide, dripping with seawater that clung to the walls like pearls. the storm’s roar was muted here, thunder a dull throb against the rock. your clothes clung heavy to your body, hair slick across your face, skin clammy with salt. you coughed until your ribs ached, lungs raw with the taste of the sea.
alone—or so you thought.
at first, the silence was companion enough. you stumbled toward the cave mouth, light shivering off the water outside, driftwood tangled against the rocks. you tried. you pushed a piece into the tide, climbed onto it, paddled desperate with your hands. but the current was merciless, dragging you back, splinter biting your palms. the rocks loomed sharp as teeth, the pull of the storm an endless maw. you gave up before it could break you open. crawled back, shivering, onto the wet sand of the cavern.
and then—you felt it.
eyes. not human eyes. a presence, low and patient as the undertow. he didn’t show himself at first. you only caught glimpses. a shadow under the water’s surface. a ripple, too deliberate to be the tide. something left for you on the stone: a fish, silver and limp, scales catching faint light. your stomach lurched with hunger and yet—revulsion, too, at the rawness of it. you pushed it away, whispering to yourself that you weren’t desperate. not yet.
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days pass.
you’re not sure how many—time doesn’t exist here, not beneath the weight of stone and tide. the cave becomes both prison and sanctuary. he brings you fish, fruit tangled in kelp, even shells filled with clear water. he keeps his distance, most of the time, but always close enough to see you, to hear the shift of your breath.
you learned the rhythm of it. how you could feel him before you saw him, like the cave air thickened when he swam near. how when you pressed your ear against the stone at night, you swore you could hear him breathe, low and even, like the sea itself. he watched. always watched. sometimes you caught the gleam—moonlight refracted in eyes that were too sharp, too intent, peering from the black surface of the pool.
when he finally surfaced, it was quiet. no flourish, no splash. just there. his face breaking the water like he belonged to it, droplets clinging to sharp cheekbones, hair darker than the cavern shadows trailing like ink. his mouth was set, his expression unreadable—but his eyes, gods, his eyes pinned you like a caught fish.
you’d only meant to bathe in the spring, rinsing the salt and grit from your skin, when his shadow cuts the light. he slides into the water soundlessly, fins stirring the surface. your heart seizes. his eyes are locked to you, pale and sharp, and the weight of them makes your thighs press together under the water.
“why do you run?”
you froze. voice. you hadn’t thought him capable. it was low, husked by salt and silence, but unmistakably human.
you whispered something, stammered, asked who he was.
he tilted his head, water sliding off his jaw. “i’ve been courting you.” as if it were the simplest truth.
and you saw it now—every offering, every fish left at your feet, every time he guided you wordlessly deeper into the cave where moss grew soft against the stone. courtship. his kind’s version of it.
fear should have sat heavier in you, but something else bloomed instead: the raw, dangerous awareness of being chosen. hunted.
he rose from the water, and you saw him fully. torso human, yes—broad shoulders, muscles corded tight beneath pale skin streaked with salt. but below the waist—no legs. not human. the vast sweep of a tail, scales dark as obsidian veined with a shimmer of blue, fins edged sharp, powerful enough to churn the tide itself. his hands—long-fingered, webbed, nails curving faint like claws.
he moved closer, dragging himself from the water’s edge, leaving trails of salt. your breath hitched.
“you fight the current,” he said, gaze never wavering. “but the ocean doesn’t release what it takes.”
it should have sounded like a threat. instead, it felt like a vow.
you whispered that you weren’t food. he blinked once, slow, then leaned in until you felt the damp heat of his breath.
“not food,” he said. “mine.”
you should have recoiled. you didn’t.
when his mouth met yours, it was like drowning again—but willing this time. the kiss was salt and desperation, teeth grazing, his hand spanning your jaw, thumb pressing beneath your chin until your lips parted for him. he was hungry in it, reverent too, the low hum in his throat vibrating against your tongue.
then the tension snapped. his webbed hand splayed across your waist, dragging you toward him until your chest pressed to hard muscle, scales slick against your belly. “don’t—” you started, but the word was lost when his nose dragged along your throat, a low rumble vibrating through his chest.
he pulled you up against a rock ledge, his tail coiling tight around your hips, binding you there. your legs spread without thought as his hands explored, rough and sure, cupping the swell of your ass, sliding between your thighs. his fingers, cool, callused, and webbed, dragged slick through your folds until you jolted with a gasp.
he tasted every inch of you like ritual. salt, teeth, tongue—your throat, your collarbone, the damp cling of your clothes peeled away with deliberate slowness. when his mouth closed around your nipple, you gasped, back arching, and his hum there was approving, predatory.
then his mouth followed the trail lower. sharp teeth glinted when his lips parted, but it was his tongue—longer than any human’s—that flattened hot against your cunt, dragging from clit to entrance in one obscene stripe. “ah—fuck—” your cry echoed off the cavern walls. his hands gripped you bruisingly, spreading you wider as his tongue lapped, then plunged, thick and wet, curling inside you like he meant to taste every inch. the sounds were filthy—wet slurping, your own helpless moans, the slap of water as his tail tightened.
he growled low when you shuddered, the vibration flooding into your core until you sobbed, clawing at the moss. “please—too much, i can’t—” your voice broke as he spat against your hole, tongue diving back in to lap it up messily, like he was starving. he feasted until you were shaking, sobbing, your cunt fluttering helplessly around his tongue.
he finally lifted his head, lips glistening, eyes wild. “soft,” he murmured against your skin. reverent, awed. “so soft for me.”
before you could catch your breath, his cock pressed against your entrance—thick, ridged, scaled along the shaft but flushed at the tip. you barely managed a gasp before he drove in, stretching you open with a brutal snap of his hips. “oh god—fuck, it’s—too big—” you choked, nails digging into the moss.
he groaned low, forehead pressed to yours, thrusts deep and unyielding. the ridges—subtle, slick, textured along the length of him—caught at your walls in ways that left you clawing at the moss. he filled you too much, stretching, his tail curling tighter beneath you with every snap of his hips. his breath was ragged, sharp teeth bared, eyes locked on your face as if savoring every twitch, every broken moan.
he groaned into your shoulder, low and guttural, as if the act itself undid him. “mine,” he whispered again, voice breaking into the sound of water rushing against rock. “mine. you’re—” his words fractured into a growl as you tightened around him, dragging another thrust from him harder, deeper. your cries echoed off the cavern walls, mixing with the storm outside.
when you came, it was sharp, blinding, every nerve lit electric as you shook beneath him. he snarled, hips snapping faster, driving you over the edge. your climax tore through you, messy and shaking, your pussy gripping him so hard he groaned your name for the first time, guttural, desperate. he followed with a shudder, buried deep, the ridges of him pulsing as heat spilled inside you.
silence followed, save for your breath and the distant roll of thunder.
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he didn't let you go immediately. his thrusts slowed, fading into stillness, but he stayed buried in you, chest heaving against your back. when he did finally pull out, you whimpered, but he hushed you low, voice rough and commanding. he rinsed a cloth in the pool, wiped you clean with deliberate, unhurried strokes. no tenderness, no cruelty—just necessity.
then he lifted you easily, laying you against a bed of moss he’d wordlessly guided you to before. his tail loosened, cradling you instead of caging. his hand rested heavy on your hip, thumb tracing idle circles as your heartbeat slowed. not affection. ownership.
you should have asked for freedom. instead, your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw. “what are you called?” you whispered.
he hesitated, eyes searching yours like tide studying shore. “…giyu.” the name clung to your tongue like salt.
and as your breath evened out, you felt the truth settle deep, cold and certain: you’ve been taken, claimed, folded into his silence like prey swallowed whole. with your cheek pressed to the cool scales of his arm, you realized with eerie, bone-deep certainty—you don’t want to escape. outside, the storm raged on. but in the cave, in his arms, you belonged to the ocean now.
Sangreal has a very special pet... it's a Stylephorus chordatus, or tubefish (look it up! It's a hilarious creature) named... er... "Anxiety You Get When You Smell Ammonia in the Water," or "Ammonia" for short.
A very special little fish, wouldn't you agree?
(Just a little ballpoint pen sketch. We'll sketch him every day, probably).
Hey, do you want to read the story that features this character? Do you like merfolk and sea animals and weird novels with marine biologists? You can read the story... in two versions (original and fanfiction, happening in our world or in Pokémon world!) and two languages (English or Italian!).
Fanfiction Version (Pokémon) [ITALIAN][ENGLISH]
OC Version (New Dark World) [ITALIAN][ENGLISH]
So, this will be my one and only üiece for coldflashweek :’D
Wanted to do 7 pieces but not based on the official prompts, but on the coldflash fanart bingo sheet by @wacheypena
Wanted to finish this one Friday, but since then my tablet is not working thanks to the last Windows Update and nor solution is working for me. I tried this one and this and now I don’t have the scroling problem, but still no pressure sensibility. I downloaded every wacom driver I could find and even different versions of photoshop, but nothing worked so far. I even reseted my whole Laptop with no result~
edit: still getting new problems wth oO now my tablet isn’t cooperating with my second screen anymore oO
Because there’s new MerfolkAU, here’s some basic info about it (it’ll grow as it’ll roll). Feel free to add things, as you hc them. But the basics would be, that merfolk are definitely not humans with fish tails - thus, the world structure would be completely different from the surface one. @madamsnark has the hand in worldbuilding. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
General info:
All of merfolk have magic. All of them have few common skills, like luring prey with their voices and can bring surfacers to their doom (most likely to eat them). The turning into the merfolk once drowned is a myth – mer is only born.
Society:
- Highly social, all merfolk live in tight-knitted communities, usually open to newcomers.
- No assigned gender roles, skills are what matters the most.
- Various models of relationships, the young ones are brought up by everyone.
- The tribes do have Elders who are privy to more delicate secrets of other clan's - though the old age is not the main requirement to become the Elder. Elders are guides and the centre of the tribe, but they mostly care about dynamics inside the tribe, and diplomatics with other clans.
Biology:
- Very long lifespan.
- Magic skills, colouring, fins and tails shapes vary, depending on the environment and the species.
- Mating seasons two times a year, in secluded areas.
- The most common to carry the pregnancy (like the sea mammals) is a female mer, though it is known that some species have males giving birth too.
- Often there's one newborn, rarely two. The child is immediately fully capable of swimming itself, staying close to the guardians.
Main dangers for mers:
- Sharks/poisonous fish
- Hunters/fishers
- The deep dwelling creatures of the dark
Fractions: the open waters have three main fractions.
The warm water, close to the surface: a home for tropical mer - sun, clear water loving tribes.
- The species tend to be colorful and likely poisonous.
- The tribes are numerous and are know for their open and friendly nature, with the love for tricks and mischief.
- Can wander to the middle waters, but prefer to stay to the warmer side. In the risk of dying after exposing to the cold for longer time.
The middle waters: the majority, highly adaptive, with a lot of skills variation.
- The only ones, who could live comfortably either near the surface or the depths.
The cold, deep waters: the minority, often the bioluminescent kind.
- Comfortable with darkness and cold.
- Keep mostly to themselves, but do have the occasional emmissary on diplomatic visit to upper waters.
- Become lethargic, blind and sick if exposed to the surface part of waters for too long. Too much warmth kills them.
- Can wander to middle waters, but they prefer not to.
- Known for eating the mers, who stray to their territories.
The Grey Tribe
- Widely known as dangerous and not approachable without consequences. Though the Elders of upper tribes are privy to their role as the gatekeepers, Grey's are feared because of their mystical and unfriendly nature - mostly to keep the too curious mers from wandering too deep and possibly unleash some creature.
- The vicious predators and guardians of the depths. They keep what lurks in the darkness from going to upper waters.
- Their main skillset contains highly developed senses, mainly hearing, smell and touch.
- High endurance, good in lure and tactics.
- The magic tends too boost the strength, speed, healing and locate the prey/danger.
- Their mating seasons are not so often like in the upper waters, but the newborn rates are higher – two or three at once are a norm.
- Because of high death rate, thanks to their role of wardens, the tribe tends to get “volunteers” from the middle waters - as they can adapt to the depths faster, with the help of magic ritual. Not everyone live through the change, though. It's impossible to go back, once in the tribe.’
is it extra and unnecessary of me to draw two wildly different versions of the same oc meeting each other for my own amusement? yes. do i care? absolutely not
@smolpocketmonstercoffee mer!Aether x human(elf)!Vergil, modernAU
He sipped from his glass, the wine pleasantly warming him inside. His shirt was opened, few buttons down, tie lying on the sofa, beside his so comfortably splayed body. The lights were dimmed, even the ones at the tank.
But it still gave the eerie glow, water constantly filtered and moving. The inside of the tank was decorated to resemble the natural environment of his pet. Living seaweed, corals, sand, even rocks – attached to the ground, to prevent the inhabitant of using it to damage the walls.
Not that it would be possible, with a few layers of quality tempered glass, but it never hurts to be careful.
Mers tended to be tricky captives.
Very resourceful, very clever.
Hard to break.
But this one, this one seemed to wither away, day by day.
Vergil stared at his late purchase, at the dulled colours of the mer's skin and scales.
The mer tended to swim around listlessly, with blank, sometimes truly sad and resigned look on his beautiful face.
It was this face, with such attractive shapes of emerald eyes, cheekbones and lips, that caught Vergil's interest. Fair, long hair surrounding mer's head, his body graceful and alluring to look at.
Vergil didn't name him and definitely wasn't using the one the mer came with. The restaurant manager, he bought the mer from, had bad sense of humor. He insisted that the mer could sing, like the mers in old stories, but Vergil doubted this specimen was ever in singing mood.
But he seemed to look worse, from the day he had been brought to Vergil's apartament. He refused to eat, and any change of the menu didn't bring much results.
It was a pity, watching him fade away like that.
Vergil grimaced, taking another sip of his wine.
He hated failed transactions.
Still, his eyes took on every movement of the mer, who'd now seemed to gaze at something behind room's windows.
Glittering lights of the night city below, with silence only broken by tank's low hum of water filters.
Vergil got up and stretched a little, leaving an empty wineglass behind. He walked to the windows beside the tank, staring at the city himself.
Maybe he should consider the purchase of another mer.
Pets liked the companionship of others of their kind, no?
He tilted his head to look at the mer, only few layers of the thick glass separating them. Ashen skin and muted colours of his tail and fins.
He hated unsuccessful purchases.
If the mer won't start eating on his own soon, Vergil will be forced to take more serious steps.
