Being considered a siren by the royal court, not actually being one but the amount of admirers you have has gained you the title, draped in golden chains and clinking amulets that cover your skin, the skirt you wear is made from some plush material much like the consorts both male and female have.
Only unlike the consorts, the nobles, and the high ranking magisters that call the court home, you know a real siren, sneaking down into the specimen lab that the king has, sitting on the edge of the large tank like pool and leaning over the edge, feeding the scaled myth gossip from the court as they teach you how to dance on land as they do in water.
After all, once they are free again they will be taking you with them, your draped in their treasures already, all that's left is a nice, long few nights of marking and mating to seal the deal.
But for now you can play siren in the court, so long as you keep coming back to them.
Imagine each time you click a monster related video you’re transported to a space where that monster is, could be horny or just hates you. It’s a toss up, only one way to find out and potentially get dicked down
OHH my gosh.
Clicking on a video of a werewolf only be teleported to the middle of a forest and chased down by a werewolf in rut.
Then a siren video catches your attention, and now you’re in the center of a siren pod as they take turns stuffing you full of their slimy eggs!
Minotaur pumping your womb full of his seed as growls in your ear about you trespassing, saying he’s letting you off easy.
Vampire sinking his fangs into your neck after you tried to scroll past one of his video, his cock hitting all the best spots.
Being passed around by a bunch of orcs, stretched out beyond belief and being used as a pretty little fleshlight. You did click on their video after all…
Imagine a fantasy setting of monsters, hybrids and aliens where humans are the most sought out bachelor(ette) due to being more durable just based on their human history and easily manages to fit into everyone's taste. So if they got a human partner, how are they not going to show off?
Which is why if any monster has the pleasure to be with a human, they'll show off the fuck out of their partner. And every monster within view without a human partner (and craves one) will glare in jealousy.
Orcs showing you off by carrying you everywhere even if you're embarrassed. No one's flirting with you when there's always a big monster tailing behind and looking down at anyone deemed a threat.
A big group sirens crowding the one with their human partner, you, and pampering you - giving you a tiny concert too. Unlike the mermaids/mermen, they do share you with one another. While mermaids/mermen are possessive of their owns.
Dragons and Naga share the same possessiveness as mermaids/mermen, just on land. Your dragon will proudly claimed that out of all the treasures in his horde, you're the most precious. Nagas will coil around you without hurting in any way as they give you a bunch of affection despite not knowing affection well.
Fairies offering the cutest gifts to appeal their partner like a flower crown, sweetest of berry or even giving you their blessing power. Size difference? Pfft who cares about that, they're still smitten by you! Well... Maybe it affects them just a little bit.. Positively of course.
Platonic Ver.
Instead of being the most sought out bachelor(ette) but instead as a companion or emotional support company. Like pets but not derogatory. Due to their weak and small (well to most monsters), they're like potentially a wet cat asking to be adopted.
Maybe sometimes monsters came across a human peacefully standing idle then gave a glance at them, politely giving a smile and a wavenas instincts, they'd assumed it's the human distribution system and suddenly you've been adopted.
Imagine likely dragons since they're so big and mighty they have to be so gentle while battling the cuteness aggression less they want to accidentally hurt them.
Any monsters having emotional support humans. Only the best and bravest of humans are allowed(they're probably getting paid) so they can deal with asking someone if the two of them can leave a party with the monster hiding behind the human talking to someone. Example such as a vampire hugging their human companion to feel warmth without pain and a fae having a human in the background to ramble - yes they're listening intently.
It's funny to imagine a group online or irl where the monsters meet up where they discuss and help each other with caring for their humans. Aliens are more common in these kinds of activity. For example, 'how to do I stop my human from eating or drinking dairy again'.
There is a world, not far from our own, where creatures and monsters are more beloved than feared. Where they’re hunted down not out of defense and security but due to the greed of collectors looking for their next trophy.
You never had any interest or part in it. Always seeing monsters as people trying to make a living just like yourself. But living near the harbor it’s unfortunately not all that uncommon to see poachers selling off kraken tentacles, a siren’s voice, or a mermaids tail. Anything they can get their hands on, really. It pains your heart to see so many hurt and nothing done about it.
But that is all about to change.
At that same moment, deep in the ocean, a poor Siren is ambushed by a bunch of poachers. Overwhelmed by their forces, captured, and attacked, they heave his extraordinarily long body onto their ship. Left unable to move as they viciously take his only means of defense. His voice. And then they toss him back into the ocean without a care for how vulnerable they have now left him.
At first he doesn’t even realize what has happened, his memory of the attack fuzzy and disoriented. But the moment he tries to speak a sharp pain radiates from his throat and has him curling in on himself against the ocean floor. Trembling eyes widen as realization dawns over him.
The waves of his mourning wash over the surrounding marine flora and turn everything around him into ash. The water turns darker with the storm of his emotions as it threatens to destroy everything in his path.
He stumbles onto land with the need for revenge etched onto his very soul, shedding his tail and walking into the unknown without daring to look back. The humans all stare as he passes, his beauty alone enough to enchant and allure them. But it all means nothing without his voice.
There was no doubt in his mind that he would find the poachers who had done this to him. Even if his memory is still as broken as the rest of him. Determination is the only thing left fueling him and he will not give that up.
But as he cuts his way through the village square, the most wondrous sound breaks through the haze of his fury. He searches hopelessly for the noise and when he finally finds it his gaze lands on you, playing an instrument he has never seen on any of the ships he’s wrecked.
The sound is mesmerizing and he finds himself walking closer to you. Though you don’t even notice him, your eyes closed, and a blissful expression painted on your face. But the music you are playing is anything but blissful. No, it speaks to his soul, it voices every word he can no longer say aloud.
He feels his knees give out beneath him and the pain cuts into his skin. He does not care. All he can do is look upon you and watch as you play the most devastating song he has ever heard. One even his previously infamous voice could never replicate.
When you open your eyes you’re surprised to see this man before you. He a vision of otherworldly beauty. Even as endless tears stream down from his bloodshot eyes. You do not know what horrors this man has gone through but something pulls at you to comfort him.
Not a word is spoken, nor is it needed, as you set down your instrument and take him into your arms. He immediately breaks down and sobs silently in your embrace. You don’t know when you begin to cry along with him but you both hold each other till long past the sun goes down.
As time passes, you teach him to speak with his hands, allowing him to finally communicate with you. His heart flutters as something in his soul clicks back into place at the gift you’ve given him. Having a voice once more.
Now that he can finally talk to you, he immediately shares his tale. Explaining he was not a man but a Siren. He fumbles over his fingers as he recounts the poacher attack, the way they stole everything from him. He confides his wishes to you, his need for revenge.
He’s shocked to see the thunderous rage booming throughout your expression. He didn’t know what to expect but a part of him hadn’t expected your support. Not with how kind, gentle, and loving you are. At least to him you are.
But you do support him and there’s no second guessing that as the two of you immediately begin to make a plan. Leading you to teach him how to speak through his hands in more ways than one.
Not only through his fingers but through the vessel of an instrument. Allowing his hypnotic magic to flow into the object while maintaining the same effect.
Even though he can now speak for himself, the Siren thanks you in the only way he truly knows how. With a kiss that speaks of all his gratitude and admiration for you. He pours all of the love and passion he’s been holding back into it.
His passion only growing into a raging inferno as you both stumble into your chambers. Your bodies intertwined, a mess of limbs and panting breaths as you join together and become one. Now in body as you are in heart.
Afterwards, with your plan in place and his magic, the two of you quickly rise up the ranks of society. Playing for people of both high and low birth. Traveling to villages and cities all across the country. Always in search of the ones who stole from your Siren his most precious gift.
It’s at a charity concert when that fateful day arrives. Your Siren’s pale blue eyes peeling through the crowd as they always do while you play. His heart hammers in his chest once they fall on a group of familiar looking men. Sharp painful visions of the past sear their way back into his mind and knock the wind out of him.
Your own gaze follows his line of sight, seeing the group of questionable looking men. All of them glancing around at the nobles in the room as if they’ve hit the jackpot. Something fierce burns in your belly and you and your Siren begin to play even harder, working as one to help strengthen his magic.
Even you feel something the moment the hypnosis seeps into their skin and latches onto their bones. Now expressionless faces fall onto you and listen as you two play the rest of the concert. None of them moving an inch as the hours pass. Like caught fish latched onto the fishing line and just waiting to be pulled in.
Near the end as you finish up the finale, your Siren uses his magic and directs the men into the back room. Somewhere isolated and private where you won’t be disturbed. The sound of roaring applause and cheering drowns out the beating of your hearts. Neither of you able to focus on their praise when your revenge is so close in sight.
It’s only as the door clicks behind you both does the siren’s song finally break. Clarity returns to the men’s milky eyes and a chorus of displeasure echos throughout the room. You don’t bother to respond. Let them say their last words, let them voice their complaints because soon they won’t be doing much of anything at all.
You narrow in on them, your murderous gazes eventually enough to silence them. And as you both lift up your instructions to deliver the last blow, recognition passes over each and every one of their faces, remembering what they had done to your love.
Your Siren being the last thing they see before perishing at your hands.
This piece was inspired by Schoenberg verklärte nacht op.4 - boulez. Please check it out, it’s such a beautiful song.
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: this includes ... all types not just one. So it's a bit of a 'preference.' (That's what we called it in the olden days ...)
Also this is 18+, not explicitely explicit but ... we acting like grown ups.
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
𝑽𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅
・He worships you in slow, deliberate ways. Your presence needs to be savoured, never rushed.
・Your relationship is intense. Full of tension and pure devotion.
・He is a creature of elegance and obsession. To him, love is eternal, a bond that transcends time, life, and even death. He does not just love you; he worships you.
・He follows you in the shadows, watching, ensuring no harm comes to you. He is always there, whether you see him or not.
・Jealousy runs deep. If another so much as looks at you too long, he will appear beside you, fingers brushing your throat in a quiet warning.
・He is a silent guardian, a ghost of devotion, ever watchful, ever patient.
・Oh god he just LOVES gifting you luxurious items...antique jewellery or the most expensive jewellery in the current trends, books older than empires or books he noticed you liked from BookTok, treats for your pets, snacks for you...
・His love is eternal, and that means he has to keep up with the times... he brandishes you with flowers, chocolate, hot coffee, the latest phone etc. To show that no matter how much time will pass, you and he are forever.
・Funnily enough, he will never let you be cold (unless it's Summer and you need his icy skin...that's the best feeling ever!) His touches, his whispers of raunchy thoughts...it's enough to have you looking away with warmth seeping into every bone in your body.
・Constantly tells you that, "You are mine."
・His nicknames for you are: 'beloved,' 'dove,' 'my heart,' 'darling,' 'blood of my blood.'
𝑾𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅
・Once you two decided to be a couple, you are his. Full stop. And everyone needs to know it.
・Your werewolf boyfriend is the embodiment of fierce devotion, raw passion, and unwavering protection. He does not love with hesitation. He is a ride or die.
・With werewolves, are pack creatures. You are his pack. His family. More than that, you are his mate. His soulmate. Therefore, everyone needs to know that.
・Whenever you're together, he keeps an arm around your waist in public, scent-marks you with his jacket, his hoody...his very presence.
・A big way he shows his love is through Acts of Service and Physical Touch...Your boyfriend loves to fix things for you, he gets the groceries, brushes your hair, massages your shoulders and back. He knows exactly where you left your phone, keys and glasses.
・He also carries you when you're tired...you don't even have to ask.
・Intimidating to others but to you, he's the softest, most gentle male you have ever met.
・He's always afraid of hurting you, so he makes sure to be extra careful.
・His mating instincts are also very, very strong. He leaves love bites, not enough to hurt - but enough to claim.
・He looks at you like you hung the moon. His entire world is centered around you.
・“You are my heart. You are my home.” He speaks with no hesitation, because his love is truth.
・He does not hesitate. He does not doubt. You are his, and he will carve the world apart to prove it.
・Orcs do not love easily, but when they do, it is for life. You are not just his lover—you are his mate, his purpose, his home.
・When you are apart, he grows restless, his hands twitching, his jaw clenching. He does not handle distance well. You are meant to be by his side.
・If you are injured, he will not let you lift a single finger until you are fully healed.
"You do not need to ask, little one. If you want it, I will make it so."
・The orc culture loves physical touch. Hugging, wrapping an arm around someone, kisses, forehead touches, leaning on each other, etc. It's what your boyfriend grew up with.
・He constantly pulls you close, runs his fingers along your skin, holds you against his chest
・He often carries you without warning, simply because he can.
・If you fall asleep against him, he will not move for hours, no matter how uncomfortable he is.
・If someone touches you with anything more than innocent intent, they do not walk away unscathed.
"No harm will come to you. Not while I breathe."
・Orcs do not believe in lies or empty flattery.If he tells you that you are beautiful, strong, worthy, he means it with his entire being.
・He does not buy gifts. He makes them. Your orc is an incredible crafter.
・He will forge a weapon; just for you. Engraved with protection runes. Jewellery; carved from bone, iron or stone. It's worn against his own skin before he gifts it to you. Therefore, it will carry his scent, his protection.
・Orcs believe in providing for their mate. If he is eating, you eat first. If there is little food, you get the best of it.
・He cooks for you, hunts for you, makes sure you are always fed and strong.
・His pet names for you are: 'little flame,' 'my treasure,' 'wife/husband' (even if you aren't married), 'warrior,' 'feisty one,' 'biter.'
𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏-𝑯𝒚𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅
・You are his greatest treasure. Dragons do not share. If he has chosen you, it means you are his, body and soul.
・He collects things that remind him of you—a lock of your hair tied in silk, a ring you once touched, a ribbon that still carries your scent.
・If you ever give him a gift, no matter how small, he hoards it like it is worth more than any jewel.
・His claws are sharp, his strength immense, yet he touches you with the utmost care.
・You are small in his arms, delicate compared to him, and it drives him mad with the need to protect you.
・Flying is sacred to him. To allow you on his back, to take you into the sky, means he trusts you completely.
・In his dragon form, you clutch the horns on his back as he soars across the sky. You feel the wind rushing past, the stress of the world just melts away.
・Tears spring to your eyes; either from the wind or your feelings...your love turns his head to look at you. His golden eyes gleaming.
"You were meant to fly with me," he mind-speaks, voice filled with a deep, ancient knowing.
・When dragons love, they love eternally. He does not think in mortal years. He thinks in centuries.
・"You will stay with me," he murmurs, "won't you?"
・His wings tighten around you, golden eyes filled with something deep and yet completely full of vulnerability.
・He watches you with reverence, with something like awe, as if he cannot believe you are real.
・He calls you: 'my jewel,' 'star of my sky,' 'little love,' 'little bird,' 'my fierce love,' 'dragonrider.'
𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅
・He does not love like mortals do. He loves like a demon—raw, primal, unholy. He loves like he would tear the heavens apart for you.
・And he just might.
・He is always watching you.
・He knows your scent, your heartbeat, your dreams. He has studied every inch of you, memorized every detail.
・If someone else touches you? The air crackles with heat. His jaw tightens, his claws flex. He doesn’t tolerate competition.
・He has never raised his voice around you, always talks softly (he calls it seductively).
・The epitome of he hates everyone except you.
・The world fears him. His enemies kneel before him. But with you?
He listens. He softens. He worships.
・His claws are sharp, but he never lets them harm you.
・His magic is dark, but he uses it to protect you, to keep you safe, to make sure no harm ever befalls you.
・Your demon LOVES to make you feel flustered. Flushed cheeks, red ears, stomach full of butterflies. He always makes you feel desired.
・"I would burn the heavens for you."
・He adores physical affection.
・Constantly has his hands on you. Holding your wrist, wrapping his tail around your waist, tracing invisible sigils into your skin.
・He's incredibly territorial over you.
・If you cry? He is not sure how to handle it. His hands twitch, unsure. His rage and power mean nothing if he cannot fix this.
・Demons are not supposed to have weaknesses. But you? You are his only one.
・He has existed for centuries, eons. He has known lust, hunger, desire. But love? Love is new. Love is terrifying.
・Love is you. And he is never going to let you go.
・He is the most fearsome creature until you show up and he turns into a pile of mush.
・Taught to love one being with complete and utter devotion...
・But your Angel would fall from 'God's Grace,' just to be by your side.
・Luckily, no one has found out about your relationship. He is your guardian angel...just one that you can see, hear, feel and touch whenever you desire.
・The way your Angel loves you is holy. It is divine. Sacred even.
・Believing you to somehow be a deity yourself, he only touches you with softness, with his fingers carefully ghosting over your skin. Aching for you.
・Angel has massive, white feathered wings that protrude from his back. Up close, you can see traces of gold among the feathers, making him glow ethereally.
・His large wings shield you from the world. As if he can create a sanctuary meant only for you.
・As a magical being, his kisses feel like pure sunlight...and joy...and the first day of spring.
・Yet if you are harmed, harrassed or bullied in one way or another, his golden eyes burn with fury.
・Violence is not who you know your boyfriend to be, but for you, he would destroy the world.
・His nicknames for you are: 'my light,' 'heavenly,' 'my everything,' 'pet,' (as in 'Petal'), 'seraph,' 'little star,' 'little goddess/god.'
𝑺𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅
・Your siren boyfriend is not just a creature of the deep; he is a thing of temptation, mystery, and obsession.
・He does not love lightly. He does not love softly. He loves like the tide, and you are the shore...forever changed by his touch.
・When he sings just for you, it’s not to lure, not to enchant. It’s to mark you as his, to let the ocean itself know who belongs to him.
・"You are mine," he whispers, voice soft but unshakable. "I have sung your name into the tides. The sea knows you now."
・His obsession is not cruel, not suffocating. It is devotion, unrelenting and infinite.
・When he holds you, it feels like being claimed, as if he is anchoring himself to you.
・His hands are cool from the sea, but his kisses are warm, deep, slow.
・Sirens are creatures of sound, of melody, of stories carried on the waves.
・His song is not just for you—it is about you. The ocean hums it, the seagulls echo it, the wind carries it across the water.
・And if you listen closely, you can hear it when the tide rolls in. The melody of his love, whispered in the waves.
"Even if you cannot hear it," he says, "the sea will always know your name."
・If you ever enter the sea, it feels different now. As if it knows you, as if it welcomes you.
・You can swim longer, breathe easier, because his magic has seeped into your skin, tying you to him in a way that cannot be undone.
・If you accept him completely, if you give yourself to him fully, you will never fear the ocean again.
・Your siren calls you: 'songbird,' 'little minnow,' 'my melody,' 'precious pearl,' 'you are my tide, i will follow you anywhere.'
𝑬𝒍𝒇 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅
・He is a being that has endured centuries, seen empires rise and fall, even watched the stars shift in the sky.
・And yet, in all those years...he has never loved like this.
・In love, he is not rushed, not impulsive, not reckless.
・His love is patient, cautious, all-encompassing.
・It is a slow-burning fire, a heat that never dies.
・When an elf chooses a mate; it is eternal. A love that is woven into the heavens; into the very essence of the worlds.
・Elves are creatures of grace, of quiet strength, of whispered words that carry the weight of centuries.
・Your lovers touch is featherlight. As if he's afraid you will vanish beaneath his fingertips...as if you aren't real.
・He loves brushing his long fingers against your cheek, his knuckles grazing your lips, memorizing every single detail.
"I have seen a thousand sunrises," he whispers, "but none have been as beautiful as you."
・He loves gifting you with beautiful earthly things; flowers woven into a delicate crown, a bracelet of intertwined leaves, wooden carvings of all your favourite animals.
・When he is away, he writes you letters in Elvish, sealed with wax, filled with words so poetic they could break your heart. If you do not understand his language, he teaches you, whispering each word against your skin.
・His love is not loud, not demanding.
・He shows it in the gentlest of ways. Of doing things for you; cleaning your clothes, doing your makeup, helping you with your shoes.
・It's also in the way he turns his head to listen whenever you speak, the way he always moves to your side without thought. If you are tired, he carries you effortlessly, as if your weight is nothing to him.
・The trees know your name. The wind whispers it through the leaves...When you sit with him in a quiet grove, he closes his eyes and listens. The earth sings when you are near.
"The forest remembers you," he says, "as I do."
・His voice is always calm, near melodic.
・He does not simply say “I love you.” Instead he says:
"You are the first breath of spring after a thousand winters."
"My heart beats in time with yours."
"If the stars fell from the sky, I would carve new constellations for you with my own hands."
・And when he says your name? It sounds like a prayer.
・In Elven culture, hair is sacred. To touch someone’s hair is a sign of trust. But to braid it? It is an act, nay, a sign of deep devotion.
・When he braids your hair, he is not just arranging strands. He is weaving his love into each movement. He is binding you to him in the silent language of his people.
・If you braid his hair, he will close his eyes, exhaling slowly, surrendering himself to you completely.
"This is a bond," he whispers. "One that cannot be broken."
・Your nicknames are: 'starlight,' 'little fawn,' 'elenya" (Elvish for ‘My Star’), 'beloved one,' 'birdie,' 'I would wait centuries for you,' 'sweetheart.'
warnings; dubcon-ish (a kiss), hypnotism, mentions of a harpoon gun, some unsettling descriptions, scary water!!!!!
divider; @/kodaswrld
would love to hear your thoughts on this! if you'd like another male siren story, let me know!
"You shouldn't have gone out there that night; now it will never leave," said your client to you on one particularly restless night.
His legs were bothering him again, having built a tolerance to the handful of fat pills you gave him every night before bed with lukewarm water from a paper cup. They were meant to stop the prickling, the burning, the unbearable tightness that made him thrash under the sheets and kick out until the discomfort fatigued him into sleep.
As his live-in aid, your hands were tied both metaphorically and legally. Giving him more than the allotted dosage could end up fatal, but there was guilt in knowing that one more pill would probably make a difference; ease that pain. Yet, all you could bring yourself to do was help him into his favorite recliner in the sunroom and massage his legs.
"I thought it had long since gone once I stopped playing ukulele, but I guess it was just waiting for something else to happen. What did you do?" asked the man, curiously with a slight lean of his head.
You'd expected more frustration and anger than what he was giving you now. It was like he wanted to know the exact conditions you created to lure the creature back here, as if he'd never wanted it to leave in the first place, years ago. What could you say that would fulfill his expectations?
There were no grandiose details to relay; you had gone outside on a bright night and sat down on the edge of the dock with a glass of wine in your hand. You recalled letting your legs submerge to the knee and wading them around in the black water while sipping your dry rosé and scrolling social media. The stress of the day still had a grip on your nerves, but the gentle movement of the water wrapping around your legs had fast worked a lull over you.
Then, you had felt a cool current underwater.
It rushed through your legs and stopped suddenly, returning the water to the temperature it had once been. Goosebumps erupted across your body, and the needle-thin hairs on the back of your neck stuck straight out. Instincts had taken hold of you rightfully, prompting you to hurriedly lift your legs out of the water to get up and head back to the house.
Yet, as you pulled one leg out and half of the other, long fingers shot up out of the depths and seized your calf. A hand tried to pull you back down. You did what was reasonable for anyone in these circumstances: scream as loudly as you could, throw your wine glass at the pale arm coming out of the water, and launch your phone at the pale arm as well.
The water was disturbed, splashing as if by a very large fish, and the pale arm and hand and long fingers recoiled back into the inkiness. You didn't stay to scout the thing out; you fucking sprinted for the house, shrieking, bolted the doors behind you, and stayed in your room until your usual alarm sounded to give your client his first dose of medication for the day.
Later that same day, you returned to the dock in broad daylight to find your phone bobbing on the wooden slats, bone dry.
You gave the man your explanation, still massaging his legs while he listened quietly in his recliner. Once you were finished with your retelling, the man spoke solemnly, "I think it's chosen you. Don't listen when it calls."
To you, that had come across as the nonsensical babbling of a terminally ill man beginning to lose his mind to delusions, so you did not heed his warning. You hadn't considered that it was one until the chill of sea air at night touched your skin, softly rustling the hair on your head, and you opened your eyes to the wide eye of the moon and clusters of stars in the sky.
Why were you outside? How did you get there? You just remembered rubbing the man's legs and sitting down on the sofa once he fell asleep in his chair.
No, wait.
You remembered a man's song. His singing voice was unlike anything you'd ever heard; you doubted it could be replicated by human tongue and vocal cords. The words were incomprehensible, yet your mind perceived them as if they were language and something you knew. Something that told a sad story of melancholy and suffering, a lifetime of immense yearning so potent that the singer was prisoner to his own heart, his loneliness.
He had called out to you so sweetly, his words like a silk thread woven between your fingers. There were so many things he wanted to say to you, so many things he wanted to show you. If only you would come to him… come to him… come to me… come to me… come to me…
Now, as your senses adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you were lying on the docks. You were close enough to the edge to see down into the black depths, the water stirring with movement beneath the surface. Something was there; it had been waiting for you to wake up.
One long hand shot up out of the water and grabbed the dock, then another. The fingers were inhumanly long with nails tapering into thin points. Its skin was the same sort of pale from the other night, grayish and translucent. As it hauled itself onto the dock, you noted the sharpness of its elbows and shoulders, how its wrongness was in its imitation of what it thought a human looked like. Below the torso, still halfway dipped into the water, was an enormous black tail with scales that glowed silver under the moonlight.
Now, however, you were fixated on his face and how simultaneously beautiful and horrible it was. He looked at you serenely, inexpressive, almost, as he dragged himself over your body to examine you more closely, deep-dark hair draping over you like a wet veil. His face was long with a tapered chin, black eyes without pupils, and lips a cold shade of purple and blue. Where the prominence of a nose should've been were two symmetrical nostrils formed into slits.
You weren't sure if you thought he possessed an otherworldly beauty, or if he was terrible and monstrous. Your mind couldn't make sense of all of his features existing on one face and body.
And then, he started to hum. It rose from the back of his throat, soothing and sonorous, warm and comforting despite his freezing hands touching your skin, caressing your face. You felt him kiss you, his cold, blue lips pressing slow and hard, still humming to subdue you.
Those long fingers of his continued to explore you, fondle you, learn your body more than you knew it yourself. His lips sank to your chin, molded into the shape of your neck when you moaned and moved, and tried biting through your clothes when he could no longer feel or taste your skin.
He appeared in front of your eyes again, this time with a gentle, accomplished smile. His sweet humming had yet to cease, your vision was smeared, and the limbs of your body were leaden. Even as the creature shrank back into the depths of the black murk, pulling your legs off the edge with him, you could not move.
You were paralyzed and utterly at peace with it.
Suddenly, a bellow cracked through the stillness of the night, and the man appeared with a rifle in his hands. He cried out into the air again, startling the creature in the water before shooting a harpoon at it. The spearhead missed the creature by inches and vanished into the blackness without a sound, but it had done its job.
The creature emitted an enraged, mournful wail as it released you and flipped its tail into the air to escape back into the void where it once came.
"Quick! Quick!" the man waddled to the end of the dock with his bad legs, using the harpoon rifle as a crutch, and helped you to your feet once you had feeling back in your body. "He ain't gonna give you up that easily. He'll be back, you'll see."
following yet another urban legend to pick apart for your blog, you wind up at a small coastal town trying to see if this deep-sea beast you’ve seen written about is actually real. first and foremost, you have to find the location, and surely that doesn’t even exist, right? but when you find that the abyssal pool is real, you’re already in too deep to realize the trap you’ve walked into. it’s not until the silent song has been sung and your mind is breaking that you realize your new fate awaiting you.
Warnings: 6.7k // nsfw - gn!siren-like creature x fem!human!reader // dub-con/non-con + aphrodisiac, strong aphrodisiac, bodily fluid/cum as an aphrodisiac, siren behavior, reader being unaware of things being done to them, rough tentacle sex, bondage with magic seaweed/vines, recording, breeding kink, luring and kidnapping, oral (reader choking on a tentacle & being forcibly fed the aphrodisiac), nipple stim, clit stim, harsh tentacle fucking, (light) claiming, mindbreaking (siren stuff), anal and vaginal penetration, double & multiple penetration, multiple orgasms (like a lot), lots of squirting, lots of cum & cumplay, implied very slight oviposition, masturbation, a dirty dream thrown in there, and…the reader succumbs; character is a gn!siren with multiple tentacles that can change in size and secrete an aphrodisiac & cum.
a/n: happy mermay with this fucked up tale <3
See, there’s an urban myth about this coastal town and this cave off the edge that has a dock that pokes out in the darkest, scariest waters that’ll ever be so close to human civilization. Basically, it promises that if someone goes into the water at the very end of the docks, they’ll find deranged beasts waiting for them underneath the surface. The abyss is so dark, if you even so much as stuck your hand in, you would not see it. It’s supposedly as cold as ice, yet never freezes, and filled with a strange flora that wraps around your legs to keep any poor soul that ventures out there underneath the water for a hungry beast.
Local stories talk about it like it’s the myth that it is. Any local or tourist who have mysteriously gone missing are deemed hoaxes, or, at least, later found washed up on a shore a few miles away after floating out too far. It’s simply just what it claims to be–an urban myth.
So, of course, you find yourself eager to prove that for your blog. When you go around proving and disproving ghost stories, urban myths, and cryptic tales alike, you can’t exactly pass on something so terrifying sounding. Besides, odds are, the cave probably doesn’t exist, let alone the dock. Worst case scenario, you get to write off a beach vacation as a business expense. Best case scenario, you discover some unique, impossible, supernatural abyss that actually exists there.
With your gear packed, you head out to that coastal town. It’s all sun and tourists, filled to the brim as they line the sidewalks, the stripmalls, the highrise rentals all along the coast. Nothing is amiss, really. So, hoax it is? Even when you question the locals as you check into your rental just nearby the supposed cave, they shrug it off and say it’s just a tale to get the curious in. And look at that, it brought you to them, so…. You couldn’t argue with that. Still, upon checking in, you double-check your things for your investigation.
An underwater camera on the end of a pole, a tripod and camera to set up on the edge of the supposed dock, a battery pack to keep it charged. A notebook for general notes and outlining, your phone to take pictures of anything happening in the moment. As if anything will happen. You’ve already got the outline done for the obvious hoax of it all. You just need to go and prove it.
Following the directions across dozens of other blog posts about the supposed beastly depths, you walk the busy beach. There is a rocky cliff’s edge near where the beach ends and blocks your view beyond. It matches up with the rest of the descriptions, so you follow a path you have to make around towels, bags, and chairs. Down where the sand becomes rocky, and rocky risks becoming too-slippery to walk on, but the tide is low. You checked and double-checked–it wasn’t going to rise for hours. You had more than enough time, and going slow enough….
You just need enough to peek around to see if the cave exists.
So, up you climb. The rocks layer across each other like bits of broken slate, and you hold on without trying to slice your hands open while climbing. It smells considerably more like the sea as you go. A few people stop and watch you surely for your stupidity, to see if you’re about to fall and bust your head open, but you continue as if they’re not there. Down around the rocks, your sneakers getting wet where the water laps up over the rock’s edges, and then….
Leaning on a rock, you peek.
Holy shit.
There’s a hole in the side of the cliff where the rocks at the front become sand. A literal cave beckoning you to walk to it. You lift your phone and snap a quick picture. So part of it is real, then. Truths always help lift up a good lie. You sneak around until your wet shoes touch the sand on the other side of the rocks and cliff. You have to stop yourself from running to enter.
Using your phone’s flashlight, you step up to the cave entrance. It’s damp and cold, and it still smells like the sea. But the ground isn’t slippery stone, it’s more sand. Interesting. And from what you can tell, nothing gives way to the ocean, so any dock that’s in there can’t exist.
Judging the general look of it very, very carefully, you risk a step in. Then another. Sand remains until your feet, and the ground only slightly slopes down. Nothing dangerous screams at you, nothing tries to make you slip and fall, no noise except the soft sound of waves splashing carries up. No wild animals. Maybe someone deranged is in there, but wouldn’t you hear them? Adrenaline and disbelief carry you past that thought and you go in further.
Deeper.
Lower.
The cave stays slightly taller and slightly wider than you, no less and no more. It twists down, leaving the sunlight behind you until you make a final curve of a turn, and then there’s just your phone. But since it’s a straight path, there’s no getting lost. Just a leg-burning incline waiting for you on the way back. It’s hard to really identify it–the change in the air as you go. But the cold shifts. It warms in your lungs and it makes you start to sweat underneath your layers. Shirt, shorts, bathing suit, socks, and sneakers. Your bag pressed against your back makes your shirt suction itself to you with sweat.
The sea-salty air clings to you.
You round the corner with no deranged individual to bar your path.
Holy…shit…?
THe cave opens to the impossible. Or, certainly not for it’s there, but…? Light spatters across the glistening, expanding walls. They’re speckled with what look like gems or stars or something luminescent that brings an eerie aura to the round break in the path. The path that takes you down another step along the suddenly steep incline, and there, the sand becomes an old, worn, discolored wood. A small dock of just two dozen boards that goes out to where the ground vanishes. Dark, murky water is bubbling like a spring. A black and blue essence of depth that becomes a rich, terrifying abyss looking back at you before you even take another step.
The water ripples when you step further onto the dock. It seems to match the hard thumps of your heart as you go. Step by shaky step, testing each board along the way. The water only grows darker. The threat of something looking back at you that you cannot see sits on your shoulders like a person resides there. Trying to push you down to your knees when you stand as close as you’ll allow yourself to the dock’s edge. The end peeking down into the very center of that circle of sea.
You can only see your reflection. Yes, there’s water beneath; an abyss. A depth. But as you shudder out breaths and feel the trickle of sweat drip along your back, you cannot seem to catch your breath or look away from the water.
The rippling water.
Like a beast walks the earth around you to shake the very pool you look into.
A cold chill erupts along your spine, but you cannot move.
Nothing comes to peek out of the water. For there cannot be anything there, right? Maybe some sharks lurk below? Or some mere fish looking for a bite to eat. But the pool cannot possibly house a…a beast. No grand whale-like, fang-having carnivore waiting to devour your hand if you were to reach in.
This isn’t Jaws.
You’re there. You tell yourself in quiet thoughts. You’re there. You must abide by the fact that you’ve found it. That, at the very least, deserves some recognition. Maybe there is nothing there to scare beyond its mere existence in the urban myth. A legend made of those truths. So…. So you force the deepest of breaths you can manage, and you sit back on the dock you pray is as sturdy as it seems to be.
Carefully, you unpack your bag.
Tripod goes up, camera gets connected to the battery then set atop, angled to record. You assert that the waterproof camera is working and begin extending the pole it will be latched to before coming to kneel, once again, at the edge of the dock. A light sparkling look upon the water makes it appear like the night sky. It’s beautiful, really, as much as it is eerie. A portal to another realm rippling back at you. But no beast is behind you, shaking the world. So maybe there really are those mythical plants beneath that you cannot see causing that? Or just fish.
You shake off the sentiment and pull out your phone. An app connects to the camera, and you double-check the connection. You see yourself looking back at you from the protected lens. So, rather unceremoniously, you turn the flash onto the brightest option, set your phone aside, and turn the camera down toward the water.
Another slow chill sinks over you. Do not do this, something whispers in the back of your head. A risk of losing your camera? Eh. You have more. So long as you move carefully, you will not disrupt any ecosystems there, and you have no intention of falling in. God, it’s hot. You shake off the sentiments, sweat clinging to you despite the strange chill whispering behind your ear, and you let the camera fall past the water.
Darkness. Rich, impenetrable darkness. You lower the camera slow enough that, if you were to be watching a movie, you’d curse them for such a languid pace. But you are trying not to disturb anything that could be down there. Deeper. The water swallows the pole, and you keep your eyes on your phone screen. Bit by bit, it goes. And goes. And goes. The flash does nothing to light the way. It’s as if light cannot penetrate the water at all. A vacuum capturing it whole, yet it is endless in its length. You continue, noting just how much is disappearing into the water. More and more, you see the water slosh. The pole vanishing. Nothing on the capture.
Huh.
So there’s…nothing? Nothing you can see.
You stop just before your fingertips touch the water.
You pull the pole back until water drips off the end of the camera. The light of the cave breaks out over the capture and bits of what look like black seaweed are wrapped around the end. Whoa, okay. You haul it up onto the dock, scooting back. The humid air brings the back of your hand to your forehead, but your eyes stay on the strange, vine-looking seaweed perfectly wrapped around the pole.
“That’s…okay.” What luck to capture it like that. There has to be a current under the water–maybe causing the rippling–that lent it to a perfect spiral? You snap a few pictures of it with your phone before carefully pulling it off the pole. It’s slippery and slimy, yet weirdly…warm? For the darkness, you would’ve guessed freezing cold. But it feels burning hot. “Shit.”
You pull back quickly, forgetting the gloves you’d packed. They sit in your hotel room, waiting to be put in your backpack. You might’ve just touched something poisonous. Fuck. The seaweed and pole clatters against the wood in a hollow, faraway sound. A light, sparking burn sinks in over your fingertips. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A light, murky discoloration covers it–a sheer black goop–and you pull your shirt off to use it as a rag. Quickly, wiping it over your hand and dumping some of your water over where the goop once was before repeating.
Nothing lingers. No rash sits in place. It’s still possible you’ve just marked yourself with death and there’s no other telltale signs until it happens. But as you kneel there, waiting to see if necrosis suddenly marks your fingers, your pulse pounding through the ocean and the cave, there’s…nothing. Something? But nothing. Just the unbearable heat trickling in around you. Your shirt coming off because of this was almost a godsend. You readjust the top of your bathing suit with your clean hand, and roll your shoulders.
Nothing. Nothing happens.
Okay.
Okay.
You close your eyes and attempt a slow, deep, calming breath.
You’re okay. It’s all okay.
For now.
The nagging voice in the back of your head speaks with reasons. Leave. Hospital. Now. What matters is what you touched burned, and you need to check that. Leave. Go. Get yourself checked out. It’s smart. It’s the right call. It’s a long walk back, and if you linger and something is wrong, you’ve screwed yourself. So–
Splash.
A soft, wave-like splashing draws your eyes to the end of the dock. It’s not the little ripples hitting the dock, no. This is a splash. A loud, heart-stopping splash. The secret beast? But if there is one, it does not look back at you over the end as fear made you worry. There’s nothing there waiting for you at the end. Leave. Leave it. But there was a splash! You cannot….
You have to see if you imagined it. At the very least.
So, quietly and carefully, you crawl. Right over to the edge, a lump in your throat, a burn in your lungs, and a pit in your stomach. You peek over. Maybe you just dislodged something when you stuck the camera in?
You look back at yourself. Your reflection. The glint in your eyes making you jump, but they’re just your eyes.
Holy fuck. You press your hand to your heart.
There’s nothing.
Nothing but your reflection.
Nothing but the dark water.
Nothing but–bubble. A bubble. A few bubbles, slipping up and breaking the surface tension with soft pops. You go still, watching them cause larger ripples across the suddenly still water. Okay, so then…?
Then.
Then there’s something.
Just underneath the water. Wrapped up in the dark seaweed. Stuck before it can touch air. It’s right at the edge. An arm’s reach away. You tilt your head, squinting, trying to make out what the hell that could be. It looks like nothing. Maybe a piece of debris? Of some sort of shipwreck? Pollution? You put your hands on the edge of the dock and lean closer. What the fuck is it that’s trying to escape?
Closer. Closer. Closer.
You reach. It’s right freaking there, come on.
You watch in your reflection as your finger comes to the water. It bends and breaks, sending a brand new rippling across the pool. Burning hot water touches your fingertip, yet it doesn’t blister or hurt. It sinks in like a hot spring, and you feel it slither up around your wrist, arm, elbow. The object falls away before you can touch it, like it lost its buoyancy. The pattern of the wood presses into your knees whilst you shift. Reaching. Humidity feels like steam on your face. Water goes up to your elbow.
Something brushes your fingers in a slimy, warm, wrapping sensation. The seaweed. But as you stare at yourself in the water, your hand invisible in the darkness, your body bent over the dock, you don’t…it’s not important anymore. That it’s touching you. The hospital. No. You shake your head, leaning back onto your knees and shimming out of your shoes and shorts, shifting forward to really lean over the edge of the dock to try and find what vanished from you.
What was it? It burns into the back of your head. Sweat trickles down in quick succession of one drop after the other while you bend over the dock. The rough edge presses into your stomach through your one-piece. Another bubble comes up next to where the water swallows your arm up past your shoulder.
What was it? What was it? What was it?
You turn your head, reaching back to hold onto a wide gap in one of the boards to leverage yourself properly without falling in. What was it? You shift, grip firm, water sneaking up to your shoulder. Past. Your cheek touches the warm, steaming, bubbling water.
What the hell was that?
A bubble pops against your cheek. It throws water against your mouth and eyes, and you blink them away and taste sweet saltwater on your lips. Another bubble pops, and you do it again. There’s something at your fingertips. Something hard. Metal. But it’s getting hard to move. The current you cannot see wraps the seaweed around your fingers. Your wrist. It comes up around your arm, past your elbow, up to your shoulder. You reach, still, eyes shut, trying to get that damn thing. What was it? What was it? What was it? What is it?
Your fingers close around what feels like a handle or…or a hook. Something curved and metal and latchable. You have it! You have it!! You smile, another bubble coming more like a splash at your cheek, soaking your face in the warm water, and you laugh. You’ve got it! You’ve got it.
You pull, but it doesn’t move.
No, come on!
Water splashes again.
It tastes so, so sweet on your lips.
Come on. Come on! You yank.
And yank.
But it doesn’t move.
You don’t notice the darkness rising out of the water. The seaweed, the vines, climbing higher. Escaping the depths and wrapping around your throat, your upper half, your stomach. You pull and pull and pull, drinking in more than just mere splashes of the water at every failed dislodging of the thing you cannot let go of. They climb higher, wrapping around your hips, thighs, feet. The arm that is back and the hand that’s on the board. They twist around you until they’ve netted you like prey. Locking you in place on the end of that dock.
You don’t notice anything but the thing you cannot get free staying right where it is no matter how you pull.
You don’t notice the whipping current moving around you, or the splashing growing more excessive, louder, harder. The way you cannot move. The heat sinking in beneath your bathing suit. Beneath your skin. Beneath every part of you. What is it? What is it? What is it? Repeats like a broken record, consuming every breath that nearly drowns you in the water you gulp back.
You don’t notice the small tendrils sneaking through the cracks of the dock. Don’t notice the brush of them against your inner thighs. Don’t notice their warm, slimy feel amongst the seaweed encapsulating you and sneaking underneath your suit. Right at the tight edges digging between your legs.
You just tug. And tug. And tug on the hook that won’t come loose.
You don’t even notice them touch you. Not where one writhes against your asshole. Not where one closes like a mouth around your clit. Not where one presses against your cunt. You don’t notice the two sneaking out of the water to slide into your suit to latch onto your nipples.
And as the hook dislodges from whatever has trapped it beneath the water, sending a large gulp of warm water into your throat, you don’t feel the thick, creamy liquid they secrete onto you. Into you. Pushing just the very tips into both holes.
Into your mouth as you beam into the water, drowning yourself to get that thing out of the water.
You don’t notice.
Everything’s gone when you can finally move. There’s nothing but you falling back onto the dock, licking away the substance you don’t fully realize you’re tasting while you move. Seated back on your ass, holding up your treasure. A small box with a round handle at the top. Locked with a lock that’s more rust than anything else.
A treasure! Something to have made this outing worth it, if there’s something inside!
You quickly gather your things. There’s no more bubbling in the water, no more splashing. The heat cools around you. What is it? It still lingers, but you’re able to breathe again, and you wipe your shirt over your mouth to get the murky water off of you. The dock exists, the cave exists, the water exists. And if there’s something in this box…. Well, you’ll have a unique story to tell. Unfortunately, no beasts lurk for they would’ve gotten you for such a ridiculous move, right? Reaching into the water.
You laugh at yourself.
How stupid could you have been?
You haul your backpack over your shoulder, cling to the box, and carry yourself out of the cave without a look back.
When you ventured down to the cave, it was already late afternoon. It’s only a little surprising when you come out to a pitch-black sky. Maybe an early sunset? You shrug it off. Getting back takes effort after walking up the long incline back out of the cave, then the rocks, then the stretch back to your hotel. You’re exhausted when you get to your room. Your bag drops with a heap onto the floor, and you fling yourself into the shower.
The potential treasure can wait until tomorrow. Working on your blog can wait until tomorrow. Exhaustion drags your eyes shut, you hardly scrub yourself in the shower, and you collapse into bed after barely managing to put you pajamas on.
So…tired….
The second your head hits the pillow, you’re out.
The plan lingers in your head. Wake up, get breakfast, open the box, work on the blog, enjoy the beach. A simple plan. An easy, wonderful, even possibly interesting plan if there’s something strange inside the box. It’s best not to get your hopes up, you know that. But you found a box! A locked box! There could be something incredibly fascinating in there!
But….
You jerk awake while the moon still shines. Your chest heaves with hard breaths and your blankets are askew. Your dream…it’s far away as you blink. Gone. Whatever softness was there is replaced with an itch. A burning, striking, fierce itch that crawls underneath your sweat-dampened pajamas.
Oh. You roll onto your back. It burns. You look over yourself in the moonlight. How your chest heaves, the fabric dragging over your pointed nipples like it’s winter in the room. How your shorts have ridden up and the center seam presses between your legs.
Oh, fuck.
You shudder. What…? Itchy. So itchy. Not the kind needing a scratch, no. This comes in an ache that throws your hands onto the bed to squeeze. Your hips jut up. Your heels press into the bed. Oh, fuck. What? What the…what? Your eyes close, and that’s your doom. You don’t know it. You didn’t know it when you ventured into the cave. But as your eyes shut and your head presses back, something more than sleep takes you.
Your eyes roll back.
The softness of your mattress stays under you, but in the dark abyss around you, you smell the murkiness. Feel the dock underneath you while you blink up at the star-like cave ceiling. Your bathing suit clings to you. The seaweed seeps out from the water and wraps around you. The dock. You can feel it, see it without seeing it, entrapping you. Wrapping around you in a burning spiral where your heels can’t kick the bed anymore and where you’re bound to the dock.
No.
The bottom.
The bottom of the dock.
You blink at the ceiling as it becomes the murky water. The underside of the dock presses uncomfortably against your back. Your arms. Your feet. Legs. Slimy seaweed wraps around your throat. Your forehead.
You stare at your bound reflection in the rippling water.
It ripples again.
And again.
You stare at rich, black eyes looking into your own.
Black tendrils rise out of the water. They glitter like scales with a sheer pearl-like coloration over them. They rise higher. Up. To you. You aim to scream, but as your mouth parts, eyes pulled and locked onto those looking upon you like another human trapped under the water, a tendril presses inside. Thicker than what it was when it left the water.
It pushes down your throat and there’s a sudden warmth and blistering sweetness glazing everything over.
You feel heavy. So, so heavy. Going limp and hanging there, drool dribbling down and dripping into the water. It’s a dream. A rippling thought, falling away into an incoherentness that feels exactly as you believe–it’s a dream. A vivid, choking dream.
Tendrils continue to rise. To move.
The top of your one piece is pulled down. Two tendrils wrap around your bared breasts and latch onto your nipples. You moan, shuddering as something is secreted around them. Twisting. Tweaking. Massaging and groping. It feels good. Goosebumps rise and your eyes want to roll back, but you cannot look away. Those that watch you, they’ve captured you. Captivated. Ensared.
More tendrils rise. They sneak underneath your bathing suit between your legs.
Tears well and the eyes below you blur when they touch you. Slimy. Secreting that substance that’s being dripped down your gulping throat. Everything…it itches. Bed. Hotel. Itchy. Wet. Touching. Your pussy clenches in a way that makes you yank hard on what holds you, but it only lends itself to a tendril pressing against your cunt.
They move in tandem.
One latches onto your clit, writhing around it as it seems to…suckle it like a mouth. One leaks as it pushes into your asshole and the other does the exact same as it pushes into your cunt.
The eyes glint wide and full, glittering like a whole galaxy held within them.
All of the tendrils inside of you swell.
The stretch alleviates an itch you could scream for in pure satisfaction.
The water ripples.
The tendrils suck on your nipples and clit in alternating patterns.
Then, the others move.
They fuck you. Pumping in and out of you, deep. Too deep. But it’s a pleasure you cannot feel outside of the dream. It’s impossible. It’s beyond. It’s blinding. You still do not look away from the eyes, and you moan incessantly, wantonly, just mewling around the tendril choking you. Harder. Deeper. Rougher.
The tendrils only grow in size. They continue to secrete the lube-like, slimy, burning substance that just makes your body writhe in the bindings. Thrashing as you feel it seep into you. As goosebumps rise, your body grows sensitive, you get heavier and heavier, trying to move in any capacity beyond taking what it gives you for it’s so much. Too much. It feels too good. Your hips buck somewhere else, but against the bottom of the dock, they don’t move.
The water grows closer to you. The eyes stare into your soul as you scream again. Pussy clenching, pulsing, shuddering around what rubs against every sensitive spot inside of you. The tendril on your clit seems to vibrate as it sucks it. The tendrils rub against each other inside of you; they tweak your nipples; they pour more and more into you until it drips back into the water.
It’s blinding, how good it feels. It’s like an injection of ecstasy that’s lingering before the peak. Long waves of pleasure building and building and building. Until you’re crying, sobbing, choking–looking down at those eyes that move ever so slightly. Like a head turning, curious, watching your toes curl and back try to arch. It feels so good. So fucking good. Too fucking good.
Your shriek is muffled against the tendril when you break.
Those long waves lengthen into a feral, unapologetic pleasure. It’s unkind. It’s brutal. You have no escape from it as they pound into you incessantly. Repeatedly. Milking you of it in hard, rough, squelching drags. You cum.
You cum squirting–something you’ve never done before. Ruining your swimsuit and hearing it drip into the water. Barely. Barely conscious when it continues fucking you. And feeding you. And attacking you with the tendrils, pushing you to a true breaking point of pleasure that rips through you.
Right before you truly break, they still. The one in your mouth and the one in your ass pour thick loads into you. Something spurts over your chest and your cunt, painting you in what you see drip into the sea as something pearly white. But in your cunt, you feel the tendril swell and push inside of you. A slow pulse fills you. Literally fills you. Rubbing around inside of you like multiple tentacles trying to enter you at once.
Your clit pulses.
The tendril rubs it again.
And rubs it.
And rubs it.
Another orgasm creeps up as the tendril in your cunt leaves you, but you still feel so full. The tendril in your ass leaves, after, locking itself over your swimsuit and between your legs as the one on your clit rubs you rapidly. Your nipples are sucked again; pinched until you yell around the tendril in your mouth. What’s inside of you is clenched when you just about cum again. Thick and full and writhing. Filling your cunt like it belongs there, wiggling every which way and hitting every sweet spot until–
You jerk awake on the hotel bed, right at the edge of the orgasm in your dream.
D…Dream….
Itchy. Burning. Your pussy clenches as you stare down at yourself on top of that bed. The sunlight creeps in over you. Your blankets are on the floor. Your shorts have been kicked off, and your shirts up. Accidentally risen up over your chest, where the cool AC makes your nipples tighten. Burn.
You taste the sweetness on your tongue.
You see the eyes when you blink.
You pussy weeps for something. A blinding, thought-wiping something that has you crawling off the bed, clinging to the last remnants of sanity. Was it just a dream? You get rug burn on your knees on your way to your bags. Did you miss something at the pool? Did the seaweed infect you with a hallucinogenic?
You haul your laptop out. Your cameras. The connecting cables. Your pussy throbs as you kneel there. Back arching back like there’s someone behind you to greet you. To satisfy the itch making you drool. Go back. It echoes in the back of your head like a little, dangerous melody. But you don’t return to your bed. You don’t go back to sleep. You merely lean back against the end of the bed, laptop set aside, and click through the footage you took at the cave.
It’s…wait.
You have it set for repeat recording so you don’t accidentally meet the limit mark and loose footage. So it starts a new recording automatically. And this…. There are dozens. How…how long were you in that cave? You click through them with a shaky hand. Your breasts ache. Your clit throbs. You click past the setup, the camera insertion into the water, the seaweed on bare skin debacle. And then…then it changes.
In the footage from the underwater camera, you can see how your eyes glaze over.
Your heart skips a beat as you watch yourself.
Moving slowly towards a beckoning splashing. Like a fucking call pulling you in. You crawl. The water ripples and ripples and ripples for you until you’re in frame of the one on the tripod. All of you. Leaning over the water. Your shorts kicked off, just your bathing suit covering you.
Then, the minutes tick by. You wrestle with the thing under the water as the vines creep out. Your pussy throbs as they overtake you. They cling to you, pressing into the meat of you tight enough to lock you entirely unmoving against the dock. You still wrestle, unaware of it. A light chill sinks into you as the minutes tick by. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. Half-drowning in the water, pulling to get that box.
Your pajama shirt clings to you as sweat sheens over you. It’s hard to ignore the damp spot making your underwear cling to you. Fear is a cruel whisper against the back of your ear.
Then, you see them.
After an hour of being in the water like that, your bottom in the air and right in view, you see what sneaks through the gaps in the dock. Like the ones in your dream. On the floor, your legs part. Your thighs quiver.
In sheer horror, you watch where they go. Sliding like some eldritch curse sinking underneath your bathing suit. They bulge against the tight material, giving you no ignorance to where their aim is. And with the angle you’ve been forced into like that, your legs parted, back arched, you watch them on the recording. They writhe. They slide. They push into you, with the material darkening as they clearly secrete something into your cunt and asshole. The material stretches as they begin to pump. Writhe. The bunched up material at the top of your suit tells you they’re not just inside of you.
Minutes tick by.
You can’t move. In the capture nor where you press back against the bed, chest heaving. They fuck you slowly. The damp spots grow and grow until you see something pearly start to dribble out of the sides.
The splashing in the water stops, and you start to shake on camera. Moaning. Whining. Your hips jerk in the restraining seaweed. You sound muffled when they fuck into you faster, and you can taste that sweetness in your throat right then.
Come…back…. echoes in the back of your mind.
Your thighs shake on camera.
The tendrils move. More rise through the cracks.
You hold your breath as they seem annoyed at your bathing suit, and they move it. More coming in. More finding you. Your lungs burn as you go from seeing yourself getting visibly fucked by a single tentacle in each hole to two. Stretching your holes as they secrete that pearly liquid and you scream. Shuddering. Thrashing.
Climaxing.
Squirting around them and squeezing them. A mess of you and them coming around yourself while you are bound and shaking and falling into a whining daze. They stretch you wide and fuck into you alternatingly and hard. The sounds are wet. Wrong. You look down at yourself on the recording and then at yourself there, in the hotel room, your pussy leaking and begging.
With a dry swallow, you….
You itch.
Burn.
Need.
Come…back…to…me….
The room blurs. Your eyes lock onto the screen while you cum again, squirting and thrashing. Your hand dances down to yourself, there. Moving your underwear aside. You can’t. Can’t. Can’t. A heavy sensation fills the room. A ringing enters your ears with a soft melody amongst it. You dip two fingers into your dripping cunt. You feel the absence of it yet it feels like a reminder all the same. What was there in your dream. What’s there in the video. What’s more than your fingers pumping into your cunt. More finding your clit. You pull your shirt off frantically, seeing the very minimal remnants of something having left divots in the soft, sensitive skin there.
Everything falls into a haze.
You watch yourself cum again.
You pump your fingers deeper; nowhere near where the tentacles clearly reached. But you try. You chase. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you throw your head back. Gasping. Shaking. Squirming against the end of the bed.
You watch yourself cum again on screen. And for a moment–a brief, world-shattering moment–you remember it. You feel it. In the dream, down at the docks. You feel it. And then it’s gone. Your fingers aren’t enough. They’re hardly anything, but they still give you something. You kick your feet out and lift your hips up. The tentacles go still on the screen, pulsing as they seem to push something into you. And you blink the tears away as you break apart, just watching in a locked, unbreakable gaze. Gushing just a little around your fingers in a wet, pitiful orgasm.
It almost mocks you.
It does mock you. It’s one lowly wave of pleasure that feels like heaven on earth before it just…stops. Meek, bored pulses around your fingers that you desperately thrust into yourself. You rub your clit harder, trying to chase what’s ripped away.
But it…. It….
Come…to…me….
Movement in the water on screen catches your sniffling attention. The tendrils readjust your bathing suit. They retreat back into the water. A hand comes to the surface. A human-like hand covered in dark, black, glittering scales. It cups the side of your cheek, and there’s a face. Amongst the darkness in the abyss. Black, glowing eyes look at you.
Come to me.
It retreats.
The vines retreat.
You kneel there for forty-eight minutes as your body twitches and leaks whatever it left in you.
Then, finally, you come back to yourself. Hauling the water-worn, rusted-locked box out of the water. Like nothing happened. Like you aren’t leaking down onto the dock through your suit as you hold the box up to the camera. And you pack everything up like normal. You turn the camera off with a wide grin, holding it up off the tripod, the pool in the back framing you from a high angle.
Eyes look back at you over your shoulder from the depths.
You’re looking back at you fingering yourself in the reflection of your computer screen when the capture cuts. Trying to get more. Trying to chase another orgasm that won’t come.
Come to me…. Now….
You pant. Huff. Go limp, staring at your laptop.
With a wet squelch, you pull your fingers out.
Come to me.
You pull your shorts on without fixing your underwear. You pull your shirt on without a bra underneath. Come to me. Now. You slip into sandals and leave everything behind, staggering out of your room. Down the hallway. Down the stairs. The sun has barely risen when you pass runners on the beach and the early swimmers out in the ocean.
Come.
You crawl over the rocks.
Come….
You find the cave.
Come.
You stagger down the incline.
Come…. Come now.
You pull your clothes off while you walk the length of the dock.
Come. Take my kin.
You stare at the black eyes waiting for you in the dark water. Dark hair pools out where they let their head peek out of the water just a little. Black scales line pale white skin at their temples and down over the tops of their cheeks.
You climb partway down into the water, but you’re stopped hanging off the end of the dock. Legs spread wide and held in place as seaweed climbs out instantly. You’re latched to the end there, hanging, spread over the tops of the board with your arms out far from your head. Your ankles are bound to the posts of the dock. Water goes up right underneath your bottom, gently kissing your ass when it ripples and waves.
Tendrils climb.
Just like your dream, they find you.
They fill your mouth, your cunt, your asshole.
They slip underneath you and suck on your nipples. Up to your clit to vibrate and suckle.
The world fades into nothing as your body itches, burns, thrashes in abrupt, milking pleasure. The pearly white secretion drips down your thighs and into the water below.
Mine….
The deep voice echoes in your head.
Been waiting…so long…to breed….
Pleasure ravishes. It blinds. It tears through you with deep, hard, stretching thrusts. There’s no telling what’s happening; what’s inside of you. You just feel. Shudder. Cum. Squirting and shaking, sobbing as it falls over you in long waves. Long, rich, endless waves that raw your throat before more sweet substance slips down it.
Mine…forever.
Will not let…this one…get away.
Cold, rough, scaly fingers skate over your thighs underneath the water. Cold breaths brush against your ass. A chill seeps in at the base of your spine where fangs nip what unmistakably is a kiss right there. But it fades the second another orgasm throws itself at you, and you fall into the warm, dark, drowning abyss.
Tag(s)/Warning(s): non-con, kidnapping, aphrodisiac saliva, hypnotism, oral sex, fem siren, afab reader, unedited, abrupt end
The song was incredibly enchanting, it enraptured your mind and shackled your body, leaving you but a husk of your humanity. Its voice rolled with the rolling waves, melding with the music of the sea, luring you into its cold yet comforting embrace with its sweet symphony.
One second, you were enjoying the sun with your friends, the next, you were caught in its snare. A being so beautiful, you couldn't help but let yourself be caught. You remember its arms wrapping around you before dragging you into the ocean's icy waters with a wickedly enthralling grin.
When you came to, you were in a cave surrounded by gold and jewelry, stripped of your clothes and left shivering. You tried to cover what was left of your dignity with your hands, trying to piece together how exactly you had gotten here, that siren song echoing hauntingly in your mind.
There was a pool of water before you; you could see something rippling under it, panic and fear buzzing in your lungs. You back away from it, sinking further into the bed of treasure with shaky breaths.
You almost let out a scream when it popped out of the water, staring at you with those eyes—black sclera and white irises. It slowly swam to the edge, lifting itself onto the rocky floor with a sharp-toothed smile.
It had a feminine appearance, with long, wavy hair colored a teal hue, and skin a dark blue; its tail transitioned from dark blue to dark gray, and glowing patterns decorated it. Not one of your best moments, but your gaze did briefly (not briefly) drop to its breasts, wondering how they managed to sit so nicely. Its appearance is almost ethereal.
Those thoughts quickly disappeared when it began to fucking crawl towards you. You scrambled back, but its webbed hand latched onto your leg, yanking you back to it. You struggled, trying to kick it off.
You froze, all fight leaving you when its siren song reached your ears once more, unfiltered by rolling waves or whistling winds, easing you into pliancy and enchantment.
All you could do was stare into its captivating eyes, wondering how you could ever push such a beautiful being away, its touch sending a shiver down your spine. Its touch slid up your thigh, beckoning you to surrender, and how could you resist?
Its face neared yours before capturing your lips in a rough kiss—sharp, messy, barbaric, wonderfully suffocating—completely uncaring of how its teeth broke your skin, blood a delightful surprise for it.
The siren pulled away, merciful in letting you catch your breath before spitting a dark substance into your awaiting tongue, which you swallowed without complaint.
You started to burn all over, your pretty cunt becoming especially needy. Your blood roared, the freezing chill of a cave now an afterthought to this want raging through you.
It swirled its long black tongue around your perked nipples, sucking and slobbering over your pretty tits. You gasped, arching into its touch, eagerly spreading your legs with no resistance as it pushed your thighs apart.
You’re absolutely soaked, pussy wet and dripping as it trails down to your throbbing cunt, giving a drawn-out lick along your slit. It’s almost embarrassing how heavenly that single touch feels, how it has you so utterly desperate that you whine for it just to do it, to oh please oh please just fuck you with its tongue instead of teasing you. Pleading how much you want it—how you need it.
Its grin turned sharper, hair cascading past its shoulders as it looked at you with cruel enjoyment, finding it so cute how you beg with its saliva in your system. It takes it slow, unbearably so, taking its time tasting your juices and tracing your clit with its tongue.
You roll your hips, trying to gain some more friction as it savoured the sweet, filthy noises pouring from your lips. It presses your knees to your chest, gaining more access before delving in.
The feeling of its long, thick tongue entering your cunt has you gasping from the sensation. You could only grab onto the coins of gold and jewels of treasure beneath you, clinking and clamoring together. Its tongue ventures deeper, stretching you open deliciously, twisting and wiggling inside you.
Perhaps it’s its saliva amplying your pleasure, but the way it feels as it rubs against your silken walls is nothing short of pure ecstasy, better than any human cock.
Your hand makes its way between your thighs, playing with your puffy clit as it fucks you with its tongue. Its claws dig into your skin, and a growl akin to a purr rumbles in its throat as it continues to feast on your drooling cunt.
The pleasure pulls you higher and higher as the creature worms and pumps its lengthy tongue into you, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.
Your filthy noises turn into strangled cries, echoing in the cave as you're pulled taut and snap—bursting in utter bliss, vision wavering and fading as you ride it out. Your release comes in the form of a stream, liquid squirting onto the Siren’s face.
You pant, trying to recover somewhat, realizing you just squirted for the first time. The Siren is, in one word, stunned—unaware humans could do such a thing.
You watch the creature pause before breaking into a proud and delighted smile, licking your release with an almost enamored look. That look should worry you, an obsession taking form right before your eyes; however, you haven’t any brain cells left to care.
