Thinking about Simon trying Tinder for the first time but it’s not what he expected. He signed up without telling anyone because if he had uttered a word about it, you already know Johnny or Kyle is going to snoop through his phone to look at his profile.
But Simon being Simon, he doesn’t know how to present himself in a good light. His photos were bad; he took two selfies as he created his profile and they were not good to say the least. One was a mirror photo of him holding his tiny phone with both of his hands as he stoically stared into the mirror. The other was just a selfie of him except it wasn’t angled high or even remotely attractive. It was angled down as if he was taking some sort of quick snap.
The only thing saving his profile was a photo of Riley wearing a vest and goggles.
His bio was the worst of them all.
“I like working out. I have a busy job.”
That was it.
No personality, no indication that he wanted more than just a quickie.
Simon wasn’t expecting much out of the app and he was right because the next day, he opened up the app to find no matches.
Got the man thinking that he really was ugly.
It ruined his self esteem a little if he said so himself. Simon didn’t care about what other people thought but gosh, not even one person wanted to match with him?
…. And then he learned that he also had to swipe to get matches.
So on Simon’s off day, he practically spent half of the day swiping through people. He was picky, believe it or not.
Boring bio? Bye.
Too much filters or AI? Bye.
Too corny? Bye.
Clearly only looking for a one night stand? Bye.
Kind of hypocritical considering his profile looks like he only spent five minutes creating (which he did).
Just when Simon was about to give up on his love life for good, the last profile he stopped on was yours. Simple, nice photos, interesting bio and funny prompts. He hesitated— not because he wanted to skip, but in fear of rejection. Because if he swiped right and there was no “it’s a match!”, he’d probably wonder if he’ll ever find the love of his life.
His thumb hovered over the middle of his phone before he pressed down and swiped right.
It’s a match!
His phone lit up with the two profiles and underneath was his chance to send a message first.
Fuck. He didn’t know what to say. Should he try to be funny? Or start it off with a simple hey?
Simon began typing, deleting, typing and deleting the same message for the next two minutes before finally settling with a: “Hi. How are y”
He typed too fast that he didn’t even finish his sentence before he pressed sent.
This was very funny in my head, but the presentation is lacking. I still hope you like it, because I wasted six minutes of my free time on it. Then I ran out of space on the paper and didn't care to continue. This is also the first thing I have drawn in literally two years. It was fun, I should draw more often to catch up 🖍 Regardless I think I quite accurately represented the horror that is men taking selfies
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY // orc!simon, human!reader, f!reader, curvy!reader, fantasy!au, awkward simon, protective simon, mention of an injury, fluff
part 1, part 2
He was not usually this clumsy. Simon was different from the rest of the Orcs in his unsociability and composure. He did not sung along the local songs at gatherings and celebrations, did not shout during feasts, idle successful hunting, did not grumble at an ill-made bed.
He was collected. Having lived alone for many years, he has built a comfortable for himself routine. In the mornings, he immediately went out to the nearest stream, where he washed and fished for breakfast. In the afternoon, he returned from hunting and peeled the furs from the prey, leaving them to dry while the meat was cooked in a cauldron. In the evening, he lit a fire and heard the singing of birds and the distant voices of the villagers, until his eyes were so tired that they would not close and he would fall asleep.
But you changed everything.
Your arrival at his place has changed everything.
It was not even a fall. His arm snapped and he flew down, knocking his left arm against the hard bark of a tree trunk before his feet touched the ground. In his clean hand, healthy from deep scratches and skinned skin, there was something for which he climbed the tree – a purple flower.
He finished the first part of courting – for three days he brought you food caught by his hands. Now came the next part. Gifts made by his hands.
When Simon entered the hut, you were standing by the fire, stirring something in the cauldron. When did you fill it with water? How did you manage to lift something so heavy?
You immediately squeaked, rushing to him, your palms covering his injured arm, examining the damage. Simon hissed when you touched the border of damaged skin and healthy skin with your finger. The wound was complicated by its large area, and your brows furrowed.
Emotions. Your emotions were something that Simon paid a lot of attention to. You were a human being, a different being, you had different habits, you were afraid not by blindness, but when you really felt scared, you smiled when something really pleased you and thanked when you really thought that what you did made you happy.
But now, looking at his hand, he saw the anger on your face. Anger. It was new.
“What happened?
“I picking a flower.”
“A flower?”
He held out his good hand, and in his palm lay a crown, awkwardly intertwined, with dandelion trunks sticking out. Woven from the long trunks of wildflowers and decorated with a large purple flower bud that grew only on top of large gray trees and bloomed once a season.
It was a gift for you. A gift he made with his own hands. For you.
“Sit.” You ignored him and pulled him down on the bed.
Simon watched, confused, as you rummaged around the hut, picking off the tops of vegetables and finding his small reserves of salt. When you leaned out of the window, he jumped up, but you immediately stopped him with your outstretched palm, and he plopped back down on the hay.
He made you a present. Brought you what he tried so hard to get with his own hands, and you barely glanced at the wreath as you ran around the hut until you sat down next to him.
“You do not have a mortar...”
“I make you one.”
“Not now.”
You cut the herbs into small pieces, mixed them with salt, and squeezed the juice from the wildflowers growing right under the windows. When the resulting mixture touched his wound, he jerked, growling, but you put your other hand on his forearm, forcing him to sit still.
“Shoukd have thought of that before climbing tall trees.”
All Simon wanted to do was give you a gift, and in return he got a pouting face and a stinging mixture. However, he stopped twitching and sat still while you applied a thin layer of the mixture to the entire area of his wound, and then covered it with a dry, thin cloth. He looked at your face as you concentrated on placing the crushed leaves on his flesh, and then carefully wrapped the wound with a cloth, fixing it so that nothing would come undone.
Simon could not take his eyes off your face as your hands fumbled over it. It was the first time you were so close, the first time since he led you by the hand away from the wooden cage at the edge of the village to his hut. And if you were trembling with fear then, now you were just muttering something to yourself, scolding his carelessness and neatness.
He stayed inside the hut that night, and you put aside some hay and gave him some furs to make a separate bed.
And he fell asleep faster, seeing how the wreath was on your head, the purple flower sitting beautifully set off your hair.
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY // orc!simon, human!reader, f!reader, curvy!reader, fantasy au, simon being not really talkative, reader being helluva scared and confused, orcish courting
part 1
The cabin he lived in was not the one you were used to. The room you shared with another girl, also a healer, had a warm knitted blanket, a fireplace lined with bricks, and a wide window with a glass insert.
Here, where this big Orc led you, you found a pile of hay instead of a bed, on top of which furs were thrown. Instead of a neat fireplace, there were traces of a bonfire burning right in the middle of the hut. There was no glass, just a cloth that served as a curtain. But it was still better than the night you spent outside, curled up on the ground, trying to keep warm with the warmth of your own body.
When he growled, reaching over your shoulder, you immediately flinched, preparing for him to grab you or hit you. But instead, he handed you a piece of what looked like soap.
“I not hurt you.”
“You speak my language.” You opened your eyes in surprise, turning to face him.
Until now, you have only heard Orcish speech, wondering what everyone was talking about, what fate they predicted for you, and who they thought you were.
Humans and Orcs have never been fraternal people. Outwardly, they were so different, they were afraid of each other, and fear caused hatred, which no one intended to hide.
It was no secret that humans raided Orc settlements, trying to kill the giants, accusing them of taking all the good cattle and occupying the fields of fertile lands. The Orcs defended themselves, and although they never attacked human settlements, they were vigilant about crossing borders, and did not tolerate humans on their lands, holding them hostage so that human leaders would agree not to attack them.
That was why learning each other's languages was such a controversial moment in the interaction of these two peoples. Some considered the latter to be barbarians, while others thought of the former as witches and invaders.
But this tall Orc with gray skin knew the human language.
He handed you a bar of soap, and you slowly took it. He nodded, and then, taking the big cauldron in his big palm, nodded towards the wooden barrel.
“I get some water. You dirty.”
And when you washed yourself, scraping off the traces of dirt and fallen leaves, he stayed outside without disturbing your space. And he slept outside that night, too, leaving a makeshift bed to you. You resisted for several hours, your instincts screamed at you to be on your guard, not to trust this giant, who could pull you out at any second and take you back to the elders.
But you still fell asleep, unable to resist the fatigue that enveloped your body. And when you woke up, you found a piece of bread and vegetable stew near the fire. The food your stomach craved.
***
When he brought the first dead hare, you jumped in surprise when the carcass fell in front of your feet. This was the first time you have seen a creature that should still be alive, already dead, although it looked alright, not a single wound on its fur.
Simon, he told you his name that first night, just looked at you expectantly. But when you just cringed, looking at the hare as if he should jump out of the hut and disappear into the forest, located very close, he moved.
He growled something under his breath, and then crouched down, starting to peel the skin off the prey. He gently cut the meat into pieces and threw them into the cauldron, which was always filled with water. The meat was cooked quickly, and after putting the pieces in a wooden bowl, he handed it to you.
The pieces were juicy. Not overcooked, but too bland.
Simon kept his eyes on you, waiting, and after chewing and swallowing, you said it anyway.
“Thank you.”
“Good?”
“Good.” You nodded.
He nodded in response, finally laying out a few pieces for himself.
You had no idea what that meant. But those three days, during which he brought you freshly caught loot, were the very beginning of courting.
Three days when you give your potential mate the prey you caught with your own hands. To show that you can provide them with food.
And the next stage was already approaching its beginning.
Line cook!Simon who's been sweet on you lately, always making sure to get your tables tickets out as fast as possible, and managing to sneak you a snack during your shifts.
He always brushes it off, shrugging about it when you ask, 'was tryin' somethin' new ou', luv, tell me f'its good, yeah?', knowing he would never let you eat anything less than delicious. Regardless, hes always eagerly watching for your approval, wanting to see that stupid smile on your face as you gush about his work.
Waitress!Reader whos saved plenty of money on meals, because even with your employee discount, appetisers and sides cost a fair bit of money when it adds up over the week. Not that it mattered anymore, Simon was always using his cooks discount to get you main meals, 'no' gonna le' 'is luvie, go hungry, will 'e?'
Head chef!Price who cocks a brow every time SImon does it, but never pries. Game is game, after all.
Simon who always makes sure to give you a lift home, even when you finish earlier than him, using his break to do so. He also manages to learn that your crappy studio flat is in the bad part of town...
Line cook!Simon who is quick to suggest you moving in with him. He lives close to your uni, you'd save money on rent, and be able to travel to work together most days.
You're quick to agree, it sounding like a dream to not worry about rent or transport and to live with your friend who's been so sweet to you!
Now he just has to figure out how to ask you out and address your lack of self preservation, because really luv, youd only known him a few months...
A/n: wait guys I might lowkey be onto something, let me cook up my idea 🫰
ALSO, if there are any specific posts of mine that you want a part 2 for, let me know cause im struggling to decide ("-ࡇ-)
it was risky, you knew, but something about him just enthralled you. sitting at the other end of the bar on a saturday night, you spotted a big brute of a man dwarfing a glass of amber liquid. with a mask pulled up onto his crooked nose, it exposed the scarred skin of his chin and jaw, and chapped, rough lips. something about the way his dark eyes scanned the room made your thighs quiver and your belly ache.
simon didn't look your way to know your eyes were on him, burning into the skin of his lower face and thick neck that bobbed with every sip of alcohol. you were a curious little bunny that couldn't help but be captivated by his wolfish appearance, and it was going to get you bitten.
you were sad when the man didn't look your way. he appeared alone and refused to pay mind to anyone except the bartender. you wondered how long he'd linger as the bar started emptying old customers and flooding with new ones. the population never staggered, and in fact, only increased with happy hour. how long was the man going to sit in that very seat?
it was hard for him not to look your way, the knowledge that your attention kept returning to him gnawing at his brain until he couldn't help a glance when he was sure your gaze was fixed elsewhere. god, you were so pretty and completely oblivious to the fact he'd been shadowing you for months, but he'd caught your attention now. how long was it going to take for you to bite?
you weren't sure how much time had passed, but the man downed his drink, left a large bill on the bar, got up and left without a word. this was your charge. mirroring his actions with your own, smaller bill, you left with a fleeting glance to the patrons around you. you didn't dare risk losing sight of your newfound interest, but he wasn't hard to lose.
simon heard you stumble out the door behind him. you were clumsy, didn't bother hiding the loud clacks of your heels against the pavement, but he didn't give away that he knew. he played along, had to make sure his prey felt in control when in reality, he was the one twisting you like the puppet you were. he tugged on his helmet, flung a leg over his sports bike and turned it on. the question was, did he want to lose you, or give you what you wanted?
seeing him wrap his thick thighs around the gas tank only caused the throb in your pussy to intensify, his sharp, dark eyes that lured you in hidden behind the visor. you went to your own car, turning it on in time just as he pulled out of the parking lot. naturally, you followed, keeping what you thought was a non suspicious amount of distance between him and you.
but simon noticed. he had a keen eye when it came to you, and he laughed underneath his helmet that his little rabbit was the one chasing him, not the other way around. regardless, he led you through winding streets and back roads until he can to a stop in front of an isolated cabin. if his bunny had any brain, you'd have realized he led you to the middle of nowhere.
but when you were tunnel visioned on the object of your desire, you lost sight of everything else. you wanted him, or at least to watch him to see what he got up to. an interesting looking man had to have a life that reflected that, right? you parked your car just down the street when you noticed he took a turn into a driveway far between others.
he swiftly turned off the bike, leaving his helmet on for protection—thats what he told himself, but little old you couldn't harm him if you tried. you were a little bunny compared to him. he hid around the side of his house, near one of the big windows that would tempt you to look inside. he was grateful he had remote control lights.
you crept with what felt like light feet, noticing the lights had been switched on. now where was he? you snuck up to that same window he knew you would peer into, standing on your tiptoes and hands curling around the windowsill for one peek.
but a scream fell silent on your lips when a hand tugged your waist into a hard, warm chest with another on your mouth. heavy breaths moved against your back with a shocking hardness pressed to your ass.
Unless you are writing a poly 141 fic or the fic is specifically about Gaz—
STOP FILLING GAZ’S TAGS WITH YOUR BS.
I could write a fvcking essay about how using the singular black characters tag to promote your fic about Simon or anyone else in the 141 (anyone who’s not fvcking gaz) is a MACRO aggression. Y’all already don’t gaf about him so have some fvcking decency for the ppl who DO want to read his fics.
A/N: I'm doing a little something I don't often do, and writing a request I literally just got today 😅 It's such a good one I couldn't help myself.
Fun fact, when investigating the cause of stomach ulcers, Doctors Barry Marshall and Robin Warren were faced with a conundrum: they couldn't enlist a test subject for the experiment that would prove their hypothesis as they believed they would be causing active harm to the volunteers. To get around this sticky ethical wicket, Dr. Marshall decided he'd be the guinea pig
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You stood in a dressing gown in front of the chamber door. You pulled the flannel material around yourself a little tighter, you were on first name terms with the men and women around you, some measuring your vital signs, some monitoring the conditions inside the test chamber. On the other side of that airlock was a carefully calibrated environment, as close as possible to the environment where the entity within was found. There were certain peculiarities about its genome that needed to be answered for. That's why you're standing here.
You couldn't get a volunteer for this. You'd seen what this thing did to a rat, no ethics board in the world would let you subject a human to that. Luckily, you had a can-do attitude, a willingness to put your life on the line for science, and, though your colleagues wouldn't hear it from you, a bit of a kink.
“You sure about this, Doc?” One of the lab techs stood with you by the airlock door was looking at you. You didn't remember his name, he'd transferred from a different department recently. You figured you'd learn it afterwards, no point stressing about it now.
“I'll be fine. If I wasn't going to be fine, I wouldn't be here.” Your words were full of determination, even as other colleagues silently echoed his concerns. Still, nobody wanted to have to scrub the test. The only way you could do this was for one of you to do it. Nobody could do much as ask someone to do this. It's only possible because you said you'd do it, without prompting, without even asking if you were allowed to volunteer. You wrote the experiment, and named yourself explicitly as the testbed. Everyone in here knew the stakes.
As if to illustrate your point, you dropped the dressing gown. The men in the room stiffened up, you imagine in more ways than one. The effects of textiles on it wasn't in the remit of the test, so you were going without. That means not wearing even a single stitch while you were in there.
“Containment status is green across the board.”
“We've got the baseline of your vitals, ready when you are”
You helped the blushing technician remove EKG probes from your skin, peeling off the gentle adhesive and letting them fall to the floor. They were everywhere, several attached to your breasts, a few on your neck, a few more on your belly and your back. Every inch of you had been logged for a baseline. You'd even had ultrasound scans taken to get imagery of your organs.
At long last, you were ready. Hair down, tits out, butterflies in your stomach. You nodded at the man at the airlock. He spun the wheel, opening the outer door. You stepped inside. The airlock cycled.
You were inside the rest chamber now. The entity likes it cold, and damp. You shivered, climate control kept the room at a balmy four Celsius at 95% humidity. A slick layer of cold water covered every surface, nothing in here was dry. A pallor of mist hung over the room, you knew the thermal cameras could see you, a beacon of endothermic clarity in a soup of cold vapour. Water clung to you, the mist sticking to your exposed skin. You shivered, the cold cutting into your body, you couldn’t stay long, so you had to make sure you got this right. You stepped forwards.
The environment here was set to mimic a forest in Northern Europe, cold and wet, mosses and lichens covering an uneven floor of limestones and humus. Dull light filtered from above, designed to mimic the sun filtering through a thick, even layer of clouds. The time was set to mid-afternoon, the light levels you’d expect an hour or so before dusk on a winter’s day. You had noticed that as a good medium between being dark enough to encourage activity in the subject, and bright enough for you to not twist an ankle and need rescue. Everything was controlled for. You hadn’t even showered today, just to try and make sure there weren’t any residues clinging to you. One shot meant one shot.
You heard motion nearby, just to your right. You knew what it was, but also knew to keep your cool. It had been fed recently, a sheep carcass stripped to the bone. It even etched the bones. In theory this beastie was a scavenger, the perfect decomposer. Throw in any and all detritus, then simply watch it dissolve. Only problem is, there’s only one of it. You’d never found another, and any cuttings you took to try and grow another never lasted long.
You mused on these thoughts as you sat down. Hopefully acting unaware would spur it into motion. You looked up at the viewing gantry, a strip of windows in the simulated sky. You held your arms up, fingertips touching, a great halo to indicate OK. You weren’t OK, you were cold, wet, and shivering, but if you let them know they’d turn up the lights and scrub the test. Couldn’t have that.
More movement. Right behind you. It had your scent. Maybe it caught a whiff of you when you signalled up above? Maybe it always knew you were in its domain, it was just waiting to see what you’d do. Either way, you could sense it looming behind you. Until it stopped just looming.
The mass of it shocked you, as did the cold. It flowed around your body, covering your skin. The entity was an organism made of living fluid, your best estimates were that the semi-solid core at the centre was what gave it animation, everything around that was simply an oversized gastric system. Now, closer up than any human had come to it, you felt like you might be right. The core floated in the greenish-half light, you reached out to it, hand passing slowly through the fluidic mass. You cradled the dark splotch in your grasp, feeling the slight warmth of it against your fingers.
The moment you touched its core, the creature’s demeanour changed. You could feel it. It was moving with purpose now, not just investigating you. The slime crept in through your nose, filling your mouth in an instant as you coughed against it. It flowed into you, reaching your stomach in moments, then kept going. It was advancing from the other side too. You spread your legs.
You’d lie later in your report, tell them you weren’t expecting this, hoping for it. That you hadn’t had recurring dreams about this precise moment since you first took charge of this project. You knew they’d review the footage though, hopefully they’d see your hand stretching for your crotch as a defensive reflex, rather than noticing how instead of trying to cover your folds, you were holding them open wide, inviting the creature in.
It didn’t take much inviting. It was already finding its way into your body, filling you up. Both your cunt and your ass were full of the slime now, feeling it explore you, sliding through your belly, wriggling upwards, joining in the middle with the tide holding your throat open. It had you threaded like a needle, an unbroken current of ooze passing through the length of your body.
You felt lightheaded. Was it secreting something? Or was it just the lack of air? You choked on it, and it pushed you upwards, exposing your face to the outside, pulling back just far enough to take a panting few breaths, then sinking you back into the mass. Your hand started to move, rubbing your nub as you felt yourself sinking again, the cool mass enveloping you again. You couldn’t make a noise, your throat full of throbbing slick, but you could feel your filled nethers starting to clench, the foreshocks of your release coming upon you. Every time you twitched down there, a fresh wave of pressure flowed back in, giving you more and more to squeeze against, until your toes curled and your eyes rolled.
By the time you reached your peak, your ears were ringing, tongue out and eyes crossed, you felt your body convulse, throwing your head backwards as you screamed wordlessly against it.
It took note. You definitely weren’t food. You felt the core sliding over your body, splitting as it went. One became two, then four, eight, sixteen, doubling every few seconds as they slid their languid way over you. You lost count of how many times they split, before they began crowding over your holes. You felt every one slide in, soft, but still more solid than the slime already filling you. Each one stretched you a little, slipping in down your throat, up your ass, inside your cunt, nestling in, stretching you out to make space. In moments, you crested another peak, then another, the sweat wicking away from your skin into the slippery medium covering you.
Then it left.
You lay on the ground, slick with moisture, the residue from the entity. Getting to your feet was difficult, every motion squeezed a few nascent cores from you, landing with muffled splats on the manicured vegetation below. You didn’t stop to mourn a few, not when your belly housed so many more. You reached the airlock, turning the wheel to open it, then another to cycle. That same lab technician draped your gown over you, as you clambered into a waiting gurney.
“We’re proud of you, we really are. You’ve opened up a whole new chapter on the entity’s life cycle. Now get some rest, there’s lots of testing to do”
hello! i would like to request a story about an office worker getting a slime vile for a 'slime bath' and then getting fucked by it.
🪡
Kabr0z Writes episode 197: Bath Time
Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!
Episodes 1-180 are coming to Ao3
CWs: Initial noncon; restraint; slime; Implied overstim; sexual harassment in the workplace
A/N: On the one hand, I'm back to an episode a day. That's lovely. On the other hand, this one was finished at 01:39 so that's less lovely.
I know I don't have anyone else to blame, but it's still a whole thing.
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You hate your job. You've somehow managed to land a position where your entire role and responsibility is trying to herd the stupidest motherfuckers in the world away from the precipice of making the stupidest possible decision possible multiple times a day. People praise the CEO for all the success and growth, every new milestone, every met SLA, every report showing KPIs are going up and driving revenues with them. What the reporters and the talking heads don't realise is just how much effort it takes to avoid him making a monumentally stupid decision and sinking the entire ship. Just last month he took to the all-hands and announced that over half of the company were totally superfluous to terms and could be replaced at a moment’s notice. Seemingly without realising how a company of three hundred people might be folded overnight if the mass exodus he was so convinced he could weather through sheer force of idiocy, “commitment” he called it, were to actually happen.
You sighed in your car. Either way, it's another day down. Just thirty five more years of this daily shitshow and you'd be able to retire. Hopefully. If you hadn't strangled him already. Or he'd do something insane like tease another round of “synergistic optimisations” which torpedo team morale for several weeks just so he can deliver a meeting that should have been an email.
And that was just your boss. Add on the daily grind of trying to manage a dozen or so nepo babies who call themselves your colleagues? You might as well bring in a selection of board games and tell them to have at it. At least the ping pong table in the break room keeps them out of trouble.
Your head hit the steering wheel, you gazed down at your lap, willing yourself to sit back up and turn on the ignition. The sooner you're gone, the sooner you're home. Then you can have a hot bath, and get in your fluffy dressing gown. That thought gave you just enough strength to lift your gaze.
A box sat on your car bonnet. It was small, a few inches on each side, a neat bow on top. When you got out to move it, you spotted a label. It was addressed to you, “for all your hard work” - it wasn't signed, nor did you recognise the handwriting, though that's not unusual because who really passes handwritten notes these days? You opened the lid, it was a fist-sized ball of lavender smelling powder, pressed neatly by some industrial process or other, wrapped in cellophane with the brand name emblazoned in a repeating pattern across it. You smiled. Finally, someone around here recognises your value here. It's not going to be enough to stop you filling out job applications, but it's enough to clear the stormclouds from your current mood.
The drive home was like any other. The radio playing an inoffensive mix of 80s and 90s pop interspersed with ads for such luxuries as double glazing, and sometimes the overly chirpy voice of the presenter cutting in to remind you that it was indeed a Friday, and thank God for that.
Your house was empty when you got in. Your husband was away for the weekend at a stag party for a friend you didn't know. Perfect opportunity for some you-time. First, the bath, then you’ll get some Chinese in. You've had the itch for some chow mein for days.
The bathwater was the perfect temperature, you'd run it nice and deep, more than enough to cover your whole body as you stood enjoying the warmth radiating off it. It was a struggle not to slip in right away, but you wanted to try out that new fizzer you'd been given. The cellophane slipped off, it was cool in your hand, already reacting slightly as the water clinging to your skin fizzed on its surface. You dropped it in.
It reacted like you'd expect. Purple spreading through the water in a great cloud. The fizzing of the bath salts drove a violent mixing from the ball itself, spread in the glittery water throughout the tub. By the time the broiling stopped, the room was full of a heavy herbal lavender smell. You breathed it in, feeling your shoulders relax a little already. Then you climbed over the rim of the bathtub, submerging yourself into the shimmering liquid. You sighed, the stress washing away in the warm water. You lay there in blessed silence, feeling the warmth suffuse through you. Occasionally, you'd raise an arm to rub at your shoulder or stretch out a particularly stubborn crick, but for the most part you simply lay there and relaxed.
The water was cooling down. You'd been in the bath for maybe an hour and a half? It was definitely starting to get dark outside, so you knew you didn't want to be in much longer. You still needed to shower off the glitter and purple dye.
Slight problem. The water felt… Stiff? It hadn't changed colour, but it was definitely thicker than you remember it being. You tried to pull yourself upright, but it resisted. When you just moved your hands, it was fine, same if all you were doing was kicking your legs, but as soon as you tried to stand up and get out of the water, it stopped you.
You couldn't get out. What if you tried to drain the bath?
The plug was by your toes, under the tap. One deft tug of the chain with your foot, and presto! It came free!
Ah. Another problem.
You couldn't hear the bath emptying. You couldn't feel it either. Whatever was making the water stay put around you when you tried to stand wasn't letting it drain out of the bath. Next was to try the tap. Maybe you'd be able to dilute whatever was causing the problem? Your foot fumbled with the handle, opening the valve and sending a jet of cold water into the slime. It pooled on top, refusing to mix with the purple, until a well opened up, channeling the stream down the drain.
Well fuck. That's definitely not good. Your phone was set on top of your clothes, in a neat pile a few feet away. There's no way you'd be able to reach that, not stuck as you are.
You sat. The slime was body-temperature, not getting any colder now, but still not warm. You watched as a tendril slid up, turning off the tap. Silence fell again.
Slowly, you became aware of it prodding at you. Gently at first, then more insistent. It probed up and down your body, testing the resistance of your skin, sliding its attention up and down you, searching for something. Until it found it.
You thrashed in the water as the pressure intensified over your cunt. It was still stopping you from getting out, you couldn't even splash it around, your arms moved through it as easily as water, but as soon as the surface tension would break, it snapped back, catching you in its clutches.
The pressure increased, forming itself into a thrusting mass. You whined as it tried to enter you, pushing your legs together to no avail as the formless ooze gained substance to resist you. You tried one last time to cover yourself, clamping a hand over your entrance to curtail the attempt. It didn't work. The ooze simply flowed between your fingers, solidifying on the other side.
It pushed inside. You couldn't tell if you were wet for it, or if it had just brought its own moisture with it. The purple slime filled you, reaching every spot, then resumed its inexorable pressure, testing the walls, pressing gently, then not so gently.
It was learning. It had to be. It never pushed on the same spot in the same way twice, each time pausing for your reaction. It was finding what made you gasp, looking for the best ways to drive you wild.
You couldn't help yourself. It had been so long since a lover had explored you like this, taking as long as it needed to find the best spots to make you gasp, to make you moan with abandon. You'd stopped trying to resist, legs spread wide as you tried to indicate to something that you weren't sure if it could hear.
It got the message, before long the pressure within was accompanied by pressure without. Your body twitched as it applied a gentle suction to your clit, massaging itself into your g-spot as it did. A thin length entered your ass, growing and spreading out, rubbing against the mass in your cunt.
Different textures, speeds, depths, focused stimulation or widespread application of size. It tried them all, learning what you responded to, how you ticked.
By the time it was done, it was pitch black outside. You didn't care. You could get a takeaway any day, and right now you couldn't move without your legs quivering. A fair trade. It released you, spotlessly clean, lurking in your bathtub. You weren't sure how you'd explain to your husband about your new pet, but you'd find a way.
You picked up the phone to check how long you'd been. You smiled, all that and still enough time to order dinner
i just got the "see where your blood has gone!" email from giving blood but it glitched and just showed me my current location. which. theyre not wrong. that is where most of my blood is
for those unaware today india experienced one of its biggest protests in half a decade. there were protests all over the nation for various causes but the major one was in delhi. all we asked for was the resignation of the education minister because he's failed the students of this nation time & time again. but we were met with brutality, the police had barricaded the main site of protest (jantar mantar). metro stations were shutdown, the public was restrained from reaching the protest site and all the adjoining areas had signal jammers to make sure the crowd had no access to constant updates. they had us blocked from all the sides. they were lathi (baton) charging students from one side & releasing tear gas from the other. you couldn't walk 100 m on streets without having a tear gas shell thrown at you. there were many students, women & kids bleeding — some from their head. some couldn't walk anymore. the police had removed their nameplates & acted with full impunity to resort to unprecedented levels of violence. they were pelting stones at us, beating up people for no reason, forcefully detaining them and attacking us constantly with tear gas & rubber bullets. they wouldn't let you exit either. the crowd was peaceful & looking out for each other yet they were met with violence. i made a friend who was all alone & she asked to join me & my friend because a policeman wouldn't leave her alone. he constantly prodded her for personal info, invited her back to the jeep saying they have food there, wouldn't stop following her around. you couldn't call or ask anyone for help, we were left to fend for ourselves & be on a constant lookout if you did not want to be beaten up to death by police. all for what? asking a resignation? shame on this country.
