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fluffysucker · 4 months

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Bad Things

Bucky Barnes x Reader

TW: Violence. Fighting. Brief mention of torture. Steve is alive and well.

The only way out was to awake them. And you did.

A/n: Heavily influenced by oxytocin by Billie Eilish. No like you will find lyrics throughout. Listen to it while reading, please.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Main Masterlist

You were sure that if you weren't driving the motorcycle, your legs would be bouncing, your hands would be shaking, and your palms would be sweating. But you were focusing on the road ahead despite feeling like you were driving on autopilot. You may not look like it, but you were a mess. Internally, at least. Anxity from the plan, danger of the situation, horrors from flashbacks, and uncertainty of the results. You were bitting your lips that you were close to feeling the metallic-tasting liquid on your tongue.

The darkness that grew, the further you got close to the agreed upon location, wasn't helping either. For someone who did this for a lifetime, you were spiraling. You wished you could cancel everything and come up with something different, but you couldn't.

Can't take it back once it's been set in motion.

You started to regulate your breath, take control of your mind, and keep your heartbeats in check once you saw the warehouse. It was now. There was no going back.

You stopped the motorcycle abruptly, causing the sand and dust around you to fly away. You took one last breath before taking the helmet out.

You got up and steadied your posture. The suit was never comfortable on your skin. Today, you felt like it was crawling on your skin, trying to devour you. You hid the suffocating feeling and put the act into action.

If you only pray on Sunday,

Could you come my way on Monday?

Confidence and peril were displayed. A strenuous look on your face. You were back in her.

"I thought you weren't coming." His voice annoyed you so much that you wanted to cut his throat open.

"I gave you a word, didn't I?" You came to a stop with enough distance between you and him. Even your voice was different in your ears.

"It's not like you had many choices." His laugh sent shivers through your body that you were able to hide.

"I always believed in your intelligence, moon." You pulled your hands into fists to stop any visible reaction from coming out of you.

The name was only associated with corruption and cruelty. Something the man in front of you strived for.

"With both of your capabilities, we will go back to the top of the world." The evil smile was more telling of his intentions than his disturbing words.

With the mere mention of him, you felt the air get thicker, the wind blowing harder, the stars dimming their lights, and the rocks and pebbles shaking on the floor.

He was here.

"Great. We didn't have to wait long for him." The man almost clapped in excitement.

In the sea of the darkness of the night and the void you were in, he appeared. His black suit made him almost unseen in the darkness of the night. But his heavy footsteps made him known.

The golden in his arm reflecting the light of the stars and the mask covering all his face except the eyes were making him even more fearful.

In person, he was much more terrifying than the stories and myths.

However, the crazy man didn't think so.

"Would you look at that?" He said once that the two of you were standing next to each other. You wanted to hold his hand, seeking any sort of comfort and reassurance, but you knew it would blow out your act.

"The Winter Soldier and Wicked Moon. Together and back at their home."

Dugal, the man speaking, had been the bane of your existence for some time now. Every mission, every warehouse, every file, and every piece of evidence all trailed back to him.

The manic, who had been obsessed with bringing Hydra back to life,.

With the right allies and calculated steps, he was able to achieve most of his plans in secret, but why show yourself now? Why draw attention to you now?

Because it was time to get Hydra's greatest weapons back.

You and your husband.

You and Sergeant James Barnes

Wicked Moon and The Winter Soldier.

You and Bucky shared the same life. Kidnapped by Hydra, injected with the serum, erased and brainwashed, trained to maximum efficiency. You reached levels of skills that were unmatched.

Despite the different start, you and Bucky were the faces of the same coin.

You were taken a bit after Bucky. Hydra had the goal of making both of you into its lethal duo. Unbeatable and unpredictable. You and Bucky became the ghost story for decades. Never once seen or traced.

You were a myth that terrified all.

And for decades, you spent all your days with Bucky, or who you called soldier at a time, because you didn't know his real name. Nor did he know yours, and he called you Moon.

You shared a cell. You trained together. You were sent on missions together. You were tortured together. You were used to each other's screams and pains. You were the same person in many ways.

While Hydra was blinded and happy with your success rate and obedience, they failed to notice the deep connection that was forming between the two of you.

The comfort you found in each other. The conversations without words. The accustomedness. The long eye contact and gaze The gentle touches that only you provided each other with. The worry and panic if one went on solo missions.

You understood each other. You trusted each other. You empathized with each other. You prayed for each other's freedom.

You loved each other.

So, looking at Bucky with questioning and worried eyes above Steve Roger's unconscious body after you disobeyed the direct orders of eliminating Steve and following Bucky to save him from death by drowning, Bucky knew he could never leave you. He took your hand and ran away.

Other people wouldn't stay

Other people don't obey

You and me are both the same

You should really run away

It was a long and bumpy road. Gaining back your memories and learning how to live. But you held each other's hands. And in the face of all the hardships, you stood together.

You fought it all until you finally settled into your shared apartment in Brooklyn. Almost ten years after escaping Hydra.

You thought life was finally good. You knew who you were. You got back your identities. You were healing bit by bit. You finished therapy and were officially pardoned. You were allowed on missions, but more importantly, you were allowed to turn down missions. A luxury you and Bucky never had.

You were so happy for Bucky, who got to have his bestfriend back, Steve, and make a new one, Sam. You were happy that one of you could have someone, especially after finding out that you had nobody, which made you the perfect target for Hydra in the first place.

But being the good people they were, Steve and Sam instantly took you in like family. They could easily tell how much you meant to Bucky. Even from the first day. Whether on the bridge or in Bucharest, The uncontrolled urge to protect you despite being perfectly capable of looking after yourself. The care and admiration in his eyes whenever you were around or your name was mentioned. All and more signs that exposed Bucky's feelings for you.

They were more than happy when Bucky told them that you got married on the very long, overdue vacation that you went on.

You were everything to Bucky's. His love. His life. His rescue. His salvation. You were his reason to keep going.

While he felt bad that you had to go through the tough life you had, he couldn't imagine how his life would have looked if he had never met you.

So when the danger of Hydra taking you away from him arose with Dugal's appearance, Bucky almost lost his mind.

Dugal seemed insistent on taking you and Bucky back. He was destroying places, terrorizing, and hurting innocent people. Dugal heard you were trying to be good people, so he played on your conscience. He was pushing you and Bucky towards this moment. The moment you caved and gave up. The moment you returned to Hydra.

So, with his knife on Cass's neck, you surrendered. You promised to meet him and do whatever he wanted. And you promised to bring Bucky as well. He wanted the both of you.

And you listened.

Here you were. In the suits you thought you would never put on again. Triggering the two people you buried so deeply within. In front of the warehouse of an enemy, you fought for and against your whole lives.

"This is your home. This is your purpose. Not fake heroism. You were made to serve the greater good. To protect and serve Hydra." Dugal's voice made its way to your ears.

"You belong to Hydra. And Hydra only."

'Cause as long as you're still breathing

Don't you even think of leaving

Not gonna wanna look away, look away, look away

You're gonna wanna get involved, involved, involved

And what would people say, people say, people say

If they listen through the wall, the wall, the wall?

You kept the stoic expression on your face, refusing to let him see the effect his words had on you.

The door of the warehouse opened, and walking out of it were Dugal's two trusted men that you saw everywhere with him. Nedward and Alexios. They stopped behind him.

Following them, hundreds of agents came out of the warehouse. They surrounded you and Bucky in seconds. You looked at Dugal, confused.

"I want to make sure you are still the best. I want to know where to pick up from." His smile was wicked and filled with bad intentions.

"Call it a test. A test of Wicked Moon and The Winter Soldier's abilities." His wicked smile wasn't flattering.

You got into a fighting position quickly, not willing to lose this. You felt Bucky take position, too, his back turning to you. You were back-to-back, moving in slow circles, assisting the situation.

And once the first agent threw the punch, it was nonstop.

I can see it clear as day

You don't really need a break

Wanna see what you can take

You should really run away

While the agents largely outnumbered you, they were at a disadvantage. You and Bucky fought like one. You had a never-seen-before fight style. You designed it so that you used each other's strengths to the full and utilized the weaknesses as power points. You used your full bodies in fighting. You were familiar with each other's bodies and movements. You grabbed weapons that were strapped to the other's suit. You twisted around each other to reach as many targets as possible. You trained until you perfected it. No flaws. No mistakes. No room for lacunas.

It didn't take long before the last agent was down on the floor. You felt like it was harder to breathe. There was a ringing noise in your ears. Your hand wanted to start shaking. Tears were rushing to your eyes. You were having a panic attack.

Memories of missions and assignments you did throughout your life It all looked like this. You standing above the fallen, waiting for your destiny to be decided by an evil organization that thought of you as an object of killing.

Dugal's voice gave you a sense of where you were and the situation around you. Quickly, you pushed your emotions inside and regained your focus. A trait you learned from your days at Hydra. Human emotions were never well accepted by Hydra.

You shook your head as you looked at Dugal, who was clapping slowly.

"Excellent. Great job." He moved a bit towards the both of you.

"It seems you haven't changed. Still the best." You succeeded in his test.

"You did cost me all the agents in the base. But we will bring more." Dugal was proud of the two assets.

"So it's only us in here?" You were hoping to get a specific answer.

"Yes. Tomorrow, I will bring agents and recruiters. Also, scientists who know how to treat and handle great weapons like you. This will be Hydra's biggest base." Dugal seemed excited for his plan.

However, once the words left his mouth, chaos erupted everywhere.

Bucky caught the shield in his hand as Sam and Steve landed on the ground and attacked Dugal. You and Bucky moved to Nedward and Alexios. Each taking on one.

Cars and vehicles appeared everywhere, lighting up the deserted place.

This was the plan all along.

No matter how much time passed, Hydra's men would always have something in common. They were arrogant. They had an ego big enough for an entire population. And that made them stupid. That made them vulnerable to mistakes.

You and Bucky knew that more than anyone. So the plan was to trick Dugal with your alliance until he was defenceless. It was risky, but it worked.

You only let go of Alexios once handcuffs were secured around his wrists. Same with Bucky and Nedward. You turned to see Sam and Steve holding Dugal until Torres handcuffed him.

"You think you won?" His words were more direct towards you and Bucky.

"You think you can ever escape this? You think you can be free? You are delusional. Hydra will never die." Dugal continued. Torres handcuffed him, letting Steve through him in one of the more armored cars and strapping him more.

"Cut off one head; two more shall take its place. Hail HYDRA!"

Steve closed the door of the car.

They weren't planning to cut off one head. They were planning to burn down the whole bunch. No mercy. No stopping until they were all gone.

Once his voice was muted and you couldn't see him anymore, you couldn't hold up any longer. You sat on the ground, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to get hold of yourself, trying to reconnect, trying to disassociate from what just happened.

Like you, immediately after the car started to move, Bucky threw the mask off his face, finally breathing. He hated everything about this mask. Trapped like an animal behind it. Deprived of any form of humanity.

He prayed he never had to put on again.

"You okay?" Sam asked his friend, worried about the mental toll this whole act may have had on him.

Despite having his nephews being the ones in danger, Sam was against this plan. He cared about you and Bucky dearly and didn't want to know how stepping back into your assassin personas would hurt your healing. You had come a long way.

While your quick response to save his nephews and willingness to do this for them touched his heart immensely, Sam couldn't help but feel like they should come up with something else.

But both of you insisted, and it worked, but was the cost expensive?

Bucky nodded. They were okay physically, at least.

Bucky turned around to see you still sitting on the sandy ground, face in hand. He knew it wasn't just today, but the whole thing. Hydra still haunted you, messing with your progress. He understood.

Bucky sat on the ground next to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling into him and letting you lay in his laps, both of your legs on the side of his thigh. You nuzzled into his neck, holding his gear in your hand. You wanted to disappear in him.

"It's over. You're fine. You are okay. You are safe." Bucky's voice whispered in your ears, the end of his long hair touching your face and his hands wrapping up your back and waist.

You felt the tension leaving your body a bit by bit, making yourself only focus on Bucky's voice and letting yourself breathe. You knew you were surrounded by people, but you didn't care.

You only cared about Bucky right now.

You moved away from Bucky so you could look at him.

"We are okay. We are safe." You said to Bucky.

Because you cared about Bucky more than you cared about yourself. You loved Bucky more than anything. Bucky was the reason you were still alive. Bucky was your everything.

You wanted him to know that he was okay, too. You both survived this. You weren't back in that cell. You were going to your home.

Being the good-hearted person he was, Bucky always felt responsible for you. Even when he was the Winter Soldier. That's how the spark between you kindled. His instincts to protect you and care for you took a big part of him. And that made you fall deeper in love with him.

But you loved him just as much, if not more. You wanted to protect him from the hell you went through. Because he didn't deserve it. None of it.

The bigger burden of today wasn't the possibility of falling back into your old selves. It was the possibility of losing your partner to Hydra and watching them lose themselves once again.

You both came in with one goal. Protect each other to death.

And you succeeded. You were fine.

Bucky looked at you with love pouring out of his eyes. Bucky didn't understand how, after so much evil, he was still able to feel such strong emotions of love and adoration. But you melted him and lived in his heart. You were printed on his soul.

He nodded with a smile. You were okay. He leaned in and kissed you. It was a slow and gentle kiss. A reminder that you were both still yourselves. You were free. You were okay.

"Let's go home." You spoke once the kiss broke.

Home. Bucky was going home to the city he grew up in. He was going home to a place he had chosen to live. He was going home, where he would take a shower and lay on a comfortable bed. Bucky was going with his wife. Bucky was going to hold on as you both got rid of the remains of tonight. Bucky was going to hold you as you both drifted to sleep, dreaming of your future together.

Hydra didn't win. You were okay.

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whaledenwtf · 6 months

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Halsin x Dryad!Reader - The Summer Solstice

IM BACK BITCHES!!! Instead of doing my presentation for university I'm typing this. You're welcome.

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Link All other links will be at the end of the fic!! ENJOY

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Oral (Female and Male Receiving), BEACH SEX YEAH, Size Difference, Oh Yeah Did I Mention MATING PRESS

Once again, my efforts to keep him as true to character have been made. :)

WORD COUNT: 3630

Link to some Summer Solstice Rituals I reference here: LINK

You couldn't help but be impressed. It was the summer solstice, and the Arch Druid of the Emerald Grove handling the rituals of the day was excelling. Excelling enough to gain the attentions of Silvanus himself. You were watching his back from behind an oak tree, admiring the musculature. He was tall, strong. You liked that. Your mind flitted between the mortal and what had happened earlier in the day. The Oak Father presented himself to you in your mind earlier today, expressing his excitement of one of his followers.

"His name is Halsin. He has excelled in many of the rituals and in assisting nature. He has even reached Arch Druid status." He had said offhandedly. You were always a curious Dryad, and knew you had to investigate. You knew Silvanus was meddling but you haven't been around mortals in decades. You wanted to join the festivities after all; the summer solstice was your favourite holiday! The flowers are already in full bloom, the summer air is sweet with the smell of hydrangeas and peonies. You knew many of your companions were celebrating on their own, with nature and chosen company. You decide to get a little closer to the celebrations, walking out from behind the oak tree you were hiding behind. Many of the druids turned to look at you and gasped. Many of them dropped their lutes and violins, the sounds of nature becoming louder in the sudden silence. Many of them came to you, with offerings of honeyed mead and flower crowns. You crouch down to a small elf child holding a marigold and lavender crown.

"Little one, may I wear your crown?" They look at their parents for guidance before nodding and placing the crown above your head. It blooms further once it is placed upon you, and the smell of lavender wafts around the air. You pluck one of the lavender buds from your crown and put it behind the child's ear, smiling.

"Now we match." The child giggles in wonder, before running to hide behind her mother's leg, watching you in glee. You rise to stand, only to notice the Arch Druid had turned around to watch you. You are stunned by his beauty. His face is angular, with a tattoo on the right side and a gruesome bear scar on the left. He was perfect, in your eyes. You smile at the crowd you attracted, before walking past them to reach Halsin. When you get close, you smell him and are enamored further. Pine, musk and cedar. You can understand why Silvanus had sung his praises; he was the embodiment of nature.

"We haven't had a dryad join in our festivities yet. May Silvanus preserve you." You bow dramatically, the vines and leaves that make up your clothing sway beautifully behind you.

"An honour it is to meet you, Arch Druid Halsin. Your reputation precedes you." He chuckles, his voice deep and booming.

"I hope you heard all good things I hope." He smirks down at you, hazel eyes glistening in the twilight. The last beams of sunlight shine on the both of you. You glow with a radiance, like water reflecting sunlight, and he is attracted to you. Your beauty, your essence, is all captivating.

"Silvanus has only sung your praises, Halsin. I had hoped to see you in person and was graced by your ceremony. Wonderfully done." He blushes, the tips of his ears burning crimson. He seems at shock from your words; Silvanus has praised him? He feels truly blessed. You turn to look at the onlookers, who were still gazing at your beauty.

"Please, continue your celebrations. The Oak Father wishes you all enjoy yourselves in the time of festivities. Enjoy nature as he intended." You words were clear, and not a moment later, did everyone begin celebrating again. You turn back to Halsin, who is watching you in wonder. You blush lightly under his gaze, before sidestepping to look at the altar of light.

"Beautiful spread. I see you added citrine and pyrite; as well as some local blooms." That seems to snap him out of his spell and he nods.

"The celebration of the solstice is one I take very seriously." You turn to look at him over your shoulder.

"May I?" He waves over the altar, allowing you to do your magic. Your eyes begin to glow green, and sunflowers begin to bloom in your hand. You lay them aesthetically on the altar, smiling.

"Thank you." He tells you earnestly. You giggle at his enthusiasm, smiling as you turn back to him.

"Of course-" You look at the horizon, noticing the the sun had set. "Well, I believe it is time for the bonfire and feast! Oh, I haven't been to solstice festivities in years." You tell him excitedly.

"Join us." He tells you. You smile widely at him, and his heart flutters in his chest.

"I'd love to. I'll dance- oh and sing! I'm so excited!" You are buzzing in place. He finds it adorable. His hand goes to the small of your back ushering you forward.

"Go on! Enjoy yourself." His hand feels warm on your skin, and you blush.

"What about you?" He waves you off.

"I tend to look over the festivities. Have to make sure we do not lose any cubs." You bite your lip, thinking. You had an idea.

"What if I ask you to celebrate with me? Would you join then?" His gaze glances down at your lips before meeting your eyes.

"I can make an exception, for such a beautiful guest." You blush once again. He smirks as your skin darkens, and he can't help but wonder if that blush shows up on other parts of your body, hidden to his eyes.

"Then I will make sure to save a dance for you." You go on your tippy-toes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, before running forward into the fray. His hand holds his face where you had kissed him, and he smiles. He can't wait.

You had spent the last hour dancing with the children of the Grove. You were showing them the dryad's dance, a sensual dance with a lot of swirling; your arms swaying. Like a willow tree you wave and sway, the wind following your movements. Your eyes catch Halsin watching at you, a heat in his gaze. At the end of the dance, you end with a flourish, arms spread up towards the moon. Flowers and flower petals fall over the children, who squeal and giggle excitedly. They come to hug you and you pet many of them, sprouting daisies and marigolds to give to each child. Once they receive their gifts, they run around the grove, chasing each other and playing. The music changes to a very familiar tune. The musicians begin playing "Down by the River", and you begin to sing. Your voice, ethereal and otherworldly echoes in nature. You begin to dance, voice still echoing. Like a siren, Halsin felt the pull of your voice, and began to edge closer to you subconsciously. Once he gets close enough, you grab his wrist, tugging him into a dance. You begin to circle one another, one of your hands palm to palm with one another. You continue to sing, your gazes locked. He is entranced by you.

"Down, down, down by the river." You end the song, twirling around Halsin. You both bow at one another, as everyone applauds you both.

"Thank you for the dance." He tells you huskily. You squirm under his gaze.

"I was hoping for more than one dance." You tell him quietly. He feels particularly emboldened by your response, and puts his hand around your waist.

"What were you thinking of?" He asks you quietly. Your hands lay on his chest.

"Perhaps we can celebrate the solstice together... privately." He hums, his arms pulling you closer to him. You feel his strength through your close bodies, and admire him further, hands caressing his chest, mapping his body.

"What of my duties?" He asks you. He doesn't seem to want to decline. You look around, noticing everyone having fun and participating in ritualistic dances.

"Meet me near the shoreline after the last song has ended and nature's music is loud again. I will wait for you." Your lips graze his gently. You taste like freshwater and thyme. His lips become numb, and his mind is emptied of all rational thought. His eyes glow amber as he watches you walk to the shore, hips swaying. A low growl leaves his chest, and he almost transforms into a bear. He can't help but curse his need to diligently do his duties. This night will feel eternal.

When the last notes of music have died down, and all that is left of the large bonfire is embers, he seeks your company. The night is dark, lit by glowing mushrooms and occasional group of fireflies. His path is dark, but he has never felt such peace. He walks the path to the shoreline, where your voice carries as you sing; the sound of crashing waves accompanying your music. His heart beats loudly in his ears, the tips of them twitching in his excitement. In all his years of existence, he has never lain with a dryad. It seems surprising, for many of his years he had taken an extensive amount of lovers, all of which were of many different races and ages. His bare feet finally hit the sand, and he sinks slightly in his continued path to you. He sees your ears twitch before you turn around, smiling.

"I was beginning to get concerned." You tell him softly. Your voice was gentle, and the emotions that burst forward from his heart urged him to speed in his walk to you, almost sprinting.

"You needn't be concerned of me." You rise to greet him, hands stretch out. He gets close enough to grasp them, and pulls you forward. You land on his chest, and are forced to look up at him. The stars are reflecting beautifully in your eyes. They are focused on his own gaze, and he has never felt more grateful for all of the actions, faults and obstacles in his life that had brought him here; with you.

"Can I not be concerned for someone I care about?" He blushes at the remark, and you notice the druid's skin darken. His hands let go of your own to grasp the sides of your face.

"You care?" You bite your lip, watching his amorous gaze.

"When Silvanus spoke of you, I must admit it was not the first time I've heard of the admirable and fearless Arch Druid Halsin. Your bravery and attunement to nature always attracted me to the idea of you. Now that I stand before you, my heart beats in tune with yours; the idea of any other being is far away in my mind. You take the forefront of many of my thoughts, and have been for the entirety of the day." His hands pull your face forward, his lips smashing against yours. This kiss was unlike the other; passion, excitement and need were felt in this kiss. You moan against him, and his tongue takes advantage of your lowered defenses. Your tongues move against each other languidly, caressing one another. You pull away from him, only to push him down so he is laying in the sand. You sit atop his lap, and begin kissing him again.

He decided that if lightning had struck him in this moment, he'd die the happiest man alive. Such words and attentions he had never heard, especially from the lips of someone he's come to admire so much. The world around them dissipated, and all that was left was them and time indefinite- your words and touches, your two souls joining in nature's basest form of love. His hands caress the sides of your body, his touch igniting heat wherever they touch, a heat blossoming in the very core of your being.

When air becomes a necessity for you both, you separate. You begin to pull his ceremonial tunic upwards, before laying it gently next to you both, taking care in the important garb. His pants are next, and his undergarments fall with them. You kneel between his legs and admire him. It seems Silvanus had taken great care in his looks, and his personality. If you hadn't known better, you'd believe him a god; crafted from your mind's eye. In a moment, he lifts himself up to remove your dryadic clothing, mostly leaves and vines, so he could gaze upon you. Once both naked, your touches become lighter, hovering over him ever so slightly. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, the hairs rising slightly.

"Your beauty is one I never thought I could ever gaze upon." You tell him sweetly. His eyes leave your face for a moment to gaze at the rest of you.

"Sitting here, with you, shows me that some of nature's greatest beauties are ones I hadn't had the chance to gaze upon yet. No words can even begin to describe how I see you in this moment; your beauty cannot be fully grasped with something as limiting as words." You crawl further up into the crevice of his thighs, your belly rubbing against his hardened member. Your noses are touching now, and you are exchanging each other's air.

"I need you." You whimper, and one of his hands grasp the back of your neck, under the thickness of your hair to pull you into a savouring kiss. His other hand goes to tread the path of your body; from grasping and playing with the pebbled peaks of your breasts, to caressing your bountiful curves to the apex of your thighs. You moan into his mouth as his thick fingers tickle the outline of your cunt, feeling the wetness that has gathered there. He moans when he realizes truly how wet you had become. His fingers then dip in between the seam of your cunt, to gather some of your nectar before separating from your lips to taste you.

His eyes flash golden at the taste of you on his tongue. Your wanton moan turns into a shriek as he pulls you up until your cunt is levelled with his mouth.

"I'm going to savour you now. Devour you, until you cannot stand, and your voice is strained. May I taste you, sweet one?" You respond to him by laying your full weight on his face. He wastes no time in savouring your scent, and... devouring you. His tongue explores your depths, as his nose bumps into your clit. You grind on him, juices flowing down his chin. He grabs your plush thighs, grinding you harder into him. He pulls away for a moment to release his grab on one of your thighs before plunging two of his thick fingers into you and sucking on your pearl. You will not last with his attentions. He is feasting on you, your moans and pants urging him further.

"That's right, my little lavender. Finish on my tongue and fingers. Cum for me." The authoritative tone his voice took shook you to your core, and you finish on his fingers and talented tongue. With a moan, your juices leak out of you. He begins to lick your mess, moaning at the taste of your essence. His grip on your thighs have waned enough for you to scramble away, legs shaking. You land with a thump on the ground between his thighs, grasping his cock in your hand. You stroke him once, then twice, before rubbing the pad of your thumb on his head and spreading his precum around. You pull away to taste him, and moan. He growls at your debauchery.

"I'm going to taste you, Halsin. Need to taste you." You huff out as if out of breathe, before taking him in your hand again. Your lips descend on him, tasting him. Your tongue was heavenly on him, and he grasped your hair in his hands, bucking into you. You moan around him, taking him to the back of your throat. He grunts at your attentions, grasp tightening. You pull away for a moment, taking deep breathes before looking him in the eye and taking him further into your mouth. You reach the patch of hair at his base, the tip of his cock hitting the furthest parts of your throat.

"O-oh. Fuck-" Hearing him lose his sense of self, and the fact he uttered an expletive made you feverish, and you began to deepthroat him, ushering him to thrust into your mouth. He takes advantage of your wants, thrusting into you. Your hands move upwards, fondling his heavy sack. Without warning he thrusts deep, finishing in your throat. You swallow as much as you could, the taste of him tart but delicious; you want more. You continue to suck and bob up and down his member, until he cums again, shaking and groaning loudly. You pull off of him, gathering the cum and spittle that leaked from your mouth and putting it back in your mouth, savouring him. He watches you with hunger. He sits up and growls, exciting you. His eyes glow amber, and without warning he transforms into a brown cave bear. You bite your lip at the transformation, aroused by his show of strength. He transforms back into his elvish form, stumbling.

"I-I'm so sorry, I transform when my baser... urges become too much." You shake your head, before sitting down and spreading your legs. Your hand spreads your cunt open, and he watches how your thighs and lips glisten with arousal.

"Breed me, my bear." His eyes flash golden again, but he refrains from transforming again. His arms grasp your thighs and pull them to your shoulders. You're bent in half, and the tip of his still very hard cock is poking at your entrance.

"Please Halsin. Take me. Make me yours." You tell him, urging him to thrust into you. He grunts and thrusts into you with one stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches off the sand, breasts pressed against his chest. Your lips meet again, teeth clashing at the force of your kisses. His thrusts are rough, and he continues to hit that sweet spot. You keen in his mouth, and he chuckles breathlessly. He continues his pace, hitting that spot effortlessly each time. His hips grind against your clit with each thrust, and your body is overstimulated quickly. You know you will not last long, his passion and accuracy in driving you wild bringing you closer to your precipice.

His lips leave yours, before latching onto your neck and biting you. You caterwaul at the action, gripping his triceps tightly. Your nails are digging into the skin, but he does not care. He is selfish in this moment, wishing you would stay like this with him forever, until the world has disintegrated around them. He removes his teeth from your neck, before his lips latch onto your nipple and suckle from them. Its too much, and you arch your back painfully as you finish. Your constricting walls bring him to completion, your cunt milking his cock. You whimper as you feel his heavy load inside you, leaking around his cock. He thrusts again, and both of you seize with sensitivity. He pulls out of you gently, before laying down next to you. His arm pulls you onto his chest, and you bask in his warmth.

"I'm sorry." He whispers to you. Your head snaps up to look at him. He looks upset, his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong, my bear?" He shakes his head.

"I'm selfish. I'm afraid for the sun's rise for that may take you away from me forever. I... I do not want to let you go, my love." Your eyes get misty, and your hug him fiercely.

"Why apologize? If I could I'd spend eternity in your embrace." His arms wrap around you, holding you to him tightly.

"But you cannot." He whispers. A tear leaves your eyes.

"I'm afraid not. But I can promise to come to you again. When the wind wafts the smell of lavender and marigolds in the air, that will be me calling to you." He closes his eyes and savours his last moments with you.

"Then let us enjoy what time we have left." You nod, wiping your tears from your eyes.

Until sunrise, he spends his time with you in silence, basking in your company. He has never felt such loss when the person has not left his embrace. This time with you has changed him, and he does not know how he can continue his devotion and duties after meeting you. When the dawn breaks, you're moving out of his arms, heartbroken.

"I will visit you as soon as I can." You promise him, getting dressed in your dryadic dress. He pulls his clothes onto his body, which has become cold without your touch.

"I will not forget this moment with you-" He pauses, frowning at his realization. "And… What is your name?" He asks you, cringing as he realizes his poor manners. You look over your shoulder, smiling gently as the sun hits your body.

"(Y/N). Hopefully fate allows us another moment together, my handsome bear." You disappear with a flourish, fully bloomed lavender and marigolds left where you were standing. Y/N… Your name is sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the taste of you. He can never forget a name as sweet as yours, a name that will probably stay branded on his brain until his last breathe.

THE END.

If you'd like to request anything, please do so! I'm getting back into writing and I'd love to write anything inspired by the people! Send requests here: LINK Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: LINK

#fanfic #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #smut #halsin smut #halsin x reader #halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin x dryad!reader #oh yeah we get sex #sex time #you call him my bear #i want him so bad #need his tree trunk arms around me NOW #im attracted to pixels help

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milknhonies · 4 months

Text

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow. The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you. Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover. Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

114 notes · View notes

deepdisireslonging · 9 months

Text

STFU

In the current feud, MJF and the Reader stand on opposite sides. But when the Reader finds out that night that Max’s hotel room is next to hers, she takes it upon herself to finally find a way to shut him up.

Pairing: MJF x Valet!Reader

Warnings/Promises: language, scarf bondage, SMUT, oral (male receiving), implied further smut

Word Count: 3160

Note: This thing was 1500 words before I even started writing the smut. It was the inspiration for this Summer Song-Fic Playlist, and quite possibly my favorite of the set. I reallllly hope you guys like this one. If you do, please let me know with comments and reblogs 😊 Happy reading!

“STFU” by Kailee Morgue

How many times were you going to face off against this man in the ring? Despite it being your client’s time, Preston Vance’s time, MJF sauntered down the ramp like every second of AEW was dedicated to him. The light reflecting off the heavyweight championship irritated Vance, making him turn away from the ramp with a growl. You did your best to keep your cool. But the second you lifted the mic to your lips-

“Shut the hell up, bitch. No one wants to hear you speak.”

You sputtered for a second before shooting back, “if they don’t want to hear me speak, then they sure as hell don’t want to hear you. Why don’t you go back to your cushy champion’s lounge and leave us alone. We’ll notify you when it’s time to for you to sweat.”

Max stepped into the ring and placed his hand mockingly on his chest. “That’s so considerate of you, Y/N. Do you let your client know when he’s allowed to take a shit, too?”

Vance surged forward, but you caught him with your hand on his chest.

“He is allowed to do what he likes. I just do the paperwork. And what he wants… is to beat you to a bloody pulp. Can’t say I blame him. It’s about time someone took that scarf of yours and shut you up with it.” When Max stepped forward, you stepped into his path. “Goodness, if that’s all it takes to launch you into action, why is this title shot taking so long?”

“As if you could step up to the challenge. You couldn’t handle a man like me.”

“Maybe I could. But that’s not my job.” You nodded back. “That is his pleasure. We named the challenge. You name the time and place.”

“Never.”

“For fuck’s-“ Vance reached past you, but Max swatted his hand away and spun behind you both so he was out of reach.

“Alright. So you want a title match? ‘Kay.” He leaned against the ropes, casual as a Saturday afternoon. “I really wished I cared enough about your career, buddy, I really do. But that’s not the case. So, here’s what you’re gonna do.” He pointed at Vance, “you’re gonna get lost, and you,” he pointed at you, “you’re gonna take that pretty, breakable face, and doubly get lost.” You stomped over, ready to retort, but he grabbed your mic and tossed it over his shoulder. “You won’t be needing this while Daddy talks.”

He continued to monologue to your face, but you were too busy imagining ways to get him to shut up to listen properly. Something delicious came to mind, but you pushed it out of the way. He let his glance slide off into the crowd to insult them, and you struck. You snatched his mic.

“My turn.”

When he tried to take it back, you tripped him. He grasped the middle rope to pull himself up, but you made him freeze.

“Sit your ass down. You are nowhere near enough Daddy to handle me, and we are going to settle this title shot business tonight.”

Max was aghast. You’d actually knocked him over. And always so full of spunk. How he’d love to fill that smart mouth of yours with- hmm. Again, he reached for the middle rope to pull himself up. A small gasp escaped him when your heel came into contact with his shoulder.

“Who gave you permission to get up? And another thing-“

You missed the intrigued smile that tugged at his lips. But it snapped away into a frown when you dropped the bomb you promised Preston Vance when he hired you. “That title shot? It’s next week. You’ve been slacking as champion, Maxwell, and Tony Khan agreed to this challenge on your behalf.” You grinned.

Max sneered. “Are you done?”

Tilting your head, you thought for a second. “Yes. See you next week.” Satisfied with the disgust in his face, you dropped the mic into his lap. You turned and led your client out of the ring, who was grinning ear to ear. Everything was going according to plan. Next week, he’d have to hold up his end of the dream.

***

Arriving at the hotel was a disaster. You’d booked one further out than your roster-mates usually chose. But who was there, on his phone while the elevator doors closed? One Maxwell Jacob Friedman. When you got off the same elevator a few minutes later, you groaned. His room was next to yours.

He was walking slow. More interested in his phone than what was going on around him. Or who was around.

The earlier idea from your battle of wits popped into your head again. It set a fire in your belly. Fuck it. Biting your lip, you quietly rolled your suitcase down the hallway.

He was just unlocking his door when you tugged on an edge of his scarf from behind. Without looking back, he said, “get lost, ring rat.”

“I’m here to answer your open challenge.”

Shocked, he turned around. Mouth open, you did what you’d always wanted to see someone do: use his own scarf as a gag. He fell back into the door, opening it. Your surge forward to maintain the silence pushed his and your luggage into the room in a heap. He struggled a bit, but eventually you had him pinned to the inside of the door, leaving both of you breathing heavily.

You couldn’t read what he thought about the situation.

It cut into your usual nerves of steel.

“Are-“ you wet your lips. “Are you willing to let me try and… handle you, as you put it?”

Suddenly the silence was sharp.

Then his eyes glittered with the challenge. He reached back… and locked the door.

Your grin matched his enthusiasm. Maintaining your control of his mouth and movements with the scarf, you walked him back into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed with your guidance. You glanced over your shoulder, eyeing the desk chair. Narrow back, thin legs, large seat. More of the plan slithered into your mind. Max followed your gaze, and took his chance.

He pushed down the scarf and spun your back into his front, pinning your arms down with the scarf. He ran his nose along the shell of your ear. “How do you know I’m going to end up in that seat instead of you?”

“Because I know this.” Twisting, you mouthed at the underside of his jaw, making it fall open. As you further kissed along his throat, you loosened his hold. Finally, after using your ankle to drag the chair into place, you nipped at his jugular. Shocked and taken by surprise, he groaned. You pushed him into the seat and nosed along his forehead, gently holding his wrists to your waist. “It works on every guy.”

“Slut.”

“Says the man who’s claimed to have banged every beautiful woman from the east to the west coast. Now,” you slid into his lap, kissing him deeply while lightly pushing his arms behind him, “less talking. More fucking.” From here, you were able to tie his wrists behind the chair. Then you frowned. “Damn. Your mouth is still free.”

“I’m sure I can put it to use.” His big brown eyes made your knees weak. They looked so eager. But you had other plans.

“I’d rather you didn’t have the chance.” You glanced at his bag. “Got any back-up scarves?”

“What kind of champion do you take me for? ‘Course I do. Just in case some fan gets grabby. They’ll be in the front pocket.”

But you were already moving. He had four. Three cashmeres ones, and a thin summer silk. More than enough.

The first went around his mouth, of course.

The second and third went around his ankles. Just tight enough to hold them to the chair legs, but loose enough so you could watch him squirm.

The fourth, the silk one, you held up in front of his eyes. If you were going to lose your resolve, it would be because of those eager eyes. “May I?”

After a pause to watch you, he nodded. He watched as you slid the smooth fabric between your fingers. Around your wrists. And up your chest to circle your neck before you finally reached out to wrap it over his eyes. He tried to mumble something behind his gag, but you ignored it.

A grunt of surprise followed your hands toying with the buttons on his shirt. One by one, you released each until his chest was bare. Only one more button to go. His hips thrust into the air as you flicked open the button on his slacks. From there, you could pull the bottom hem free, leaving the shirt open like curtains on a window to a gorgeous view. His pants you would have to leave mostly intact. And not just because he was already tied to the chair. From the size of the bulge straining the fabric, you’d be lucky to get his cock out into the open.

In the meantime, you teased your nails down his abs. Up and around his pecs. Up to this throat to drag one finger across his Adam’s apple. Max shuddered with each movement. Straining against the scarves, he rolled his hips up, searching for the apex of our thighs. But you dismounted his lap.

You caught a finger in the top of his blindfold and tugged it down so he could see you. ‘Still doin’ okay there, champ?” When he nodded, you replaced the scarf and continued your plan.

His muscles flexed under touch as you slid your hands down his arms from behind. You stepped away. Max froze. Listening for your next move. What he heard was the soft whisper of fabric falling to the floor. He flinched when your hands landed on his knees.

“So sensitive. Responsive.” You slid your hand up to palm over his still-clothed bulge. “Bet you wish you could see me. Naked, on my knees for you.” It made you smile when he groaned low. “Are you ready so see, well, feel how well I can handle a man like you?” Leaning forward, you hummed against the wet spot on his pants. “Seems like it.” Deftly, you finally helped his cock out into the open. While not overly long, it’s thickness made your mouth water. You teased the slightest touch of your lips across the length.

Max’s breath stuttered as you began. As much as you wanted to take this slow, teasing him for as long as possible… your arousal didn’t want to wait. Your lips parted during their paths up and down his cock. Mouthing gently over the head, you were rewarded with the taste of his precum. You bobbed to lick his from base to tip, smiling against his length when it twitched with the sensation. You took a deep breath. Max’s stomach tensed in preparation. Doing your best, you took him as deeply into your mouth as you could. The first pass didn’t make it all the way down. You opened your mouth wider. The second pass traveled a little bit further, bumping the back of your throat. From there, you found your rhythm. One of your hands found it's place at the base of Max’s cock; it squeezed and twisted in time with your mouth. The other found your own slick. If this continued how you wanted, you were going to need some prep. While your mouth sucked and hollowed around him, you worked over your sex with rubbing your clit and scissoring open your slit. It heightened your pleasure, passing it to Max with your hums and sighs. Above you, Max panted and moaned around the scarf. His thighs tensed and flexed on either side of you.

With your grip at the base of his cock, he wasn’t able to thrust. He wanted to. Tried to. But your grip and control was too much. Eventually, he gave in to taking what you gave. His moans pitched and whined as you worked him towards release. You looked up. When his chest was heaving and his mouth was slack around the gag, you teased him further.

You pulled away before he could cum. He struggled against the scarves, thrusting the air. Behind the gag, he grumbled.

“What was that?” You licked and kissed your way up his torso to his face, mouthing over the thick fabric. “Did you say something?” You tugged the scarf out of the way.

“One of these days,” he panted, “I’m gonna fill that smart mouth of yours.”

“Hmm. That’ll be the day. If I tell you I’m on the pill… are you open to filling something else?”

His head cocked to the side and his cock twitched against your thigh. “You need me that badly, baby?”

“Maybe. How badly do you need to cum?” You lightly gripped his cock, thumbing over the head. His hips pushed up. You nuzzled into his neck. “Do you need it that badly, baby?”

“Yes. Please- let me out of here so I can really-“ He growled as you silenced him again.

You sat on his lap and pressed your chest into his. He shuddered as you trailed your nails up his sides. You made sure that he could feel your hands as they moved to your breasts. While you kneaded, your knuckles caught on his nipples.

“I had a thought while your cock was down my throat.” Slowly, you began to roll your hips. Your slick coated his hard shaft. “I should have left my lipstick on from earlier. Then I could have left lipstick kisses at the base of your cock for you to admire. When I untie you, of course.” You smiled and ran your nose along Max’s cheek as he groaned something. “Ready for your main event?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

Gripping his cock, you teased the head at your clit. It was mostly for your benefit, but Max’s moans and stuttering breath were a good sign, too. You gave it one last squeeze before sinking onto it. It stretched you, making you groan aloud. Your head fell forward to rest on Max’s shoulder. His hips flinched. Wanting to thrust. After you acclimated to his size, you nipped at his collarbone and started to move. He did so good, letting you take the reins. And you told him as much. You praised his ability to fill you. To rile you up so you had to take chances into your own hands. He flushed under your praise about the sounds that made it through the scarf-gag. Words failed you and you dug your nails into his shoulders, grounding you while your pleasure soared. Max continued to pant and groan. His mumbling made your skin prickle. Soon, his hips found an opening in your rhythm and began to move in time. You sighed his name, tightening your walls around him.

His moaning behind the gag grew frantic. You tugged it down. “Need- need to see you.”

You tugged it back up. You thought about taking a minute to compose yourself before allowing it, but your release was so close. Pushing the fabric up his forehead, you didn’t care what he saw. How your mouth had fallen open to pant. How your own eyes were closed due to the onslaught of pleasure. The way your body bounced at a frantic pace, chasing what you both needed. His eyes could have it all. If only he’d keep moving like that so you could cum.

He did. Max moved as desperately as you did. When your bounces became erratic, nearly failing to hold you up, his thrusts made up the difference. You ended up collapsing on his lap. His length speared deep into you, and still he continued to thrust and whine until your body shuddered all over. He followed soon after, filling you with his heated release and practically melting into the chair.

You felt marvelous. And by the way Max’s chest was heaving, and how he was smiling behind the gag, so did he. Gingerly, you stood, sliding off him. He groaned, relaxing into the chair. You tugged the blindfold back down, and kissed over each eye.

“You feel good?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good.” After one lasting kiss on his forehead, you walked away. His brows scrunched, listening for you. You leaned against the doorframe into the bathroom to watch what he would do. For the first minute, he chuckled, believing you’d come back. But as time stretched, he began wiggling. Murmuring your name behind the scarf. The pleading got louder, even though you knew he hadn’t heard the water start yet.

On tip-toes, you walked behind him. Max jumped when your arms slid down his chest from behind.

“Just kidding.”

You undid the scarves, leaving the one in his mouth for last. He yanked it out.

“Bitch.”

“This bitch just had you begging a few minutes ago.” You chucked his chin, kissing his cheek. “Be nice.” You took a few steps towards the bathroom before tossing over your shoulder, “well, are going to join me?”

With a smile, he shed his clothes while you started the water. “I should tease you in the ring more often.”

“I don’t think my client would like that.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your lower back into his already swelling cock. “Any more than if he finds out we sept together?”

“What people don’t know won’t kill them.”

“Maybe they should know-“

You reached back and slapped the side of his thigh. “But it might kill you. Kiss and tell and these little clandestine meetings will stop.” Before you could wriggle away, he held you close.

“There’s more clandestine meetings available?” His voice was tinged with careful confusion.

You licked your lips. “I don’t know. Do you want there to be more?” As his hands slid up and down your arms, you leaned back into his touch. He hummed into your hair. Tilting our head, you kissed the underside of his jaw. “Would you like more of being tied up? More of me taking care of you as you deserve?”

Max spun you around just in time to feel his length twitch against your thigh. His Adam apple bobbed. “I could get used to it.”

“Good.” You turned to slide your hands behind the nape of his neck. “I always love finding ways to make you shut up.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” Before you could figure out what he was doing, he shoved you into the shower and turned the knob. You squawked as you were hit with cold water before he adjusted it for heat. “You know what would be fun right now?”

“What?”

“If you’d shut the fuck up and stopped making so much noise.”

“You ass-“ He silenced you with a deep kiss. And with another round of passion. This time with him in control.

***

Masterlist

Other MJF Fics:

A Tease of the Worst Kind (S, Ficlet)

Finish Me (S, Ficlet)

#mjf #mjf x reader #mjf smut #maxwell jacob friedman smut #aew x reader #aew smut #summer playlist 2023

210 notes · View notes

hawkinsindiana · 3 months

Text

*clears throat* heya here's 3.8k worth of some uber upsetting angst featuring unrequited love on the night of your junior prom and you convincing yourself you definitely don't love your best friend steve, written by @stevebabey and myself TWO YEARS AGO >:) enjoy and get your tissues

canon to almost paradise, pre s2

—

when steve called you this morning, he sounded like a hurricane.

a million thoughts were whirling through his mind; almost all of his sentences came out like a frazzled mess, reflecting the torrential downpour outside. but somehow, throughout all the chaos over the phone, he recruited you to help him get ready for tonight.

junior prom. ugh — you roll your eyes just thinking about it. ever since the date was announced, you’ve been dreading it. if steve hadn’t been so worried about getting everything perfect, you’d probably have forgotten about it by now.

well, that’s a lie. you were never going to totally forget about your prom, especially with dozens upon dozens of posters plastered throughout the school. for months now, you’ve been hearing the gossip of who asked who, or who said no. you choose to believe your lack of an invitation is due to steve’s company — not some other answer that’ll make you cripple in self-hatred.

the harrington’s front door is already unlocked, just as steve said it would be. you call out his name as you enter, careful not to snag your skirt on the umbrella before closing the door behind you. there’s a thump upstairs, followed closely by the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching from down the hall.

“thank god, i feel so much better now that you’re— woah.”

steve stops dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs. as he does, your eyes snap up to land on his, which continue to widen the longer he stares.

your dress fits you perfectly. the sleeves are draped off your shoulders, exposing the skin of your décolletage. all of your features are enhanced by the color of chiffon that cascades to your ankles, accentuated by a pair of small heels. you look like something out of a movie.

“what?” you ask as you slip out of your shoes, now hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. steve’s never looked at you like that — nothing even close to that. the butterflies in your stomach flare; it feels like you’re filled with them, as if they’re coming up your throat and will spill out of your mouth any second.

your fingers fly to your hair, gently pinned into an up-do, “is it… it’s too much, yeah?”

“no, just—”

steve blinks a couple times and descends further down the steps when he hears the insecurity in your voice. he clears his throat and grins lightly, “you, uh, you clean up pretty good, henderson.”

it’s embarrassing how wide your smile grows with his words. there’s a part of you that screams to get it together, but his praise feels so unbelievably good you can’t even hear it. you’re not in love with him.

you grab your shoes, “are you insinuating that i don’t try to look nice on a daily basis?”

steve panics as you walk forward to join him on the stairs, your brow furrowed teasingly, “what? no! i’m just— y’know this is the… i’m trying to tell you that you look good, okay? you look good.”

a laugh spills out of you at his nerves and your smile widens once again. you exhale, darting your gaze to the floor as you answer genuinely, “thank you.”

when you bring your eyes back up to land on steve’s boyish relief, you feel the itch to move even closer to him; it doesn’t subside as you resist the urge. if anything, it grows stronger. you don’t want to be too far from him ever again. maybe, if you’re lucky, he feels the same way.

it’s now that you realize what he’s wearing — a pair of his gym shorts and a white tank. his hair is soaked, like he just got out of the shower. he should be at least halfway done by now.

“i was gonna ask how it’s going, but…” you trail off as you gesture to his current state, your tone light, “i’m guessing not well.”

steve speaks gravely, “i’ve washed my hair three times.”

“steve!”

“i can’t get it right!” he pouts and stomps once, which makes you chuckle. god, it’s stupid how easy it is for him to get a laugh out of you. you’re absolutely hopeless. you follow closely behind him as he leads you to the second floor.

steve’s room is far tidier than it usually is, except for the en suite. the counter is covered in a slew of hair care products and appliances, ranging from mousse to gel and everything in between. before you can get a really good look, steve grabs a can of something near the sink and tosses it into a drawer. you scoff lightly, eyes moving quickly between his hand and the bashful expression creeping across his face, “what was that?”

his eyes narrow as he deflects, “none of your beeswax, henderson, alright?”

he moves his hands through the air in an exasperated motion, “just gimme a couple minutes to try this one more time and if that doesn’t work… you’re helping me shave it all off.”

“wow, you’re dramatic when you’re nervous, harrington,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice and toss your bag onto the floor. if he was five years old, you think he’d poke his tongue out at you. with another glare sent your way, steve enters the bathroom and leaves the door slightly ajar, presumably for any errant hairspray fumes.

the pair of you spend the next half hour conversing occasionally through the door, with the rest being spent reading as you wait patiently. it’s an effort to distract yourself from him, but it’s in vain. you smile every time you hear him curse under his breath. sometimes you find your eyes drifting from the page to land on his shadow moving across the floor. the comforter on his bed smells so much like steve it’s unbearable; you wonder what it’s like to sleep beside him, to kiss him awake or run a hand through his hair as he rests. you exhale — it’s pathetic how much your chest aches for him.

“alright, shit— how do i look?”

steve’s voice cracks through your thoughts, forcing your gaze up from the carpet. the way your jaw drops can’t be helped; you nearly shatter a tooth when you snap it back into place as quickly as it fell. this reaction isn’t enough for steve, however. your silence makes him nervous enough to ask again, “well?”

his skin looks incredibly tan against the navy blue of his tuxedo, which of course, is expertly tailored. the extra time he spent on his hair was worth it — he’s quaffed it perfectly. you decide the right words to describe steve’s beauty don’t exist. he’s like something described in the pages of one of your books.

you inhale and nod rapidly, “wow! uh, yeah, really good.”

“the hair? it’s—”

“good! definitely. i think you’ve tamed it,” a laugh titters past your lips as your breath gets caught in your throat. it really is quite unfair how effortlessly he can affect you this way. steve thinks nothing of it, turning around briefly to catch another glimpse of himself in the mirror, fixing a few strands that fell out of place. he sighs, allowing your reassurance to wash over him. you wouldn’t lie.

“sorry for being so pissy before,” steve mutters as he spins to face you again, “there’s a lot of pressure, y’know? i just want it to be good.”

you smile easily, waving off his concern with your hand, “don’t worry about it, steve. it’s fine.”

he nods and sighs once more before returning your smile. he’s so genuine that you think your heart’s gonna get tugged out of your chest one day. you’re not in love with him.

“okay. i think… i have ever— wait. shit,” steve stops his thought abruptly and moves to the stereo on top of his dresser. as he begins rifling through the cassettes, he glances back at you, “i need a song.”

“a song?”

“a slow dance song,” steve clarifies, “got any ideas?”

you swallow down the envy that stains your tongue at the idea, but it’s awfully difficult. the intimate sway that will be with nancy. but you want to be helpful; you want to help him. you bite down on your lip as you think, mentally flipping through your mom’s records. your neck burns at the thought of one in particular — it’s reminded you of the boy in front of you far too many times.

“that one by 10cc, ‘i’m not in love’, maybe?” you offer shyly and begin to bury your face into your book out of embarrassment. could you be more obvious?

“holy shit, i totally forgot about that song. you’re a genius,” steve says as he searches for the tape, jumping at the choice you offer, “i’d barely survive a day without you, i swear.”

you hum a sound of appreciation and feel blood pool in your cheeks out of embarrassment. before you get a chance to focus back on the book in your grasp, the song is drifting through the air of his room, and his hand is outstretched towards you.

the look on your face is pure surprise. you glance between his inviting palm and his face as he looks to you expectantly. steve’s brow furrows at your lack of movement, confusion washing over him, “what, you’re not even gonna help me practice?”

you begin to shake your head as he smirks playfully, “steve, i don’t know if—”

“you scared of me or somethin’?”

you have half the mind to reply no, when the answer is most definitely a yes. steve harrington is standing in front of you in his best suit, just about as handsome as you think he’s ever been, begging you to help him practice slow dancing for his girlfriend. now you kind of feel like you have to throw up.

he wiggles his fingers invitingly, but impatiently like time is gonna run out. he whines, “c’monnnnn—”

“okay, okay!”

you can’t help but laugh as you hesitantly grab your bookmark, placing it into the page before getting up to slip on your heels. steve takes your hand without another second to waste, which only skyrockets your heart rate. his palm is softer than you expected, with the hint of a rough callus on the tips of his fingers from all that time playing sports. he tugs you closer just a bit too suddenly, forcing your shoes to step onto his; steve smiles sheepishly with a slight chuckle, “whoops, sorry.”

when you recover and bring your head up, he’s barely a foot away — your cheeks immediately flush the hottest they’ve ever been. you swallow harshly as you try to speak but there’s quite literally nothing on your mind other than how close his lips are to yours. one quick movement and you could kiss him.

“so… um,” he pauses as he thinks, “how do you, uh, do this exactly?”

you summon the hint of a laugh, lacing your tone with sarcasm as you answer, “do i look like i know?”

you want to stare at him, take in every detail you can — how warm his skin is, how wide his pupils are. you’re afraid you’ll get caught if you do it for too long. you’re not in love with him.

steve shrugs, suddenly a bit embarrassed as well, “i don’t know. i don’t… i don’t really know how to do this either.”

then you stop breathing — he places his hands on your waist, fingers dancing lightly on top of your ribs. he’s made from electricity, sending little shockwaves into your body. steve gestures with his head, a small smile curling his lips, “i’m pretty sure you’re supposed to put your arms ‘round my neck, henderson.”

“oh! right—” you swallow harshly and force yourself to take another step closer. your chest is tight as you do as he says, your palms settling onto his shoulders before your elbows loop around his neck. you’re confident he can feel the tremble in your fingers.

as the pair of you begin to sway gently to the music, it feels like your eyes fuse to steve’s. you swear you fall into some sort of trance, the dreamy synths of the music only making it harder for you to resist. it’s hard to breathe.

“jesus, you’re tense,” steve jokes, “c’mon, loosen up already.”

he tightens his grip on you for a split second, but it’s enough to light your body up like a current. you accidentally step forward onto his toes in shock.

“sorry!” you squeak out, your eyes scrunched in embarrassment and you bow your head to hide your expression. you think that if you’re face to face with steve, he’ll be able to feel the heat of the sun coming from your cheeks. worse, he’ll probably ask why. you continue on, gaze watching your feet carefully.

“i— this is my first time doing this,” you say to try and explain, hoping the conversation will drag steve’s attention from your unusual reactions to his touch. the warmth of his hands on your waist is selfishly committing itself to your memory.

“mine too.”

steve’s sheepish admittance surprises you enough to lift your head, your brows drawn in close. you must look perturbed enough because steve laughs, tilting his head back a fraction and your eyes automatically track down his throat, dancing across each mole and freckle. fuck.

“don’t look so surprised,” he says, with eyes light and a casual smile, “i don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”

“oh yeah, because those rumors are definitely about you dancing with girls,” you cut him off with a chuckle and steve goes slightly pink. it comes through in his dancing, stumbling a bit over his feet and your hands slip to properly grasp his shoulders, steadying him. steve goes wide-eyed for a moment, long enough to send a bolt of panic through you, but he takes the chance to grab one of your hands and delicately spin you. there’s a swoop in your stomach with how gentle he is with it, carefully making sure you don’t get dizzy. you’re not in love with him.

“no, this, uh, would be the first… proper dance i’ve had. i’ve done?” he scrunches his nose as he questions his sentence. you cling to his every word, your arms settling back around his shoulders, back into that same trance from before. he hasn’t even danced with nancy yet, you realize longingly, but he’s danced with you. with a surge of love, you understand it’s because he trusts you enough to see him stumble and fail. that trust is enough to quell your envy, smiling up at him sincerely.

“well, nancy is very lucky.”

he doesn’t look as though he entirely believes you, his eyes unsure, “you think?”

“you’re gonna sweep her off her feet, steve.”

steve’s smile grows a bit at your affirmation, feeling the rush of confidence your words give him. it’s reflected in how he shifts one palm to your arm before letting it glide down your skin, settling at your wrist. the amount of goosebumps he leaves in his wake are mortifying, but he doesn’t think anything of it as he takes your hand in his.

the mood in the room grows increasingly intimate as you both grip each other a little tighter while continuing through the bridge of the song. then your thoughts turn selfish once again; there’s nothing more you wish to do than rest your forehead against his and let the music and gentle touches communicate to him how you feel. maybe he could figure it out for himself. maybe you wouldn’t have to tell him. maybe it’d all be okay if you didn’t have to say the words out loud.

are you a bad person if you try to enjoy this like he’s your own? you decide you don’t care.

“think i’m gonna tell her tonight.”

and just like that, the daydream dissipates, the haze wiped from your consciousness with his words. you’re reminded why you’re really here, what you really mean to him at this moment. you’re just the practice. the crack in your heart gets a little deeper, a little wider.

it takes every shred of willpower you have to push away the burning behind your eyes. he’s gonna tell her he loves her tonight, and you’ll be forced to watch. his eyes are hopeful, truly hopeful, for maybe the first time in his life. you wish it was meant for you.

you sigh silently, compelling a smile to spread over your face. as much as you want to, you can’t look away from him. your voice is quiet, gentle, packed with everything on your mind. combined with the look in your eyes, it’s baffling he doesn’t figure it out.

“i think… that sounds like a great idea.”

it’s steve’s turn to sigh. once again, your words are the support he needed to hear.

the next song starts to echo through the room and steve’s hands slip from you as quickly as they had settled on your waist. you don’t think it’s dramatic to say he took a chunk of you with him.

“thanks, henderson,” he says with a wink, words pouring over with his appreciation as you drop your arms back to your sides. then you’re grasping your own biceps, fingers holding tightly onto yourself for support as he moves to the stereo to shut it off.

“now we just gotta find your dance partner. don’t worry, i’m still looking at options,” steve adds as he smooths over the fabric of his suit jacket, “only the best for you.”

right — steve’s promise to find you someone, which has been hilariously unsuccessful so far. he swears there’s no one in hawkins good enough for you; you can think of one person who might be. but you force yourself to smile at his words, although you frankly don’t have the mind to take them in. it’s incredibly endearing how much he cares and yet you still can’t accept it as enough. you feel guilty for wanting more from him, especially considering his heart belongs to another. you're not in love with him.

—

jonathan didn’t want to come to this. it was his mom’s idea; joyce assured her son while rolling him for lint that it’d be a good experience.

“you’ll regret not going in a few years, promise”, she had said to him. but in traditional jonathan byers fashion, he arrived at least an hour late. he’s not a junior, but that doesn’t really matter in a town as small as hawkins — he managed to slip in through one of the exit doors down the hall that the chaperones aren’t watching. the gymnasium floor is coated in glitter and confetti; blue, purple, and white against the wood. it’s a miracle no one’s slipping on it.

a majority of his peers are out on the dance floor, slowly swaying to the ballad that bounces through the room. there are a few stragglers; a group of girlfriends who came together, a few couples more interested in swapping spit than dancing, and then… you.

there’s confetti in your hair, a light dusting of glitter against your up-do. your shoes are placed haphazardly onto the table next to your slouched posture, like you had taken them off in a hurry. your fingers are tightly wound in the fabric of your dress as you stare at something, no, someone. it’s the most dejected look jonathan thinks he’s ever seen — nancy and steve are amongst the crowd slow dancing.

it hits him like a truck. he’s had his suspicions over the last few months, but nothing as clear as this. if you weren’t his friend, he’d probably laugh. but he knows that you think it’s just as ridiculous as he does. maybe it was a good idea that he came here after all.

when jonathan sits down beside you, it takes you a couple of seconds to recognize his presence, too wrapped up in the feeling of steve’s hands on your body now committed to your memory. you were imagining it was you out there with him. when you finally acknowledge jonathan, you try to flash him a smile, but there isn’t much of a change in your expression. the distress is embedded too deep.

jonathan doesn’t speak. he doesn’t have to. after a few seconds of sitting in silence, the lyrics from the song you had offered steve flowing through the air, you grow puzzled. jonathan’s gotten up, offering his hand to you. normally, you’d flash him a look like ‘you can’t be serious’, something with a curled lip and raised brow. but right now, with how beat down you feel, you don’t have the energy to turn him down.

jonathan’s hands aren’t as soft as steve’s, but they’re gentle as he leads you to the outskirts of the dance floor. he purposefully chooses a corner far from them. subconsciously, your eyes still search for steve in the crowd, peering over his shoulder as jonathan guides your arms to his neck.

“hey,” jonathan says softly, but with just enough conviction to peel your focus over to him. your irises are still sad, still heavy with the weight of the secret you carry, the secret he understands more than anything. he shakes his head, finally placing his hands on you — don’t worry about them right now.

you close your eyes, tugging yourself a little bit closer, and then closer again until you can rest your chin on his shoulder. you try to forget about them, you really really do. you’re able to only spend a few moments focused on jonathan before your eyes open once more in search of him.

you spot him — you hate that your chest swells. then it’s burning. you’ve never been a particularly good mouth reader, but you’d recognize those three words anywhere; you don’t know how many times you’ve imagined steve muttering them to you.

you’ve stopped breathing, eyes intently focused on him to gauge nancy’s reaction. you can’t see her face, but by the way steve’s just lights up, you know what the answer was.

“hey—”

jonathan stumbles a bit when you abruptly shove yourself away. he catches the expression pinched onto your face — pure, gut-wrenching despair as you can fully turn and begin moving to the door. he manages to grasp your wrist before you can get too far, but you try to pull away instantly. broken tone coming from your lips as you hiccup, “just lemme go, jonathan.”

your face is already overflowing with emotion, large tears beginning to track black mascara down over your cheeks. jonathan feels a kick in his chest; he’s never seen you cry before.

“no, just…” he pauses, tightening his grip on you like you’re going to float away if he lets go, “just let me take you home at least.”

you think on it for a moment. the right thing to do would be to tell steve that you’re leaving. but the thought of him makes your body go numb. you’re definitely in love with him.

all you can muster is a nod.

—

#something something about both you and dustin crying at a school dance.........................................................#ruby and i really cooked with gas on this one #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #almost paradise #almost paradise blurbs

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naavispider · 8 months

Note

OK OK OK

What if spider was never captured by Quaritch? INSTEAD by some other group of RDA agents. Since Quaritch isn’t there to help him, he’s just at the mercy of the RDA who torture the fuck out of him.

then, quaritch walks past a cell, and locks eyes with a beaten, bloody and bruised boy. Who’s file on the wall reads “Spider Socorro”

Ohhhhhhhh, oh boy.

It had been a lifetime. An endless cycle of day, night, pain and boredom that had stretched on for years, surely. Everyday, Spider found himself wondering if tomorrow would be the last day. If maybe his suffering would finally end with the next round of pain. Some days, he barely had any energy to resist. The last time they'd dragged him to the neauroscanner he'd passed out in their arms on the way. They'd had to inject him with something just to wake him up when it came time to try and prise his mind open. Today was no different. He ate the scrambled eggs that were pushed through the hatch, letting him know it was morning and that a fresh day of torture was upon him. Sometimes they didn't come for him, but that was almost worse. He couldn't sleep because his circadian rhythm was so fucked. He could just sit and stare at the blank white walls of the cell, waiting and wondering. He tried to avoid looking at his reflection because the physical changes he'd gone through since being captured unnerved him. He'd long since given up on the hope of Jake Sully being able to rescue him, but he knew that if any of his family could see him now, they wouldn't recognise him. He almost didn't want to be rescued, so he wouldn't have to deal with the shame of it. At least in the hands of the RDA he didn't have a reputation, he didn't have a personality, he didn't have pride or dignity... He had absolutely nothing of himself to protect. It was the only freedom he was afforded: the freedom to mean nothing.

💙💞*************************************💞💙

Miles Quaritch had been busy. SInce waking up in his new life, General Ardmore had mission after mission for him and his highly trained recom squad to accomplish in order to further their advancement towards planetary settlement. He enjoyed the field missions the most, which mostly involved hunting the biggest threat the enemy had: Jake Sully. In the six months Quaritch had been on active duty, Sully had evaded detection and it was his job to locate him before the Na’vi could form an actionable defensive strategy against the RDA. With Sully out of the picture, RDA dominance on the planet was inevitable. Which is why Quaritch found himself becoming increasingly frustrated that his efforts were still yielding very few results.

Sully was in the wind. A different squad had eyes on him a few months back, but allowed him to escape and since then… nothing. His weekly reports to Ardmore were becoming painful, because there was so little to go on. He and his squad had resorted to scouring the jungle themselves in the hopes of just stumbling across someone who knew something. Unsurprisingly, they weren’t getting very far.

He was currently on his way to a mission briefing in compound C, which was a little way further out of his usual haunts, but there was information from a mining crew that could potentially be important. Na’vi had been spotted near the mining site and there was suspicion they were from Sully’s specific clan. It could be the break they’d been waiting for.

Compound C was not an easy place to get to - it was on the other side of the mining quarter, and the fastest way was to cross beneath the military sector, through the cells. Quaritch had never been down here before. He’d had very little need, as his squad hadn’t found any Na’vi to detain and interrogate. Mostly, they were for human criminals and deserters. His boots made sharp squeaking noises as he strode down the long corridor of cells. Their clear glass fronts meant he could see in. Most were empty, but the ones that did have people in them had their names demarcated on small plaques next to the controls for the door. Quaritch watched with idle curiously as he passed, until he got almost to the end.

He saw the boy before he saw anything else. Across one of the final cells in the corridor was a kid, a teenager by the looks of him, though it was truthfully hard to tell. The boy’s eyes flickered up to meet Quaritch’s just as he passed, and something made the Colonel’s whole demeanour stutter. There was something about the boy…

Why was there a child in the cells? Had he been sent on one of the shuttles from Earth? But it was still illegal for children to make the journey. That didn’t make sense anyway - he was too old to have come from Earth recently.

His face looked like it had been beaten on. Dried blood crusted around a split lip, while sweat and dirt clung to his hairline. He was wearing grey RDA sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but his eyes were a fierce contrast to his appearance. There was fire behind them. Despite their green colouring, something dark blazed beneath the irises, making Quaritch stop in his tracks. The boy didn’t look away. His expression was hardened as if daring Quaritch to antagonise him.

Quaritch’s eyes flickered to the nameplate on the door, and his breath caught in his throat.

Miles Socorro.

Miles… Socorro.

Quaritch returned his astonished gaze to the boy, lost for words.

The boy - Miles - narrowed his fiery eyes. “What are you looking at?” He demanded roughly.

Quaritch’s lips were parted in shock, but he took a step towards the glass. “Miles?”

The kid looked him up and down quickly, surely trying to work out what was going on with Quaritch. “That’s not my name.”

Relief swept through Quaritch’s system, but it was quickly replaced in its entirety by confusion. Was it him or not? His Miles would be about this kid’s age… As far as he knew there were no other human kids on Pandora and there was something about his face… Paz was written into his features.

“Where did you come from, kid?”

The boy got up slowly, exuding hostility. “What’s it to you?”

The way the kid set his jaw… the way his cheekbones sat… It confirmed it.

Miles was here. He was in Bridgehead.

He was right in front of him.

Quaritch moistened his lips before taking a step back and drawing his best poker face. He needed to get to Ardmore, immediately.

“Where are you going?” Miles called out as Quaritch turned on his heel.

Quaritch paused, wanting to reassure, yet too afraid to look back over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

#miles spider socorro #avatar 2 #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #avatar the way of water #spider socorro #my stuff #atwow #maybe this will be my next thing #“prisoner”#oneshot

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vaya-writes · 4 months

Text

The Wyvern's Bride - Epilogue

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

2300 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

Thank you for your patience. It's only been (checks notes) almost nine months. If it's not fresh in mind, I wouldn't force yourself to reread. The style of this chapter is slightly different, doesn't require much coherency with the rest. Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with me this long, and I hope you enjoy the final installment of The Wyvern's Bride. No content warnings for this chapter. Unless PDA makes you uncomfortable xo

There are memories tucked away in each corner of The Wyvern’s Flock. The façade may have changed, but Adalyn can still see herself in the foundations of the building. She still knows the number of steps from the entrance hall to the doorways. The bakery where she’d received customers has been rearranged, a taproom in its place, but the kitchen remains, equipped with the oven her father had modified. She can see it, past the counter where Grace greets them and takes their orders.

Slate holds Adalyn’s hand when they enter what had once been her dining room. It’s still a dining room, part of her is glad to see. The fireplace still burns, and there’s a new clock over the mantle. But smaller tables and benches fill the area. Where once walls had hung bare, they’re now decorated with paintings and tapestries. Adalyn is taken aback by how much colour they bring to the establishment.

There’s a pause in conversation when they enter the room. It doesn’t quite fall silent, but people still stare as they sit by the window. Adalyn goes as far as to put her back to the room, to better blot out the distracting eyes. She’s not here to mind the gossip. Only to have lunch and spend time with her husband.

Word that a wyvern had settled in the valley had spread like wildfire, and people had come from far and wide, just for a chance to see him. It had started with the locals. People trying to sell their livestock. Craftsmen offering skills. The young and unmarried asking after serving positions.

Then word had spread further. Merchants had visited, scrabbling at the chance to trade from Slate’s hoard. Niche craftsfolk had come next. There had been sculptors (mostly turned away), glass makers (temporarily contracted), painters (generously commissioned). Then the jewel smiths, the weavers, alchemists, scribes and tinkerers, until Slate was referring them elsewhere, interested in single purchases and commissions, but not yet ready to hire every person with a trade who came to his door.

With all the skill and money coming to and from the valley, it’s no surprise when the area goes through an economic boom. The area flourishes. The trade festival becomes renowned. Northpoint and Tuscany both double in size as new folk migrate to the region.

The Wyvern’s Flock reflects this easily. The seats are full and the atmosphere is lively. Grace and Gwen have nearly finished paying off Adalyn, years ahead of schedule. As far as Adalyn is aware, the ladies have no regrets. Moving away from their families had been a boon to them both. Grace gets to run her own business, and Gwen gets to run her own kitchen. There’d been obstacles (refurnishing, family drama, local pushback), but things have settled enough that the women now run their business together without raising too many brows.

People stare at Adalyn though. Or perhaps Slate. He’s in his demi form, boldly grasping Adalyn’s hand over the table, sharpened teeth glinting as he talks. She used to shy from the attention. Feel judged by the stares; grow defensive at the scrutiny.

Adalyn squeezes his hand.

Slate pulls back to retrieve some papers from his bag. He moves his chair around the table, so they can pour over the blueprints side by side. She doesn’t flinch when his hand comes to rest on her thigh, though her cheeks do colour with blush. The gesture is under the table, hidden from public eye, and they are married. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the touch.

It still thrills her. A smile plays at her lips.

They chatter about their latest project. Adalyn’s first draft of the stable, drawn almost a year ago, had been cleaned up and heavily referenced in the newer blueprint. It always fills her with warmth, when Slate takes her ideas on board.

The project can’t be put off any longer. With the workers streaming in, they’ll need a permanent stable. A safe way to deal with the offers for work and commerce. Currently mail is left at Fleecehold for Adalyn.

The path through the Spires is steep and crumbling; twisting and incredibly narrow in places. Adalyn can’t help but admire those persistent and skilled enough to make it to the castle entrance.

Most don’t. The path is dangerous. People are attempting to navigate it with alarming regularity. It’s gotten to the point where The Wyvern’s Flock receives a stream of complaints about lost packages, twisted ankles, and near falls. She knows it’s beginning to frustrate Grace and Gwen, despite their assurances otherwise.

It only reinforces the need for a stable. One at the bottom for travellers to stow their horses and swap them out with mules. And one at the top for the animals that complete the journey. They’re considering hiring a guide too.

Because the couriers don’t stop coming. The work applications and correspondences don’t slow. Slate had built himself a castle. It needs staff to maintain it. And there is no shortage of offers.

Adalyn strokes the back of Slate’s hand with her thumb.

He squeezes her leg back, automatic, before stopping suddenly. He gives a rueful wince. “Was I getting off topic?”

She smiles. “No.”

“But I was rambling.”

Adalyn rolls her eyes. “I don’t mind. You know this.”

His cheeks tinge grey with blush, before he presses a kiss to the back of her free hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve spoken about nothing but work.”

She glances pointedly at the blueprints. “That was the plan.”

Slate shares a soft look with Adalyn, his eyes sparkling. “I love you.”

“Yes. I know.”

Slate straightens. Places his hand over his chest in mock indignance.

Adalyn relents, grinning again. “And I love you too.”

Slate puts away the blueprints. “We can revisit this again when the materials are ready. Will you tell me about your morning?”

Adalyn had worried that she’d be left with little to do when she sold her bakery. That the kitchen in the Spires would only keep her occupied for so long. That she’d finish reading Slate’s collection of books, and grow bored. She’d been wrong.

In the days passed she’s practically become Slate’s manager. And that’s just regarding how he handles construction. Half of her job is keeping Slate on task. Reminding him to finish buildings before starting new ones. Helping him prioritise. Making a hard copy of his mental to do list.

It takes patience and understanding. Slate tends to hop between projects on whim. At first she can’t fathom why he’ll be lengthening the servant’s quarters one morning, and then building a hunter’s lodge in the East Forest by the afternoon.

Sometimes he needs it. Needs that project rotation, to prevent him from falling to tedium. Other times he jumps tasks so he won’t forget his new ideas. It’s her job to learn the difference. To gently coach Slate back on track, to take note of his ideas so he can come back to them later. He seems grateful for the assistance. And she appreciates being deferred to. Doesn’t mind the extra work.

Adalyn’s tower had been left unfinished. A side project Slate returns to from time to time, in between other buildings. A servant’s wing had been higher priority. Their staff require a dormitory, a kitchen, a dining area, easy access to running water and a path to the mainway. Slate adds to the quarter every month or so, as more staff are recruited.

When she’s not helping Slate, Adalyn deals with administrative errands. Sorts the mail. Handles the budget. Manages staff. Somebody has to draft contracts and organise pay and give the hapless craftfolk wandering their halls some semblance of an orientation. Scatterbrained as he is, Slate tends to hire people first and ask questions later.

They’d first hired a goatherder, one who was willing to double as a poulterer. Adalyn didn’t want to head to Fleecehold every time she needed supplies, and having her own source of eggs, milk, and cheese (and somebody to mind the animals) is one of the first luxuries she put Slate onto.

While construction was still underway, Slate had started hiring crafters directly. Many he would source from the valley – several professionals, and the occasional apprentice. Others he sent away for. Until there’re a modest collection of people living part time in the Spires, commissioned to create and build at Slate’s whim before the next year passes. A smith busy with hinges, nails, and other iron fittings. Woodworkers and carvers to furnish the place. Niche workers from afar for the more lavish fixtures.

Then Slate hires artists.

Decorations are a must. If not for his rich tastes, then to help tell the many corridors and caverns apart. People to spin tapestries, depicting Slate’s family history. Tanners, to produce leather and fine furs from Slate’s hunting, working in tandem with an upholsterer to ensure that seats and lounges are adequately cushioned. Weavers, to create an ample source of bedding for the servant’s quarter, and spinners, to make and provide thread and yarn for aforementioned weavers and fibre artists. Until Adalyn is dizzy with the sheer number of craftsfolks wandering their halls.

Some of the art comes from further abroad. A handful of paintings and tapestries are commissioned. Slate hardly has the need for stonemasons and sculptors, but he still hires a few. He decorates the halls in limestone reliefs. The scales and wings of his family are repeated motifs. There are also hints at domesticity here and there. Designs featuring the valley; carved sheep in odd places, and crops and foods in others. Patterns peaking from a wall in the kitchen, or near the garden doors.

Mostly they’d hired serving staff. As Slate’s castle grows, so does the housework. There is too much floor space, too many oil lamps and braziers that require maintenance. Adalyn has enough on her plate without handling the laundry or the sweeping and polishing.

She’s still the only person allowed to wander the Tower. Slate had deemed his horde too valuable; hadn’t wanted anyone else handling their possessions. Adalyn figures he just doesn't want anyone fussing.

Next they’ll have to hire a stable hand. And look for a guide, to take people up and down the Spires. But those tasks can wait.

Grace arrives with their food. Cheese toast sprinkled with salt and rosemary for Adalyn – who makes a note to try cooking it at home. And a haunch of meat, dripping and rare, just the way Slate likes it. There’s wine too; the ladies had a trade deal with Ivar’s brewery, and Adalyn’s visits to The Wyvern’s Flock are a rare chance for her to indulge in his reputed winterberry wine.

Adalyn digs into her meal while her friend lingers, catching her up on the latest happenings. Adalyn doesn’t get to be social very often, and she’s grown to appreciate the comradery and tentative friendship that the Grace and Gwen have offered her.

They chat about Lindel. The woman had kept in touch with Adalyn, writing regularly. She still lives with her family, farming and spinning with the rest of the women in her village. Her life hadn’t changed much in the last year, but being the semi-final contender to marry Slate had bought her some respect amongst the others in her village. Even if she keeps the details of the trials to herself.

Errah comes up too. She’s still a bit of a recluse, shepherding in one of the smaller settlements. Neither does she write, though Adalyn suspects that has more to do with her ability, rather than her desire.

One of Slate’s cousins had been checking in on her, and the occasional sight of the silvery wyvern has been a fierce topic of gossip. Adalyn listens avidly. Lune hadn’t bothered visiting the Spires. It’s apparently poor etiquette for one wyvern to visit another’s territory and not declare themselves, but Slate doesn’t mind.

Adalyn decides to visit Errah. If Lune is attempting to court her, then she’d probably appreciate the hard earned information Adalyn could share about that particular experience.

Gwen wanders over, and conversation turns towards business. Repayments on the building. Mail collection. Food orders.

The sun sets and the stars wheel gently overhead by the time Slate and Adalyn leave. They walk the settlement for a while, and Adalyn is struck with the fond memory of when she’d given Slate his first tour of the area.

The night grows cold and Adalyn shivers.

Slate wraps his arm around her shoulders and steers her towards the courtyard. He transforms, without a care for who sees him. Adalyn can’t help but smile again, reminded vividly of the first time Slate had landed here in this form. The power he’d given her at his entrance.

What’s with that look?

Adalyn shakes her head. “I’m just feeling nostalgic.”

She brushes her fingers against his scaled snout. Smiles up at him, before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

He rumbles; a sound of contentment.

“I had a nice time tonight. Thank you.”

He doesn’t reply, nuzzling his face against her shoulder instead. His tongue flicks out across her neck, playful and affectionate. Adalyn yelps, before dissolving into laughter at the ticklish sensation.

Slate lowers his head further. Nudges her side, more forcefully.

Climb on already. I want to take you home.

She nearly flushes at his directness. Feigns shock with a hand over her mouth. “So forward, Slate?”

His huff sends a breath of hot air at her face, but he doesn’t otherwise reply. He’s familiar with the joke. It’s not the first time she’s made it.

Adalyn kisses him again before climbing up. Jests aside, she looks forward to getting back to the Tower. To whatever Slate might have in mind for the evening.

Once more, the shadow of a wyvern passes over Clearwater Valley.

#holy shit #im actually kind of emotional posting this #its finally done #woah #anyway #vaya writes #wyverns #dragons #monster romance #also i got so sick of the word smile while editing this

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

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Wildest Dreams: Part 6

“Can I ask?” Her voice came from your bed, her hands tucked into her sweater and held against her knees as she sat cross-legged. “If you’re just going as friends, why are you putting so much effort into what you’re wearing?”

She was the omega who worked in the library, who spent most of her time with her nose between a book and her head down to remain as invisible as possible. You and she had met when you were pouring over medical books for a distinct and hard-to-diagnose disorder that you were writing a paper on.

She helped you not only find the book you were looking for but also helped you recover your research library code when you forgot it. A friendship was struck weeks before, and she was the first omega you thought of when you asked her for her help. She had come over as soon as she could, agreeing to listen to you as you spilled everything you could within the time you were given.

“I don’t know, I just…” You shrugged and tilted your head while looking at yourself in the reflection of the mirror. “I am irritated with them. I’m angry and I felt abandoned but part of me missed them. A huge part of me missed them, they were my best friends. But then I looked at their Instagrams -“

“-which were all taken with friends. Not their hookups. They told you they were only together right?” You glanced at her through the smooth and reflective surface, watching her as her fingers toyed with a few loose strings on her sweater, her head tucked and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“B, you okay?” You questioned your friend.

You made a point of calling her bunny or B, the nickname she had grown up with in the same way you’d been called Omega Bean. It was a pet name that stuck, something you couldn’t shake and you felt like it suited her well. She was frightened at times, skittish and shy, which in part was one of the reasons behind the cutesy nickname.

Bunny suited her, it was a personification of her personality and you admired that.

“There’s this alpha who’s been coming to the library over and over again. I’ve never seen him before a few weeks ago and I think he might…” She bit down on her lip again, a nervous habit both of you seemed to share. “I mean alphas come through the library all the time, it’s not like there’s a rule that no alphas can come by but-“

“Is he making you uncomfortable? Are you uncomfortable with him being there? Because you can say something.” Your task of choosing what to wear was forgotten and replaced by the conversation with B. You drew yourself back to the bed and sat upon the mattress with her, taking the same position she had to fold your legs under you. There was a brief skiff of silence while she gathered her thoughts and then started unloading what was on her chest and mind.

“He’s a football player and he’s huge. I mean massive like he could squish me with one hand without even trying. He’s intense and when he comes into the library he always finds me, like almost immediately.” She raised her head and drew her hands over her thighs, anxiously rubbing them to clear her skin of any sweat. “I think his name is Ari..?”

“Ari…” Your eyebrows had become furrowed, your lips pursing while you started thinking and recalling any of the players you had seen just an hour or more before.

“He kind of scares me but just because he’s so big. He commented on the necklace I wear, and he wanted to know what the symbol meant.” Your eye dropped to the green jade charm hanging off a gold chain, and further to the charm that was nestled between the jade stone. “I told him that it’s a good luck charm, it’s meant to bring good fortune.”

“It sounds like he likes you like really likes you.” You beamed, excited for her even though your own experience with alphas was temporarily troubling. “B! This is exciting!”

“Do you think he actually does or is he just trying to…have fun?” She tilted her head, drawing her hands from her thighs to the front of her sweater, giving the front a quick tug. “He’s so tall and imposing, but his scent is addictive. Sort of.”

“I think he wants to get to know you, and if he just wanted to have fun and screw around you’d be able to tell. Alpha’s like that seemed to give off those vibes. Do you get those vibes from him?”

“He’s nice, he seems nice anyway.” She tapered off, drawing her gaze back toward the stack of books on your desk haphazardly set on the hard surface. Silence had temporarily come and had been broken again when she spoke and pointed toward one of the dresses you had thrown across the back of your chair.

“You should wear that dress, it’d look good on you.”

The place they wanted to go to was a few blocks off campus, nestled in between a little café and a hobby shop, both of which had been lit by vintage Edison lights centred in the bay windows. You had stopped before entering the diner, taking as much time as you needed to admire all the nicknacks set on shelves in the bay window of the hobby shop, analyzing and admiring the vintage-feeling toys or kits for building handmade items.

You were so enthralled by this place you’d never seen before that you allowed yourself to get distracted which in turn meant your focus was only broken by Steve’s voice. He had peered out of the door of the diner, holding onto the wood with one hand while the other had been busy waving you inside.

“Not ditching are you?” Steve teased when you slipped by him to enter the diner, his eyes following you until you were standing in the entrance.

It was amazing to see the décor of the diner that made you feel as if you were taking a step back in time to the early half of the century. From the entrance on, the entire diner was decorated with vintage lighting and seating, a remodelled early subway car was set in the middle of the place with steely barstools set before a unified table that stretched from one end of the car to the next.

You didn’t know what captivating detail you wanted to hyper-fixate on, it was all mesmerizing and you were rightfully enraptured by it all. When you expected to have dinner as friends, you didn’t think Steve and Bucky would’ve taken you someplace that was so amazing. You had half expected the place to be something ordinary, someplace that wasn’t as captivating as this.

“This is….wow.” The smile that formed on your face had been impossible to negate, and you weren’t aware of how Steve or Bucky were looking at you.

You had been completely oblivious to the feel of his hand on the small of your back and Bucky’s alluring and soft smile that crept on his face. You were oblivious to the two alpha’s, their scents and their reaction to how excited you were about this place. You hadn’t been aware of the way they were looking at you while you studied every inch of this eclectic and aged aesthetic restaurant they’d brought you to.

It was innate and telling, the way they were watching you with fascination, admiration and devotion. If only you could have been a fly on the wall overlooking the three of you then you would’ve been able to see the two alphas in a completely different light. If you could have been omniscient, you would have crumbled.

“This place is amazing.” Your admiration for this place was met with their own and it had bled into the gentle touch of Bucky’s hand resting against yours as he led you to the table.

“Knew you’d like it.” Steve had taken the place across from you in a booth, almost immediately reaching for Bucky’s hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

He tapped his fingertips against Bucky’s knuckles, the soft affection drawing a soft sigh from the alpha next to you. You were unable to stop yourself from turning your head to look at Bucky, your gaze settling over him in studiousness that had felt renewed and invigorated. You’d seen them around campus, you’d seen them at practice and on Instagram, but being so close to him had given you a better look at the beautiful boy.

You’d remained silent when you looked at Steve with the same intensity, your eyes committing every minute detail of his face to memory, not that it hadn’t already been engrained in your mind.

Steve and Bucky were both, easily, the most beautiful alphas you had ever seen, and your composure was slipping every minute you spent with them. Your fight, your internal battle to keep yourself at a distance, was becoming a double-edged sword that would either destroy you or ignite the fire of remembrance.

Were you going to retain your edge and keep them at a distance? Or were you going to give in and let yourself become consumed and overwhelmed by their projected comfort and warmth?

“We’re sorry we had to leave you.” Steve had drawn your attention to himself, the apology that fell from his tongue and lips had settled into your skin, becoming another harrowing crack in your defence. “We didn’t want to leave.”

“We didn’t have a choice.” Bucky leaned into you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “We would’ve never left you, Bean.”

“I know.” You dropped your eyes and chewed the inside of your cheek, the urge to cry hounding you as your chest grew tighter and your eyes had begun to water. “I know you didn’t want to, but it still-“

“I’m sorry, we’re sorry.” Bucky slipped his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side with just enough of a physically and emotionally charged catalyst to make you crumble.

Your hands fisted his shirt and your face was hidden in his chest, you had curled up as best as you could while in the booth. There was no end to your tears when you began to break down against him, as angry as you could’ve been, as hurt and bitter as you were, it was nearly impossible to ignore the way your body and hindbrain were screaming for them.

It was impossible to shut off the warmth that surged through you, and the feeling of absolute peace that had inflicted you when you pressed yourself against him. Being pressed against Bucky as you broke down, cried and simpered into his chest, was as natural as breathing. It was as natural and cathartic as your heart beating in your chest or your brain firing off neurons.

“We’re never going to leave you again.” Steve’s whispers had become a vow, his voice echoing a promise while Bucky smoothed down your hair and crooned softly to you while clinging to him. “We are never breaking apart, we’re together again.”

“We’re not leaving you, Omega Bean.”

Your shiver was noticed by both of them, it was impossible to let anything by the now. Their reaction was as closely timed to the second shiver that ran through you, and the weight of Bucky’s jacket across your shoulders produced a soft smile that tugged on your lips.

You slipped your arms through the sleeves of his jacket, and while your hands were obscured by the lengths you had still tightened the front around you. The three of you had left the restaurant a half hour ago and had begun walking back to campus, the idea of taking a cab or Uber was thrown out when you decided to spend more time with them.

“This doesn’t count as a date.” You bit the inside of your cheek, delivering the statement that made both alphas stop and look at you with matching expressions on their face. “I just thought you should know-“

Steve and Bucky had tilted their heads, almost like a set of Labrador puppies interested by the squeak of a toy, and it took all your composure to resist breaking into a grin at their confusion. There were staring at you in silence, every passing beat of quietude making their eyes narrow slightly until you broke and laughed under your breath.

“That’s not funny.” Steve’s lips formed a hard line, the pursing of his lips and the sternness in his voice producing another small laugh from you. “That was mean.”

“It was funny! You should’ve seen the look on your faces!” It felt natural and easy to joke with them as if nothing had come between you and no time had passed. “That’s not funny.”

You mocked Steve and chortled again, beaming when he huffed and rolled his eyes. He was trying, in vain, to hide his smirk or the overcoming surge of this scent that was rooted in excitement for the joking manner between you two. He had looked away to keep his composure, and while he had Bucky had steppe toward you with a small wrapped box.

He had stepped before you and turned over your hand, resting the box against your palm. He had closed your fingers around the wrapping paper. It was crooked and cockeyed with a bunch of tape holding it together, though you were more interested in the tag that had your name scrawled across the width.

“This is for me?” You questioned both of them, gaze flitting from one to the other as you stood beneath a street light. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Omega Bean, baby this is-“ Steve started, letting the endearment slip with a heft exhale and the furrow of his brows.

“-It’s not a courting gift.” Bucky had spoken over him, nervously drumming his fingers against his thighs. “I mean unless-“

“What is it?” You tore the paper from the box with eagerness, ignoring the two nervous alphas in favour of opening their gift and turning over the box.

The object fell into your hand and your fingers closed around the gift to keep it from slipping from your grasp. You tucked the empty box under your arm before you opened your palm and cast your gaze upon the handmade bracelet from daycare. The cheap plastic beads were coloured with Christmas and winter colours, added and strung along a piece of elastic, and in the middle of the bracelet were their initials written on a small wooden bead.

“You still have this?” You immediately slipped the bracelet on your right wrist, turning your wrist to the right and left to admire the beads. “I can’t believe you still have this!”

“It doesn’t have to be-“ Steve had attempted to reiterate his previous statement, not willing or wanting to push you past your limits.

“I love it,” you cut Steve off to step before Bucky, standing on your tippy toes to brush your lips against his in a soft, fleeting kiss, “this is incredible.”

You drew back from Bucky and stepped in front of Steve, led by your instincts and hindbrain. The kiss against his lips was just as soft and fleeting although he had quickly grabbed hold of your waist to prevent you from running. The kiss was deepened, every powerful feeling slamming into you all at once as his lips danced against your own. You were drawn away from him, pushed toward Bucky and his searing kiss that was just as addictive as Steve’s.

“We want to do so much with you.” Bucky leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he cupped your cheeks and breathed you in. “We missed you so damn much.”

“I missed you too.” You whispered back, your reply soft and tender. “I missed both of you.”

“Bean-“ Bucky had drawn his hand further down your cheek, speaking your nickname with a wavering voice.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” You kissed him softly, again, and then stepped away from him. “I would like a piggyback ride through-“

“Me first.” Steve stole you away from Bucky, crouching down to let you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. “Back to campus.”

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purplemoonabove · 12 hours

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Beautiful, an Angel Dust x Husker/Husk One-Shot

One chapter only

Wrote it as a writing prompt – “Beautiful”

Inspired by that romantic scene in Fresh Prince. When Philip was describing how beautiful Vivian (the first one) was, the two standing in front of a body mirror. Such a beautiful scene if you haven’t seen it yet!

Light uses of swearing/cursing

Husk’s POV

Beautiful.

It was the first word that popped in his mind.

He would deny it out loud in avoid embarrassment, but in his mind, the truth was loud and clear.

He looked beautiful — He is beautiful.

A part of him then thought of a funny: how a common drug name, used currently for an adult film stage name, can also be how it was done.

Angel.

Dust.

A blessing from an unknown substance that’d be an irritation but actually owned an effect upon physical contact. No allergies, no congestion, no skin damages. He wasn’t sure if the latter would be possible. Decades in the current life and appearance made human skin a shedded layer for a new type to grow and life with. Angel was no different, even with multiple arms and eyes and owning a venom that was rarely exposed through a bite.

It was, as if, an amplification to the actor.

Keeping him as beautiful as he may have been when alive in his new demonic form.

Could he even call him demonic? Is ‘demon’ even a good term to describe? Before it’d be an annoyance – a mask that hid the true spider man’s nature – but now was a new direction: being a proud loser like himself.

Just more beautiful, at that.

“Kitty~”

Even his voice was beautiful, the thought expressed before blinking a return to reality. The spider sat upon his stool by his multi-lit vanity table. His breath-taking, neon-colored heterochromia eyes gazed with curiosity and humor towards him.

He smirked, the golden tooth sticking out.

“Like what you see~?”

Such a skill in teasing and enticing someone to be in his temperate possession was an act Husk would always avoid – in the past. With a soft chuckle, he rose from sitting at the side of the bed to go over.

“Can you blame me?” He returned, not even denying him. Not this time, ever since the new change of relation.

Angel giggled then waved a spared hand. “Nah, I know I’m gorgeous.”

The smirk stayed as he resumed on his powder work at the cheek. Only to waver in further curiosity, his hand slowing to a stop as clawed hands laid and held in a gentle touch on his shoulders.

Golden eyes stared at the pink through the mirror’s reflection, connected as the winged cat lowered his head.

“You’re much more than that,” Husk purred in his ear. Reaction was immediate: the back straightened, his eyes widened, a hint of red came under the furred cheeks, and the powder puff laid correctly in the container without notice.

Fucking cute.

“I see a young man right before my very eyes, who made it impossible to compare. Sweet fluff of fresh snow, with a gazing of melted pink diamonds to form such hearts. Eyes so breathlessly hypnotic through emotions and appearance. Hands to hold more than expected, feeling the love and care in every grasp. And a smile… Oh, that beautiful smile that brings just a little bit of color into this red, dark world.”

“Fuck.”

Angel broke away, turning to hide but Husk can easily see behind the covering hand the growth of said smile and redness that became a line over his nose.

“Look how beautiful you are.”

Angel didn’t turn, wanting to lower his head to hide under the table.

“Husk–”

One hand released the shoulder to grab the closest cheek, carefully turning until the red and bashful spider made contact to his reflection again.

Husk smiled, and whispered his repeat.

“Look how beautiful you are.”

The request was short-lived when Angel’s eyes shut tight.

“Argh!”

It was the only warning before Husk felt slightly winded, then adjusted with a chuckle as the spider pressed his make-up face into his bare, fluffy torso. The four arms wrapped about him as they would when cuddling, only with a grip due to the embarrassment.

“I like grumpy Husk better!” Angel complained into his chest, muffling. “I’m not used to this shit! When did you get all ‘romantified’ or some shit?!”

Husk release a long laugh that vibrated his being. One clawed hand gentle raked through the massive hair, already washed and combed before.

“I think I’ve always had it when alive and all,” he confessed, then shrugged. “Guess there was no reason for me to do it again when dead… until now.”

The arms tightened. Husk smiled.

“Do you want me to stop?” He then asked, the raking at a pause for the answer.

“… No…”

The hand moved towards the chin, lifting Angel’s pouting and red face.

Such a precious gem you are. I’m so lucky.

“So beautiful.”

Angel scrunched up his nose, the red practically burning. “Husky!”

Future complaining was forgotten once Husk sealed their lips for a well-deserved kiss. Relaxation being instant, Angel’s top arms went to wrap around his neck while the bottom two stayed put, but loosened during. With Angel soon getting up, Husk got his own arms to wrap at the small waist, their bodies held close with no desire of letting go.

At a moment of oblivious time, their lips eventually pulled away, but allowed a brushing at contact.

There, Angel whispered with a content smile.

“Thank you, Husk.”

…

I can’t get enough of these two. Weeks of them and I can’t stop! 😍

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #husker #huskerdust #hazbin hotel fanfiction #one chapter #they’re in love your honor #and I follow under the law to be unnaturally obsessed with them #fanfiction writer #little fanfic #fanfic writing #uncle phil just knew the right words to aunt viv #rip james avery #fresh prince of bel air inspired #can you just imagine with how deep Keith’s voice to say such a line like that? man I’d be blushing as hard as Angel if I was him!

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shouldershimmycity · 2 years

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Resurrection Pt. 1 (Rooster x Reader)

*rubs hands together* I'm back with the angst, get ready to cry with me.

Resurrection

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

*****

The past two years of your life have been miserable. While recovering from an accident that left you scarred and traumatized, you get called back to Fightertown, USA to co-instruct a mission; despite having been honorably discharged. You thought it would be simple, until a certain Lieutenant starts to bring you back to life.

TW: Mentions of scars, depression, anxiety, accidents.

*****

The wind felt pleasant in the hot San Diego air, albeit a little wet. Being on the water was refreshing, and you needed it. Seagulls screamed, wheeling up and around through the sky. One gave you cause to smirk after it stole a sandwich right out of a woman's hand, to which she cried out in both surprise and indignation. Several other birds were happy about the outcome, as they attacked the sandwich.

“Dogfight,” your chest shook with a small chuckle, finger coming up to push your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose. The sun was beginning to set over the Pacific, turning the water into miles of reflective surface. Sighing, the realization came that eventually you’d have to make your way back inside. You had arrived before it got busy. It was quiet and that’s how you preferred it.

Despite the paperwork and the official notice of being discharged, you had been called back to Fightertown, USA. Given the nature of your retirement from the navy, you knew it wasn’t to fly. As a civilian, you had been called in to help teach the mission that was at the center of your recall to Top Gun. Having been briefed upon arrival, you knew exactly what was going on; and had also groaned when you found out who your co-instructor was.

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was the best and the worst. He knew his stuff, having a total of three confirmed air combat kills in his career so far, but he was… out of place when it came to teaching. The navy had recalled you, because after Maverick, there was your track record. Not once had you been shot down by your instructor, your wit too quick for whoever was against you. Whoever was on the receiving end of your guns would only have to blink and they’d be dead. You were always in front of them mentally, one step ahead. It’s what earned you the callsign Zippy.

Chanting on the inside of the Hard Deck caught your attention, but you were too comfortable to look behind you as the door opened.

“Oof!” An older man was tossed out into the sand, falling onto his side. He peered up at you sheepishly, and you decided to be social by giving him an awkward smile and stiff wave.

“Welcome,” the words came out slightly amused and sarcastically.

“Oh, thanks,” he huffed, clearly taking the piss out of whatever he did to end up out here with you; a small smirk gracing his face. You spied the patch on his jacket, labeling him as a Top Gun instructor. Making no show of being subtle you leaned in to read his name tag. Oh jeez.

“So,” you started, your tone amused, “you’re Maverick?” Grinning shamelessly back at the older man, reveling in your opportunity, you took a sip of your beer. He glanced at you slightly confused, but taking the hand you had extended to him to help him stand. Maverick began working on removing the sand from his legs and ass.

“You are?” he asked, drawing out the latter of the two words, returning your socially acceptable level of poking for someone he just now met.

“Zippy,” you introduced yourself, and you could read his mind right then and there. “Oh crap I just can’t win,” the thought wanted to make you laugh, but you decided not to deject the poor man any further.

“Oh, so you’re uh, you’re my c–” he worked through it outloud.

“Co-instructor yes,” you finished the sentence. He looked you up and down, but not in a way that suggested he was sizing you up or checking you out; more that he was assessing you as a person.

“You’re awfully young,” he said in surprise, and your shoulders came up to meet your neck in a shrug.

“I’m also retired but… I guess duty calls,” you reasoned with the older man, who was now furrowing his brow at your statement.

“Retired? Aren't you like, in your prime? Why so young?” he questioned, and you smiled tightly and nodded.

“That is for me to know and for you to mind your own business about,” smirking, you tipped your beer in his direction, and he put his hands up defensively, but good natured, “and on that note, I will see you tomorrow, sir.” Winking at him, the stairs creaked as you made your way to return from whence you came, the bar; which was now crowded with Top Gun graduates.

The piano was in use, as the riffs floated through the conversations between the best of the best. Civilians and military personnel alike began to crowd around whatever musical talent had wandered in on this lovely evening, and you plopped down in the corner just as Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire” filled the room. You thoroughly enjoyed the rasp of the man's voice who led pretty much everyone in the establishment, dancing in your own seat. His voice reminded you of lemonade, sweet but not altogether the smoothest; but a beautiful thing all the same. Looking out the window for what you intended to be a brief second, you saw Maverick staring through the window. His face was that of a pain you knew all too well. When one loses something that one can never get back once it is gone, and it hurt to see it. Then and there you realized that Maverick was an arrogant ass, but Pete Mitchell was someone who was lost, hurt, and slightly afraid. He turned away just as you moved to stand.

The song ended, and everyone in the bar went nothing short of ballistic. Shouting, cheering, and eventually chanting filled the room. The word Rooster is repeated like a mantra, and you came to the conclusion that it was a pilot who was on the piano. The jukebox’s plug was returned to its socket, and the crowd around the piano dispersed. That’s when you made eye contact with her.

“Zippy?” the question came out like the world was ending rather than that of simple surprise, and you could understand why. You hadn’t made any effort to get in touch with any of your squadron after you were honorably discharged, and the pit in your stomach gnawed with a feeling of intense regret at that fact. Phoenix quickly made her way over to you and you stood up out of your seat to receive her.

“Oh my GOD where have you been?! We all thought you were dead! You fell off the face of the earth!” Natasha Trace shook your shoulders, and you looked down at the ground awkwardly. Loving your friends was easy, but reaching out to them when you could barely tend to yourself was hard.

“I– I have no excuse, I had a pile of shit I got buried under and I couldn’t get out of it. I’m sorry,” your mouth turned down, and nothing sounded better in that moment than crawling in a hole and dying.

“You’re totally fine Zip, I’m just so glad you’re alive!” she glanced around at the men who had now made their way over, and stepped aside to give them a full view of the woman she had just lost her marbles over.

“Do you think I could pay someone to kill me right here and now?” the thought flatly filled your head, and you couldn’t help grimacing at the faces before you.

“Zip, this is Bob, Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy, Payback, and Rooster,” she went through the introductions quickly, pointing to each man as she did, labeling them for you to follow.

Your gaze lingered on the last of the men, who was dressed very differently to the rest of them. His sunglasses hung on a white tank, which was layered with a Hawaiian shirt. He had a friendly face, and a mustache that worked for him. Hazel eyes stared at you, warm and inviting, and you took note of the scars all over his face. Your face burned at the realization that you had been staring too long, and you broke eye contact with him. Rooster had been making his own assessment of you as well, noting your own scar.

“At least his didn’t run from the middle of his forehead down to his neck.”

Despite the feeling of intrusion from your little staring contest, you felt a little better about the fact that you weren’t the only one here with an extra facial feature.

Everyone piped up to say welcome in some form, and the man in front of you who resembled a Ken doll stuck his hand out to you.

“Hangman,” he said, a charming grin all but blinding you. You took his hand as a courtesy, and shook it firmly. Men like him were not unusual in the navy, especially in a gaggle of aviators, so you knew exactly what his game was.

“Zippy,” you offered, not impressed by the attempt to sweep the new girl off his feet with his charm. Turning back to Phoenix, you began to ask her how she'd been, and she was all too happy to catch you up on the details and introduce you to her new WSO. The conversation remained limited between the three of you, no one keen on approaching the woman who looked like she could kill you. It was almost funny to see you and Bob chatting away. It was easy to be social with him, as he was very blunt and he and Phoenix mostly steered the conversation. That’s when he hit a wall you were not super excited to tear down.

“So, can I ask what’s up with the scar?” he questioned, and Phoenix stared at him as if he just pulled a knife out of his pocket.

“Bob I don–” she began, looking in your direction as if to apologize. You sighed, but put your hand up to brush it off.

“Flying accident, ended up getting me discharged,” you provided, “wasn’t the best thing to happen, but it also wasn’t my doing. Faulty equipment will do that to you.” You smiled politely, and asked Bob about Lamoore to get him off the topic. Looking in the reflection of the window, you saw Rooster sitting behind you on a stool. He appeared to be watching Hangman kick Fanboy’s ass at pool, but you noticed every now and again he would look over at you. It didn’t bother you, ever since it happened people usually gave you the same shit. Staring, gaping, hiding their children behind them. It didn’t make you feel too appreciated, so you had grown quite hard under the pressure of solitude; and that had isolated you further. In a way you were glad you had run into Phoenix, maybe it would give you another fighting chance to start new.

“So, what are you doing here?” Phoenix finally asked, “I mean, you’re discharged so you can’t fly right? What brings you out here?”

“I’m actually helping instruct the mission for you guys,” you confessed, and Phoenix appeared hopeful.

“Do you know who our instructor is?” she asked.

The truth is, you were told not to say anything. Cyclone and Warlock knew you were of the younger generation, and they didn’t want anyone running for the hills upon hearing of one Pete Mitchell in residence for the purpose of instruction.

“I do, but I’m under orders not to say,” you stated, and Phoenix nodded in understanding. Bob and Phoenix began to debate what was going on and you zoned out, the wall behind them becoming your new fascination. Socialization had become such a rarity in your life that you were exhausted. You loved Natasha, you did, but it was a lot for you.

“Mind if I sit?” came the raspy voice you had heard earlier, the inherent sweetness of his tone bringing you into the here and now.

“No, seats open,” you gave Rooster the green light to fill the seat next to you. He smiled at you, and for the first time in a while you gave someone a true smile back. It was hard not to, the man was just so… warm.

“So where are you from?” he asked, finally after a few questions, curious about the woman sitting in front of him.

“Illinois,” you said, and you grinned again. It’s like you hit print two years ago and no smiles came out until just now. What was wrong with you? He nodded, trying to come up with more interesting questions for you. The way he was staring at you made a type of burning feeling grow in your chest.

“What’s your name?” you questioned him in return.

“Bradley,” he answered, “What’s yours?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” you teased, and he shook his head in surprise which made you laugh. Your face dropped into an expression of stunned silence, and Bradley looked over at Phoenix in slight alarm like he had broken you. You glanced around the room and began to sweat from anxiety.

“I’m gonna take off,” you mumbled, nodding a short farewell to Rooster and sliding off your chair. He began to object but you had already left. You didn’t look over your shoulder into the bar as you stepped into the warm air.

Becoming comfortable in bitterness and depression has been your safety net. You had disappeared from your last post after the accident, and never really talked to anyone else since. Your parents were no longer around, you had no siblings, and being a military brat your long distance family barely knew you. For two years you had felt like you were living behind a wall, with the rest of the world on the other side and it was unfair. You had been angry for months, and then depressed deeply. Why did I have to be grounded? Why me? Why did it happen? Why didn’t they check the damn equipment before they sent me up?

Negativity has never disappointed you from that moment on. You were never let down by being cynical, and pessimism never failed you. Not once had you cracked a genuine article of a smile since the accident, the scowl that usually sat on your face becoming almost permanent to match the scar.

Looking up at the light polluted sky, you asked yourself all of those questions again and more. Why did it have to be you? Why were you finally feeling again? And why did Bradley make you laugh? You just met the man. You wanted to scream. You didn’t know the answer, and that scared you more than anything.

#rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster #rooster top gun #topgunmaverick #top gun #top gun x reader

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kazemiya · 2 years

Note

May i request Leo and Hiiro (Separately if you may) attending their idol s/o's concert for the first time and them getting jealous at how the fans simped a little too hard for the reader? I hope you have a nice day and thank you so much!

★彡 Leo and Hiiro being jealous after going to s/o performance

a/n: sorry I’ve been a bit slow with request because I’ve been indulging myself in video games and different interest recently. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

♡ Leo

Leo was elated, extremely excited at the fact that you invited him to your concert, even reserving tickets for him!

"U reserved tickets for me? Of course I'll come!!!" His eyes glistening so brightly you could see your own reflection. But you can't blame him, he's so thrilled, he could barely sleep a wink the previous night.

And to say the least, your performance was stunning! The way your voice hit every note perfectly and the way you moved your body to the tune of the song.

There was just one problem... why were the fans getting all blushy and red, shrieking out your name multiple times ? Please don't misunderstand though, you deserve whatever praise that comes your way!

But he couldn't help but feel inferior to the rest of the fans, he promise to be your number our fan but due to his constant travelling was he not being supportive enough??

After the concert was over, the first thing you wanted to hear was what Leo thought of the performance. Only to be greeted with a pout on his face, a rather adorable one to be exact.

"C'mon Leo... why you pouting like that ?" you leaned in closely to his face and latched your hands on it.

He slumped his whole being on you as he whined "y/n... didn't you say that we're each others muses? I'm your biggest fan right? Please say I am!!"

His sudden outburst surprised you, but a smirk soon formed on your face "were you perhaps... jealous?"

Upon hearing your words, his eyes widened and he further put his weight on you, hugging you tighter. Mumbling some slightly incoherent words due to him snuggling his face in the crook of your neck.

"Don't worry Leo, i only have eyes for you! didn't your realise that kiss that i blew was blown in your direction?" You swear you can hear a sigh of relief at your words.

♡ Hiiro

Hiiro as well was really excited to go to your concert! He was holding on to that ticket for dear life, not even letting Aira take a look at it.

When the time for the performance came, his breath was taken away... to say you were amazing was an understatement

the way the light shone on your face, sweat beading down your forehead, how you had the audience attention at your fingertips, it was down right captivating

despite having seen such an amazing performance, Hiiro can't help but feel a little overbearing and heavy feeling in his chest as he sees the million of light sticks waving in your direction.

Your performance was officially over and you were looking forward to see him.

"y/n! Your performance was so good!!!" you were greeted enthusiastically by Hiiro but his smile slowly faded, revealing a confused expression, something obviously weighing on his mind.

"Is there anything bothering you? Your face gives it away" You asked him tilting you head slightly.

Rubbing the back of his neck, expression easing into a smile, "It's nothing it's just that i felt a bit weird during your concert. Why did those girls have to cheer so loudly... like you really deserve it but..." he was having difficulty explaining himself.

Suddenly an idea struck you, "So... if im not wrong, you're jealous?" asking with a mischievous tone in your voice.

"Maybe... I just want to be your number one fan that's all..." he mumbled under his breath.

Patting his head, you reassured him "you are my biggest fan, no matter what! And i trust you always will be." The grin he returned to your statement was definitely a sign that he will always be your biggest fan.

#hiiro x reader #hiiro amagi #ensemble stars x y/n #ensemble stars imagines #ensemble stars fluff #ensemble stars x reader #ensemble stars #hiiro amagi x reader #leo x reader #leo tsukinaga x reader #leo tsukinaga #kaze writes

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hajimeshoe · 2 years

Note

*music plays* you thought it was over... ha-

This idea weighs heavy on my mind.

Jamil with a thunder beast s/o.

So, everyone in school knows that s/o's emotions are connected to the electricity surging through their body. Most of the time they can control the electricity and attack with it, but depending on how intense their feelings are, they tend to electrocute people a lot. That's the jist of it.

Now, Jamil overblots and kidnaps s/o because he knows there's something dormant inside them and he wants to unleash it.

So he hypnotizes them and forces them to look deep inside, and accidentally awakens a giant thunder beast that looks like a giant wolf cat thing.

He uses s/o to destroy everything and everyone, and when he finally goes back to normal and the hypnosis is off s/o, the thunder beast becomes like it's own entity, and continues to rampage. Now Jamil has to fix this.

The fact that lightning is my favourite element/power ever- Also, I hope I did it right (I was not sure what a thunder beast was, so I had to do some heavy research) I did take liberties in figuring out how they could fix this tho. Also, where the chapter ends was planned.

CW: Violence, Slight Hyperventilation

Overblot Jamil x Thunderbeast!S/O

You couldn't claim to have loved Jamil since you met him. It took eight months of hating him for you to get to know him, another four of being friends, and finally - three months ago - you two had started dating.

He wasn't supposed to overblot, that was never what you wanted for him.

It was like a nightmare for you.

Lightning was cackling outside - you silently apologized to Azul, Jade, Floyd, Kalim and Yuu. Your boyfriend had launched them all out the window. Guilt pooled in your stomach at the knowledge that they would have a more difficult time getting back due to your emotions connection to the weather.

"The one you see reflected in your eyes is your master. Answer when I ask, bow when I command. Snake Whisperer."

You began to panic as you felt your mind start to fog. It was a struggle to remain in control.

Jamil was stronger.

"Look deep within yourself - release the power that lays dormant within."

You sunk further into your mind until you were looking upon the monster that had haunted you for the entirety of your life.

A wolf or a cat - you weren't entirely certain, it's body composed entirely of lightning. People had called it many names over the centuries. Thunder beast and Raiju were the most common. A powerful being that could kill easily and with no remorse.

It was released.

Jamil grinned maniacly as your form changed. The true power that you hid all this time was a thunder beast? Oh, this was marvelous! Now he would never have to bow down to Kalim or anybody else ever again! He would be free!

Forever.

He sat upon his throne, you obediently off to his right. His dormmates, still entirely under his control, showered him in praise.

"Jamil, Jamil, he's our man!"

"The most handsome and powerful of all!"

"Kalim could never hold a candle to you!"

It took him a moment to realize something was off.

“YoU fIvE!” he roared. It was the Octavinelle trio, Kalim and Yuu. Jamil held out a hand. “DeStRoY tHeM!!”

And so you did. You wiped the floor with them easily…

…and Jamil was helpless to stop the stray thunderbolt that got redirected towards himself.

Once Jamil came back to his senses, the first thing he heard was arguing.

"Well, we need some way to fix this!"

"I, for one, blame Kalim for pushing Jamil to an overblot and therefore causing Y/N to become the Thunderbeast."

Wait what-

You...became a Thunderbeast?

The guilt started to pool up within him. He did this. He became so obsessed with power that he had ruined the one good thing he actually admitted to having.

He had to fix this, but how?

The vice housewarden's mind raced with the information he knew about thunderbeasts and he attempted to devise a plan.

They were generally companions of the lightning god. Harmless and gentle most of the time, yet agitated throughout thunderstorms.

That didn't help him here.

If only he could hypnotize you again, then he would be able to fix you without risking injury to you. Then again, if you remained like this, they would all be the ones who would end up injured.

"Kalim, Jade, Yuu," He spoke to them. "Guard the mirror. Y/n must not leave the Scarabia dorm. The rest of you, with me. We have to find them and fix this."

Surprised by how normal Jamil sounded, none of them argued or tried to convince him that he should remain in bed.

They were well aware that you were Jamil's entire world.

I swear to the seven, if I can get them back safely then I am never allowing this to happen again, Jamil prayed silently.

You were in the throne room, pacing and lashing out at anyone who approached you. Various students from Scarabia were crying, others were bleeding and looked fried. At the very least, Azul, Floyd and Jamil take comfort in the fact that you had yet to kill anyone.

Small victories.

He had a plan. Of course, he could not say how well it would work, but it was the only plan they had.

"Y/N!"

Your head snapped towards him and he quickly dodged a lightning bolt. Perfect.

"Y/n, please, I'm sorry..." His voice cracked slightly when you showed no sign of recognition. Were you and the thunderbeast two completely different entities? Or were you the same, just in different shapes? He had no clue.

"I'm sorry for hypnotizing you, I'm sorry for overbloting, I'm sorry just...please stop this."

He felt like there was a rock in his throat. He had to take a deep breath in attempt to clear it. Your focus was entirely on Jamil.

So far, everything was going according to plan. Still, tears fell from his eyes. He was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Please stop this..."

You lunged, tackling him to the ground - and blue fire was hot towards your face.

You howled in pain and begun shooting lightning around frantically. Your claws slashed, hitting Jamil across the cheek.

A lightning blast hit Azul head-on.

The fire kept coming though, from different areas of the room.

Arms wrapped around your body from behind.

"I've got Stingray-chan~" Floyd sang, though he was clearly struggling to hold you. "Stingray-chan is strong though, Sea Snake, you might want to do something fast.

Jamil was back on his feet. Ignoring the pain, he met our eyes and did his chant. He felt the struggle for control. You were stronger than before, though. You were almost too strong.

Another fire blast from Grim was the final push he needed to distract ou enough so that he could win.

"Calm down!" You did as told, thrashing halting. "Switch personas - give us Y/n back!"

Once again, you were within your own mind. Thunderbeast and human met eyes. "It is time..." the thunderbeast rumbled, "You will be safe once you awaken..."

#Twst #twisted wonderland #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #thunderbeast #writting this instead of getting ready for work #nobody explained how to be a functional adult lol

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deady-nightshade · 2 years

Text

The Little Merman AU (Brahms Heelshire x F!Reader)

**Important Notes: Brahms is the merman and reader is the brave princess. Reader is Malcolm’s sister (via marriage). This story is a combination of Disney’s ‘The Little Mermaid’, along with Hans Christian Anderson's ‘The Little Mermaid’. I imagine the clothes they wear to look similar to that of Ariel and Eric from Disney (in terms of style).

Description: An unwanted party ends with you, the princess, falling overboard, only to be captured by a scarred merman, who has decided that you were his. But two clever guards were able to rescue you, causing the merman, Prince Brahms to resort to magic in order to find you. But nothing is as it seems, and the humanized merman soon learns of your upcoming wedding, one that you don't want. With the threat of his princess being taken from him, Brahms has to resort to drastic means in order to keep you by his side.

Disclaimer/Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (female receiving), virgin reader and Brahms, arranged/loveless marriage, magic, princess reader, merman Brahms, mentions of replacing son with a doll, drinking, shipwrecks, voyeurism, Brahms receives a sex education from the Kama Sutra, male masturbation, blood, murder (child and adults), possessive Brahms. King Malcolm (who happens to be your step-brother), Sister-in-Law Greta, abusive general Cole, age gap (implied, but not specified), brief domestic violence, manipulative Brahms, Reader shares a bath with Greta, talk of trying for children.

Word Count: 11.5K

**Reader has long hair in this story. Other than that, the looks are not specified.**

**Brahms’ parents have the following names: Audrey and Edward.**

** Fun-Fact: One of the names for sea foam is Spume. The more you know.**

Prince Brahms swam on his back, staring up at the twinkling stars. The blue water was dyed black with the color of night, and the creamy reflection of the full moon rippled as the water shifted. The mask he normally wore was pushed to the side, allowing him to feel the cool breeze upon his scarred face. His green tail languidly traced the surface of the water and he sighed. He was bored and lonely, and those turbulent emotions caused him to sneak out of the palace.

Everyone in the kingdom was scared of him. When they caught sight of the masked prince, the people would swim away, leaving him alone. He hated it. All because he killed his previous childhood playmates. He snorted in frustration and dipped back into the water. It wasn’t his fault that they refused to play by his rules.

He resurfaced a few seconds later and glanced up at the moon. He was jealous of the oversized rock. No matter what face it presented, the stars never left its side. Τhat’s all Brahms wanted: Someone that would accept him for who he was, dark flaws and all, and someone would stay forever by his side. Was he asking too much?

The waves changed direction and Brahms looked away from the moon. Something was coming.

He slunk further into the water and watched with narrowed eyes as a large ship came into view. It was impressive. The sails were the color of clouds and the mast pierced the black sky. A large, gold flag snapped and he could make out the design of a white flower…it looked like a rose.

Music could be heard, along with the cheers of a large crowd. Curiosity got the better of the scarred merman, and he swam closer to the boat. A few ropes hung precariously off the side of the ship and the merman leapt out of the water and grabbed ahold of them.

He pulled himself up and sat on the polished sill of a large, circular window, and he peered up at the deck, being mindful to keep hidden within the shadows.

Humans of all sizes, shapes and ethnicities were celebrating. Drinks were being served, food was being eaten, and a band of musicians played a cheerful tune. He watched in amazement as the men played their instruments and he couldn’t help but wonder what the instruments were called. He had never seen such peculiar things.

His mask slide down his face and he settled around his neck. He absentmindedly took it off and set it down on the deck. He inched closer, almost daring to move out of the shadows when something big and hairy ran at him.

Brahms jumped back and growled when he saw the grey and white haired creature staring at him. He had remembered Emily showing him a similar creature. It was a dog if he wasn’t mistaken. He hated dogs. Well, he hated all animals.

The mutt grabbed a hold of the prince’s mask and began running away.

“Get back here!” Brahms hissed, reaching a hand out to stop the mangy beast. But it was too late, the dog was too far from his reach.

Anger bubbled in the prince’s chest and his mood instantly soured. Memories of Emily came to mind and the merman dug his sharp fingers into the hull of the ship, splintering the dark wood.

She was supposed to love him, but the brat refused to follow him into the ocean. He had tried to drag her into the waters, but she had panicked and threw her lantern at him. The flames caught his face and he dragged Emily under the water. He was so angry with her that he had not realized what he did until it was too late. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her lifeless eyes staring up at him through the water.

Brahms was pulled from his dark, spiraling thoughts by a crystal clear voice.

“What do you have there, Max?”

The merman snapped his head up and he froze when he saw the most beautiful woman. You.

The mask was heavy in your hand your hand and you frowned. What was a mask doing on the ship? You ran a hand over the cheek and narrowed your brow in thought. It wasn’t made of plaster, but something else…something denser and smoother.

“Cool mask,” Malcolm said, momentarily startling you.

You spun on your heel and smiled at your step-brother. “The captains’s dog found it.”

Malcolm laughed and rested his hand on your shoulder. “Come on, join the party. It’s being held in your honor after all.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t want this party.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Y/N.” You looked up at you brother and noticed the solemn look on his face. “This party was made so that your engagement could be announced.”

Your blood ran cold and you bit your lip. The only reason you agreed to this marriage was to save your kingdom from another pointless war. You didn’t love the man — you loathed him with every fiber of your being.

He was Greta’s ex-fiancé , and he was a cruel man who loved to drink and use his hands in place of words. Greta, your lovely sister-in-law, had been lucky enough to escape his bruising clutch, but as fate would have it, you inadvertently took her place. Fate was cruel.

“I’m still looking for a way out, Y/N.” Malcolm said in a hushed whisper. “But General Cole isn’t budging.”

“He only wants me because you took Greta from him.”

“You don’t think that I know that?”

A silence fell between you and the band began another song. Malcolm rubbed his jaw and sighed. “I’m doing everything that I can, Y/N. Just wait a little longer and try to have faith in your big brother, yeah?”

He kissed your cheek and left you to your thoughts. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves and you walked to the other side of the deck. The ocean breeze ruffled your blue skirt and you leaned against the railing. The waves were beginning to pick up and you watched as the water collided against the hull. It was soothing.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow Greta ended up pulling you back into the fray of the party. Glass after glass of wine was served to you and you drank the sweet alcohol down, not sparing even one drop. Your sour mood began to brighten and you were pleasantly buzzed when Malcolm announced your engagement. The news made Greta furious and the woman chased after her husband. It still amazed you that the two of them ruled the kingdom.

Fat raindrops fell from the sky and you turned your face upwards. Was the universe crying for you? Hot tears soon joined the raindrops and you ran towards the deck’s railing once more. Bile burned your esophagus and you panted. You didn’t want this…you didn’t want any of it.

As the party neared the end, the coastal storm was at its peak. Everyone was resting in the cabin, but Max somehow wiggled his way back onto the deck. After securing your shawl, you slipped out of the door and chased after him.

The wind was strong and your hair fell from its ribbon enclosure, and you watched as the blue fabric was carried away by the wind. Long locks obscured your view and you tripped over a rope, causing you to fall against the railing. Your hand slipped on the wood and you fell backwards. You screamed.

The water was cold and it saturated your skirt, which caused the garment to act as an anchor. Your head was barely above the water and you desperately tried to undo the sash that held your skirt up. All you could see were the choppy waves and the bitter salt water filled your mouth. It was becoming too much too quickly.

Your head felt heavy from the wine and you didn’t have the strength anymore to fight against the ocean. This was it. You were going to die. But that was just it, you didn’t want to die. Your head went under and you tried in vain to claw your way back to the surface.

Something firm wrapped around your booted foot and you began kicking harder, determined to free yourself from what you figured was seaweed. Your lungs burned from the absence of oxygen and black dots began to cloud your eyesight. Your arms ceased to move, your hair floated upwards, and your mouth opened, allowing what little air you had left to escape.

Consciousness began to ebb away and the ocean began to pull your body downward. A large hand wrapped itself in your hair and you felt your head being pulled back. With the last bit of strength that you had, you opened your eyes. In front of you was a man. His hazel eyes were locked onto you. Dark curls floated around him, making it look like he was wearing a dark halo, and thick scars decorated the right side of his face. He was beautiful.

As soon as your eyes fluttered close, Brahms pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around your waist. He flicked his tail and the two of you were propelled upwards. As soon as you broke the surface, he pushed your head to his bare chest and he slapped your back…hard.

Water spilled from your violet tinted lips and he smiled when he felt your chest rise and fall. You were alive!

He rescued you, that meant you belonged to him! You owed your life to him, so that meant from here on out, he could do whatever he pleased with you…you were his.

Brahms’ tail twitched in excitement and he began swimming away from the boat when he heard a man’s voice.

“Y/n!”

The merman glanced back and growled when he saw men jumping into the water to retrieve you. You were staying with him!

Brahms placed you on his back and secured you with the ribbon that the wind had blown from your hair. With your arms tied around his neck, the merman took off and began attacking the men who had dared enter his domain. His nails easily sliced through their necks, and their warm blood coated his hand. They fell one by one until there was only one man left.

He was big, burly man with a balding head and large brown eyes. His pale skin was tinted purple and his bulbous nose was beginning to drip with snot.

“Give me the princess!” The man commanded with false bravado.

“She’s mine!” Brahms hissed, readying his hand to strike.

The man shook his head and glanced at you. His eyes widened and he spoke once more. “Look at her!” he pointed to your unconscious form, “She needs help. If you don’t give her over to me she will die! Do you want her to die?”

Brahms sunk further into the water, trying his best to hide your unconscious form from the old human. He was about to argue with the man when you began to shake. Your teeth chattered loudly in his ear and he froze. Were you really sick?

He ignored the human man and carefully reached for you. The knotted ribbon tickled his neck and he paled when he saw your face. Your cheeks were red and your lips were turning purple.

“If you give her to me, I can assure that she will get the help that she needs.”

“No!”

“Please?” The man cried.

“I said —”

Brahms was knocked unconscious by another man, one who had slipped into the water when he had been distracted. The honey blond man took a dagger from his pocket and sliced the ribbon that was keeping you tethered to the merman.

“I’ve got her, Herbert!” The young man called out.

The elder gentleman, Herbert, sighed in relief. “Thank the gods.” He swam towards his coworker, a kind man named Daniel, and watched as the merman sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

“We need to get her back onto the boat before he regains consciousness.”

Daniel nodded in agreement. “Do you think that we tell King Malcolm what had happened?”

“No,” Herbert sighed, “it would only cause the young king to worry. And besides, it’s not like the merman can follow us on land.”

Two weeks, that’s how long Brahms searched the ocean for you. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep, all he did was swim and swim and swim. His parents were worried, for they had never seen their son so agitated, not even after killing Emily. Their anxiety caused them to send out a handful of guards, in hopes that they would bring their son home, but they never came back…

“We need to do something, Edward.” Queen Heelshire sighed, placing her face in her hands.

She couldn’t stand seeing her son in so much pain. He wanted that human woman and he would not stop until he found her again. At this point, she was worried that her darling son would swim himself to death.

“What can we do, Audrey?” the king replied. “They live in two different worlds.”

An idea struck the queen and her head snapped up. “But what if they didn’t, Edward?”

A deep sense of foreboding overcome the sombre king. “Surely, you aren’t suggesting what I think you are suggesting.”

“I am.”

There was a heavy silence and after a few minutes of thinking, the king hesitantly agreed. He waved his hand and a guard came to his aid.

“How can I help you, My King?”

“I want you to find the Sea Witch and bring her here.”

When Brahms returned home, three days later, after being dragged against his will, by a well seasoned tracker, he was ushered into the throne room. When he entered he saw a strange a looking woman.

She had the body of a sting ray and her skin was a pale shade of lilac. Her hair was white and her eyes were yellow. Large sea snakes swam around her, wrapping and slithering up her arm. Her thick tail was black in color and her small breasts were covered by a thing of black pearls.

The king and queen swam towards their son and they introduced him to the peculiar woman.

“Brahms,” Queen Heelshire said, “this is Spume, the sea witch.”

Spume swam towards the prince and wrapped her tail around his. “Tell me, My Prince, what is that you desire?”

“A human woman.” Brahms answered without hesitation.

The sea witch threw back her head and cackled. “A human?! Oh, how quaint!”

“Can you help him?” the king demanded.

The sea witch grew quiet and tightened her grip on the prince’s emerald tail. “I can. But I must warn you, Your Highnesses, the process will be painful and it comes with great risks.”

“What type of risks?” Queen Heelshire inquired.

“The spell will be permeant.” Spume inched closer to the prince and gently cupped his face. “You will never be able to see your parents again. You will breathe the air and shall you try to breathe water, you shall drown.”

“Is that all?” Brahms asked.

The sea witch shook her head. “Should you fail to win the affections of the princess and should she join in another in matrimony, your heart will cease to beat and you will turn to sea foam.”

Brahms snorted. “She is mine.”

“So cocky,�� the witch muttered under her breath. “Of course, there’s also the matter of payment.”

“Money is of no concern.”

“It is not money that I want.” Spume said. “What I require is something that can not be bought, nor is it something that can be procured. It must be willingly given, and it is something that only you can give me.”

“And that is?”

“Your voice.”

“What would you want with my voice?” The prince asked with narrowed eyes.

“What I want your voice for does not matter. Do you agree to my price?”

The prince pushed the woman back and frowned. “How will I talk to my princess if I do not have a voice?”

“You have your body, don’t you?”

Brahms’ eyes widened upon hearing the witch’s reply and he covered his pink cheeks with his hands. He had every intention of bedding you, but he hadn’t thought out the details of the coupling, seeing how he wasn’t sure how human anatomy worked.

“Do we have a deal, My Prince?”

“Yes.”

The sea witch lurched forward and crashed her violet lips against the prince’s lightly scarred ones. Her magic poured into his mouth and she purred in delight when it settled on his voice box. When she removed her mouth from his, purple magic followed and a golden orb made its way out of the prince’s mouth. She held out her hands and his voice landed in her smooth palms. Spume brought the orb to her face and greedily swallowed it.

The royal family watched as the golden light traveled down the sea witch’s throat, only to shrine brightly before going out.

Spume cleared her throat and smiled. “Shall we begin?”

A few hours later, Spume held a vial filled with red liquid, and she placed it in the prince’s hands. She turned her attention towards her pets and stroked their black and white stripped heads.

“Bring him to the castle that stands tall by the sea. The castle with a gold flag and white rose. You know which one I’m talking about. When he is found by the humans, you may return to me.”

She kissed their heads and the snakes began swimming away. The prince followed after her pets, but she grabbed a hold of his tail before he disappeared for good.

Brahms opened his mouth and bubbles came out in place of words. He closed his mouth and puffed out his cheeks, just like a spoiled child.

“Take care, My Prince. The human world is a dangerous place.”

With that, she removed her hand from his tail fin and she watched as the lovestruck prince disappeared from sight. The sea witch touched her throat and laughed to her self.

If only Prince Brahms knew that your fiancé was setting sail for your wedding, which was taking place in a month.

Before Spume could leave the palace, the king and queen stopped her. Large tears were rolling down the queen’s cheeks and the king cleared his throat.

“Is there something you can do for us to heal the hole in our hearts?”

The sea-witch clicked her tongue in thought then nodded. “How do you feel about dolls?”

It took a little over an hour for Brahms to reach the beach, but as soon as his hands came into contact with the golden sand, he uncorked the vial and chugged the potion in one gulp.

Nothing could have prepared him for the pain.

His tail was being ripped open in front of his eyes and he released a silent scream. It was agony. His body shook in pain and sweat clung to his pale brow. Where the tail was ripped in half, two legs began to materialize and he watched in awe as the scales fell away into the ocean. With one final scream, Brahms collapsed face first.

Something had happened when you had fallen into the ocean. You could remember the feeling of hands on your waist and fingers laced through your hair. There was something else, something important, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember. The doctors said it was to be expected due to the result of the sickness you came down with having been tossed into the ocean.

Your bare feet sunk into the warm sand and you pulled the red shawl tighter. The sun was high in the sky and the salt air tickled your nose. To the right of you was your maid, Sophie. She was a middle aged spinster with grey hair and large brown eyes.

“Your wedding dress will be done by the end of the day, Princess. I’m so excited to see you walk down the aisle in it!”

You stopped misstep and grimaced. By the end of the month you were going to be wed to General Cole. You had done well in avoiding wedding preparations, much to your maid’s distress and the annoyance of the royal dress maker.

“Can we talk about something else, Sophie?”

“But we still have so much to do, my lady: You still have to select a flower arrangement; finalize the menu with the chef, and not mention, you still have yet to write your vows.”

“I don’t care either way. Pick whatever flowers you want, allow the chef to make a professional decision, and if you’re that worried about my marital vows, feel free to write them yourself.”

“Princess —”

“I will not hear anymore on this matter! Have I made myself clear?”

Sophie’s eyes grew wide and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She gave you a slight nod and you continued to walk along the water’s edge. Nothing was else was said and you looked further down the beach. There, slumped in the shallows was what looked to be a person.

Without another thought, you grabbed the hem of your dress and took off running, leaving your elderly maid to chase after you. A naked man was face down in the shallows. His face was resting on the dry sand and it was tilted to the side. Large bunches off seaweed covered his bottom and blood had stained the once golden sand a haunting shade of crimson.

“Are you all right, sir?” you asked, rushing to his side.

He did not answer.

You kneeled next to the man and you gently brushed the damp curls from his face. His skin was pale, almost as if he had never spent a day in the sun, and his brows were thick. There was a gentle curve to his nose and his lips were a delicate shade of pink. He had also had a dark beard.

He was handsome.

You grabbed a hold of the man’s shoulder and used all your strength to pull him up and out of the water. The sea weed slipped off, revealing his naked bottom, and you quickly averted your eyes. First thing first, you had to get him out of the water. After that, you could address the issue surrounding his nudity.

Your feet sunk into the sand and once you were a few feet from the crashing waves, you set him back down. You nudged his shoulder but he did not sir. With a huff, you carefully rolled him over. Your eyes roamed his body, and you began looking for any sign of injury, but you couldn’t find anything.

His legs were covered in dark hair and you quickly glanced at his cock. It was half erect and nestled in a patch of curly dark hair. His testicles were perfectly round and they moved with every breath he took. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you covered your flushed face with the back of your hand. You were checking for injuries…nothing more…at least that’s what you were trying to convince yourself of.

You removed your red shawl and placed it over his cock, and you began eyeing his chest. Like the rest of him, it was covered in dark hair. His body was muscular but it was also lean. It was so different from the burly farmers and soldiers that you have been exposed to.

Your eyes flittered across the man’s collarbones, up his neck, then settled on his face. The entire right side of his face was scared; his eyelid, his nose, lips, and chin, and you could even see faint scarring hidden behind his beard.

You raised your hand and gently traced his large scar with the tip of your fingers, following it all the way to the inner most corner of his ear.

What happened to this man? Why was he on the shore naked? Was he from your kingdom?

No, he was not. You would have remember him while walking through the kingdom. If he wasn’t from your kingdom, then were had he come from?

The man’s eyes twitched and you moved your hand away. His eyes flew open and you stilled. They were hazel in color and they looked like green sapphire nestled in honeyed pools of amber.

“You’re beautiful,” you said barely above a whisper.

The words that you had spoken shook Brahms to his very core, and they caused an unfamiliar emotion to pump through his veins.

The former merman rolled over and tackled you onto the beach. His body covered yours and you let out a squeak as his lips crashed onto yours. Your eyes grew wide in shock and embarrassment, and you tried pushing him off of you, but he would not budge. You opened your lips to protest, but was silenced when his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You had kissed men before, but they were chaste in nature, and nothing like the one you were currently experiencing.

“Ah! There you are, Princess!” Sophie called. “Good gracious! Just what are you doing, Princess Y/N?!”

The maid ran toward your side and pushed Brahms off of you. The man clumsily landed on his bottom and the shawl that covered what little modesty he still had, had fallen off, revealing his fully erect cock…in all its glory.

Prince Brahms kept his eyes locked on you and Sophie pulled you back up. The elderly maid grabbed a hold of your face and inspected you with a critical eye. Your lips were swollen, eyes glazed, and you looked feverish.

“Come, we must get you to the castle immediately!” the elder woman cried. She grabbed a hold of your hand and began dragging you towards the castle.

You glanced over your shoulder and gasped when you saw Brahms (though you still had yet to learn his name) following you. He was on his stomach, feet kicked out, and his finger were in the sand: he was using the earth to push himself forward.

Your heart felt heavy and you planted your feet in the sand. “We need to help him.” You snatched your arm back from the maid and began walking towards him yet again.

Brahms’ eyes lit up, and he held out his own hand. ‘Don’t leave me here, Y/N!’ he thought to himself.

“We need to help him,” you repeated. “Sophie, help me bring this man back to the palace.”

The maid shook her head and placed her hands on her plump hips. “We are not bringing a naked man back home with us, Princess. Just —”

“Sophie, I gave you an order.”

You gave her a heated look and held your head up high. You were the Crown Princess of this kingdom. People answered to you, not the other way around. And the only people who could overrule you were currently in the castle currently working on producing an heir.

“Help me bring him to the castle,” you said once more.

“Yes, Princess.”

You reached Brahms first and he threw himself onto you once more. Only this time you were prepared for it. You faltered slightly and slowly stood up. Brahms was weak in the knees, not using them whatsoever, and you slipped his arm over your shoulder.

Sophie grabbed the shawl from the ground and tied it around the merman’s waist, careful not to look at the juncture between his legs. Once the shawl was secured, she slipped under Brahms’ other shoulders and took the rest of his weight.

The way back to the castle was difficult; not only were you carrying a tall, heavy man, but you also had to somehow accommodate Sophie’s hunched over stature and slow gaited walk. And it didn’t help that the man kept kissing you every chance he had. An action which only angered Sophie, which in turn caused the walk to momentarily stop.

What should have taken fifteen minutes, ended up taking forty-five, and once you reached the west gate of the palace, you were covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Daniel spotted you first, and the strawberry haired guard rushed to your aid. His young face was marred in concern and his dark brows were narrowed. “Who is this, Princess?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I found him passed out on the beach. I don’t think he can walk or talk.”

The guard nodded then took Brahms from you and Sophie. He glanced down at the man that he was carrying and froze when his blue eyes bore into a pair of hazel ones.

It was the merman that had killed his friends and held you hostage…and the one that he had knocked out cold in order to rescue you.

Brahms gave Daniel a cold glare and dug his nails into the man’s bare arm, drawing blood. No words were needed, for his action served as a warning. ‘Speak and I will kill you.’

You were unaware of the silent exchange that occurred between the two men, and continued talking as if nothing happened.

“See to it that he is given a room, and make sure to send for the royal physician.”

The guard looked away from the humanized merman and gulped. “As you wish, Princess.”

You gave Daniel a kind smile and began walking away, but was stopped when Brahms grabbed a hold of your wrist.

He lifted his head and you heard Daniel gasp behind you. You ignored the guard and kept your eyes locked on the man. “I have to get ready for dinner. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Brahms opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no voice came out. ‘Don’t leave me! Let me follow you!’ that’s what he had wanted to say.

“Ah, there you are, Y/N!” Malcolm called, catching your attention.

You looked over your shoulder and saw your brother. His hair was wet and he was dressed in black dress pants, a white button up shirt, and he wore black boots. His eyes widened when he saw the bearded man holding your wrist.

“Y/N, who’s this?”

Dinner was the definition of awkward; Malcolm and Greta couldn’t stop looking at the man you rescued, and the man you rescued wouldn’t stop staring at you.

You tried your best to ignore his heated gaze, but it was no use. With a sigh, you lowered your glass filled with wine and met his eyes. His food had long been devoured; as soon as it had been placed in front of him, he inhaled it.

“What’s your name?” you asked him, catching everyone’s attention.

Greta lowered her spoon and Malcolm looked up from his pork tenderloin. They had asked the merman that question dozens of times today, but he did not answer.

He said nothing and you leaned forward, resting your arms on the table. “Can you write?”

Brahms nodded.

You smiled and Hans, one of the butlers, placed a notepad and pencil on the table. Everyone watched with berated breath as the merman took the pencil in hand, and it was silent as he wrote his name.

When he was done, the butler took the notebook and handed it to you. You looked it over and frowned. The man wrote in an alphabet that was long forgotten. You only knew it because your tutor at the time demanded that you learned it. It was old, ancient, and dead language. It wasn’t common knowledge, so how did this mute man know it?

You lowered the paper and tapped the pencil against the table. You could translate it, it would just take you a few minutes seeing how you hadn’t practiced that language since you were a pre-teen.

B-R-A-H-M-S. That was the name that the ancient letters spelled.

“Brahms.”

His name rolled of your tongue and the man in front of you, Brahms, nodded.

Your brother and sister-in-law then began asking him question after question, but he did not answer any of them. Greta kicked you under the table and motioned for you to ask another question, seeing how he answered your previous one.

“Brahms,” you called, catching the man’s attention, “were are you from?”

He jotted down his answer and handed the pad of paper towards you. ‘Somewhere far away. A place that I can no longer return to.’

Malcolm frowned and stuffed another piece of meat into his mouth. He wasn’t sure what to make of Brahms, but he had been there when the doctor visited him. And during that visit, the doctor had announced that Brahms had been a lost at sea for weeks, and that it was a miracle in itself that he survived being out in the water for that long.

Dinner came to an end and Hans, the balding butler, practically carried Brahms back to his room. Much to the merman’s annoyance.

Days passed and you found yourself spending more time with Brahms. He was a good distraction from your upcoming wedding, and you had to admit, he was handsome and mysterious…two qualities that you found irresistible. And it seemed that he was just as fond of you.

During the mornings, you would meet him in the library and teach him the alphabet that was being used this day and age. He picked it up quickly, and soon enough, he was writing with it, which allowed others to communicate with him. But to your surprise, he didn’t talk to them, and if he did, it was quick, one-worded answers. It seemed that he did not take joy or pleasure in talking to people who were not you.

Two weeks passed and by that time, Brahms was walking. The voice-less man followed you everywhere you went; the gardens, the kitchen, the throne room, and he had even tried to sneak into the bathroom while you bathed. Sophie had been furious with the former merman.

Then one night, during a thunderstorm, unbeknownst to you, Brahms snuck into your room.

You woke when you felt the bed dip, and you opened your mouth to scream when you saw a dark silhouette hovering above you. A large, warm hand clamped around your mouth, stopping the scream before it could leave your throat. Lightning and thunder crashed, and a few slivers of neon blue entered through the gaps of the curtains, illuminating the silhouette.

You placed your hand over Brahms’ and promptly removed it from your mouth. “What are you doing here?!” you hissed.

Brahms plopped on top of you pressed his face against your unbound chest. You laid there frozen, unsure what to do, when another crash of thunder sounded. Brahms’ body shook and he pressed his face harder against your chest.

Realization dawned upon you and the anger you felt towards your nightly visitor vanished, leaving concern in its wake. You gently wrapped your arms around the merman’s back and rested your chin on the crown of his curled head.

“Are you scared of thunder and lightning?” you asked in a soft voice.

Brahms nodded, deciding to use your compassion against you if it meant getting what he wanted.

You hummed in thought and then pulled away. You lifted the numerous sheets and gently tapped on the exposed mattress. Brahms wasted no time and dove in. And before the blankets could cover him, he was on you once again.

He moved your legs apart and settled in the warm space. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his face on the delicate swell of your breasts, using them as a makeshift pillow. The position was intimate, and immense guilt and shame washed over you.

Brahms had come to you for support, and here you were, pinned underneath him, thinking of all the images that you had seen in a book that the noble women of the court were particularly fond of, the Kama Sutra.

You imagined Brahms inside of you, and you shivered. You wanted him to strip you of your virginity, and more importantly, you wanted him…you wanted to be his. Ugh! Nothing made sense! All you knew was that you needed like him like a fish needed water. Every single cell inside of you yearned for this strange, hypnotic man.

Yet you knew that nothing could come of it — you were to be married in two weeks.

Unshed tears stung your eyes and you entwined your arms around Brahms’ back once more. You wanted this man, not your fiancé, and you for a moment, however brief it was, you had thought about rejecting General Cole, even if it meant sending thousands of men to their deaths in war.

Sleep did not come easy for you that night, but when it did, you were plagued with cruel dreams. You and Brahms had been married and were living a happy life within the confines of the castle. You spent every morning and night in one another’s arms, and you had tried position after position from that exotic book, only to succumb to the throes of ecstasy. It was beautiful, and you had wished that you would never wake up. But alas, you did.

“Good morning, Princess Y/N!” Sophie called, rudely waking you.

Brahms was still cocooned around you. He laid on his side, arm wrapped around your waist, and his head was resting on your left shoulder. His eyes began to flutter open and he smiled when he saw you looking at him, causing your heart to skip a beat.

The curtains ruffled and bright sunlight poured into the room and Sophie’s loud scream pierced the air. Guards ran into your room and they were being led by Daniel and Herbert, who upon seeing the man in your bed, faltered and exchanged an uneasy look.

Then, to make matters worse, Greta and Malcolm stormed their way into the bedchamber. Greta held her robe closed and Malcolm was running a hand through his sleep tousled hair.

He yawned and looked around the room, then choked. “What the hell is going on here?!”

Malcolm stared at Herbert and Daniel, not sure what to make of the information that they had just shared. It had to have been a joke, some sick, elaborate joke. He gave his wife a quick glance and noted her expression of confusion and disbelief. It seemed that they were on the same page.

“Who put you up to this, Herbert? Was it one of the chefs?” Malcolm laughed, trying his best to act aloof.

The guards stood there silent.

Anxiety bubbled within the king’s chest, and he began tapping his foot in an irate manner. He looked from Herbert to Daniel, then from Daniel to Herbert, trying his hardest to break them. But no matter how hard he pushed, they did not recant their strange tale.

Not only had they told of him what had actually transpired in the ocean when they rescued you, but Herbert then went on to connect Brahms to the drowning of Emily; a girl who had drowned a few years before he was born.

“Emily was killed by a drunkard.�� Malcolm recanted, remembering the story that he had heard growing up.

Herbert took a step forward and met the king’s eyes. “No, she wasn’t,” he paused then continued, “she was killed by a merman. I saw it with my own two eyes, sire. He tried to drag her into the water and she flung her lantern at him, causing his face to catch fire. When I alerted the other guards, she had already been dragged into the water. By the time we reached her, she was dead.”

“But that’s —”

Herbert removed a leather bound book from his pocket and tossed it to Malcolm. The king caught it with clumsy fingers and the older guard gave him a sombre look.

“Perhaps this will change you mind.”

The guards left the throne room and returned to their assigned stations, leaving Malcolm with Greta. The queen took her husband’s hand in hers and placed a tender kiss on the back of it.

“Read it. I’ll go check on Y/N.”

The queen left the throne room and began tracking you down. She asked a few maids and they told her that you were in the bath. The queen muttered her thanks and decided the bath was a perfect place to have a much needed conversation — you couldn’t run away from her there.

With head held high, Greta took off and mentally rehearsed what she was going to say to you.

You rested the top half of your body on the ledge of the bathtub, propping your arms on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, and rested your head on the inner portion of your crossed arms. Your hair trailed down your back and from the corner of your eye you could see the floating strands being lulled by the hot water that the ivory spout carried.

A sigh escaped your lips and you turned your head in the other direction, allowing you you see the large stained-glass window. You were thinking of everything and nothing, and your mind was going in circles. It was exhausting.

The door to the bathroom open and you groaned. “Go away, Sophie!”

You were not in the mood for another lecture regarding your improper behavior with Brahms, who was not your fiancé. The scandal.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not Sophie.” Greta said with a light chuckle.

You picked your head up and slowly sunk into the bathwater. You avoided her blue gaze and turned around, giving your sister-in-law privacy to undress. A few seconds later, you heard her enter the bath, and once settled, you turned back around.

“Do you like him?” Greta asked point blank.

Your small, polite smile fell, and Greta’s face grew red in embarkment; she had forgotten to use the monologue that she had practiced while she was busing tracking you down.

You liked Brahms. Anyone with eyes could see that. When you saw him, your eyes would light up, and when he grabbed your wrist in an attempt to keep you at his side, a bashful yet happy look would cross your pretty face. And when you spent time with him, your heart would race and you were truly and genuinely happy. The thought of not seeing him, or not being near him, caused you a pain that you had never experienced before. It was frightening.

Greta eyes fell and she lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“What are you sorry about?” you sneered, standing up and moving towards the bath’s steps.

Your body shook in anger and hot, fat tears fell from your eyes. You were in such a hurry to leave the bathroom, that you didn’t see the small puddle of spilt bath oil. When your foot caught it, you fell flat on your butt and that had been the last straw.

You had tried so hard to keep everything contained. You didn’t want Malcolm to see you like this, but you especially didn’t want Greta to see you like this. She had been lucky — she was able to escape Cole, and her escape brought her to your kingdom, to your brother, to her happily ever after, but her happily every after had in essence cost you yours. And at this particular moment, you hated her (even though you would never say that aloud).

Loud, deafening sobs spilled from your trembling body, and Greta wrapped her towel clad body around yours.

“I don’t want to marry Cole!” you screamed. “I don’t want this! I hate him!”

“I know,” Greta cried. “And I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The wall directly in front of you shook violently, causing the oil painting to crash against the floor, but you didn’t care and neither did Greta.

Married! You were getting married! And you were getting married to someone other than him!

Brahms stormed out of his hiding space behind the wall, and he flew into the closest room in a blind rage — the library.

All he could see was white and a tornado of destruction surrounded him; crystal lamps were thrown at the wall, sending shards of glass everywhere; books were thrown, ripped and some were tossed into the burning fire; his fists cracked the tables and chairs, and he pushed the heavy book cases over, causing the wooden structures to fall like dominos.

The door to the library opened, revealing Daniel’s wide eyed stare. The merman growled and lunged forward, intent on killing the meddling human. Daniel, who was terrified for his life (and rightly so), immediately slammed the door shut, causing Brahms to run face first into the unyielding structure, prompting the merman to fall down.

He opened his mouth and released one silent scream after another, not stopping until he grew exhausted. Sweat clung to his brow his throat was irritated. If he could speak, his voice would have been shot and it would have been deeper and more gravely than normal.

Brahms slunk to the floor and he took in all the destruction that he had caused. It looked like a waterless tsunami laid waste to the room.

Make no mistake, the merman was still angry — enraged even, but he had no more energy to exert. He was exhausted. Not to mention, he was still getting used to living on land, which was proving to be a challenge in itself. Now, he had to deal with the knowledge that you, his beloved princess, was getting married to another man. It was too much.

His eyes landed on a half torn page, one which showed a man and a woman engaging in an act that the merman had never seen before. The man was resting on his knees and the naked woman was laying on her stomach with her legs wrapped around his waist, and connecting the two of them was an engorged appendage that originated the man’s lower pelvic. To say Brahms was intrigued was an understatement.

Anger still flowed through his veins, but curiosity clouded his mind, and the merman began searching the devastated library in hopes of find the book that the page belonged to. After hours of searching, he found the book lodged between a shattered bookcase and the tattered cavas of an oil paining. The book was titled 'Kama Sutra’.

Brahms snuck the hardcover book under his shirt and made his way out of the library, glaring at Daniel who stood guard across the hallway. He quickly made his way to his room and once in, he locked the door behind him and plopped onto his large, freshly made bed, curtesy of the butler named Hans.

He cracked open the book and the scent of dried ink and crisp pages evaded his senses. He read page after page, chapter after chapter, and ignored the servants that were sent his way to inform him that dinner was ready. He simply ignored them and continued reading. And when he stumbled upon the erotic illustrations, he stopped and stared.

He made note of the positions that the couples were in, the way that the bodies of the men and women perfectly fit within one another, and he felt his cock (for he had just learned the proper term for the appendage that hung between his legs) begin to stir, and he closed the book.

Phrases and sentences from the Kama Sutra swirled in his mind, and when he closed his eyes, the images that he had studied changed shape. Instead of nameless couples, he imagined that it was you and him.

Brahms rolled over so that he was laying on his back and he made quick work of removing his clothes. When his hand brushed over his weeping cock, he threw his head back and moaned without restraint. He quickly lost himself to the new and breathtaking sensation and it wasn’t long before he reached the height of ecstasy.

He silently cried your name and and his white seed spilled from his pulsating cock, painting his tense abdomen white. He continued to rub himself, prolonging the ecstasy, but hissed when he the pleasure started to become painful, prompting him to stop his ministrations.

His sweat dewed chest rose and fell in an erratic manner, and he gingerly ran his fingers against the pool of semen that covered his lower torso. It was warm, thick and unlike anything he had ever seen before. The reproductive systems of humans was unlike anything he had imagined.

Thud!

The book fell from the bed and he glanced down. It had opened to another image, only this time, the woman was on top of the man. He immediately thought of you sitting on top of him, your body naked and eyes hazed with lust. His cock twitched back to life and the events of today slammed into him. You were getting married and you would be acting out these illustrations with your soon to be husband.

Brahms growled and ripped a pillow in half, sending feathers flying everywhere. You were his and no one was going to take you from him. No one.

It was the eve to your wedding and you found yourself sitting across from your fiancé. Cole was on his eighth glass of wine and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

The table was uncharacteristically quiet, and you kept sneaking glances at Brahms. You haven’t spoken to him in over a week and the distance that had been put in place by your brother, and enforced by Sophie, Hans, Daniel and Herbert.

You hated being away from Brahms. It felt like there was a piece of you missing when you were away from him. And the only time you were permitted to see him was during meals. It wasn’t enough for you.

Your eyes met Brahms’ heated hazel gaze from across the table and you found yourself being inexplicably drawn to the scarred man. The food in front of you was all but forgotten and you gave him a genuine smile.

Brahms leaned into the table and your body subconsciously followed his lead. The two of you were like magnets: When one of you moved, the other followed. It was like magic. And it didn’t go unnoticed by everyone in the room.

Cole’s eyes darted from you to Brahms, and the man took another long swig of his wine, finishing off his glass.

“Who’s this?” he demanded, pointing a finger at Brahms.

“That’s Brahms.” Malcolm answered without missing a beat.

Cole huffed. “Who is he?” he asked once more, this time more aggressively.

Greta rolled her blue eyes and took a sip of her tea. “Y/N found Brahms washed up on the beach. He’s been staying with us while he recovers.”

“He looks fine to me.” Cole sneered.

Brahms’ nails bit through the table and a murderous aura radiated from him. Greta scooted closer to Malcolm, and the king snapped his head towards Daniel and Herbert, who were silently telling him, ‘told you so’, and you reached out and gently rested your hand on top of his.

He relaxed under your touch and Cole abruptly stood from the table, causing his chair to fall backward and land with obnoxious, resounding boom.

Cole made his way towards you and roughly grabbed your shoulder, digging the meat of his fingers into the distal end of your collarbone. You winced in pain and the foreign general turned his angered gaze to Malcolm.

“I wish to speak to my fiancée in private.”

He pulled you out of your seat and dragged you towards the door. Daniel and Herbert moved to follow you, but they were stopped by Cole.

“Alone.”

The two guards looked at Malcolm, and the king frowned. “Don’t you think that it is improper to speak to woman without a guardian?”

“Please,” Cole snorted, “by this time tomorrow you sister will be under me.”

Anger swelled in your chest and you ripped your arm from Cole’s. The general just shook his head and wrapped his arm around your waist, and he proceeded to drag you out of the room.

The two of you walked in silence until you reached a balcony that overlooked the ocean, and when the door shut, the general pushed you away from him. Not expecting that, you tripped over your feet and landed roughly on your knees and outstretched hands.

Cole’s hand shot out and he roughly grabbed your face, forcing you to look up at him. Every muscle in his burly body was tense, and his nostrils flared. He was angry.

“Have you lain with him?” He demanded in a slurred manner.

You met his heated gaze head on and sneered. “No,” you replied.

Cole searched your face and frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

Slap!

Your head snapped to the side and hot, searing pain blossomed in your cheek where his open palm had met your skin.

“You’re mine, Princess. That freak might have had you, but it’s me you belong to, remember that.”

Unshed tears kissed the outer corner of your eye and you retaliated by biting down on the hand closest to your face. Cole hissed in pain and struck you again, this time with his non-dominant hand, and he struck the top of your head with a closed fist, effectively knocking you unconscious.

Your body slumped forward and Cole removed his hand from your slack mouth. No sooner had his hand been freed, had he been tackled to the ground. Large, warm hands wrapped around his thick neck and when he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into a pair of narrowed hazel ones.

Brahms was on top of him, choking him.

Cole swung his heavy fists in the air, determined to strike Brahms, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t land a single hit on the man, for he had drunk too much: The alcohol had numbed his senses, slowing his reflexes, and skewing his depth perception.

With every failed hit, Brahms tightened his grip. Life slipped from Cole’s eyes, leaving his orbs hollow, and when the foreign general stopped moving, Brahms removed his hands and stood up. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, he picked up the body and carried it to the edge of the balcony.

Below them stood sharp, jagged rocks, and the ocean slammed against them, sending ocean mist high in the air. That would do. Without another thought, Brahms pushed the man over the railing and watched in sick enjoyment as Cole’s body entered its shallow, watery grave.

Brahms turned on his heel and quickly ran to your side. Your lips were pulled back in a tight grimace and he stilled when he saw your right cheek begin to swell. He had seen what Cole had done to you, and before he knew it, he had ran out of the shadows and killed him. The merman was just glad that you did not see what had happened.

Without further thought, the merman picked you up in his arms and cradled you close to his chest. He walked confidently into the castle and ignored the worried whispers that the staff muttered to one another. And within a matter of minutes, he had reentered the dinning room, where Malcolm and Greta were still occupying,

Greta looked up first, and when she saw Brahms carrying your unconscious body, she jostled upright and ran towards you.

“What happened to her?!” the queen demanded. “Her cheek, it is swollen!” Realization dawned upon her and she took a step back. “Did General Cole do this to her?”

Brahms nodded.

Malcolm rushed your side and motioned for Herbert to approach. The elder guard stopped in front of the merman, and he tried taking you from him, but Brahms would not let you go. It was just like what had transpired in the ocean not too long ago.

“She needs to be seen by a doctor,” Herbert whispered just loud enough for Brahms to hear, but low enough so no one else could. “As soon as the doctor clears her, I will bring you to her. You have my word.”

Brahms wanted to protest, but was stopped when Malcolm spoke. “I would like to speak to you Brahms regarding my sister. Please follow me.”

Greta helped Herbert remove you from the merman’s arms, and she cried as she tailed after the elder man.

Malcolm left the room and Brahms reluctantly followed after him. They reached a small study, and once inside the room, Malcolm sat down and poured himself a small glass of scotch.

“We need to talk, Brahms, and we need to talk about everything.”

You stood in front of the mirror, admiring the way you looked in your wedding dress.

The neckline was low, revealing your collarbone and the tops of your breasts, and the bodice was lined in a wide array of freshwater pearls. Additional pearls were carefully strung together, and they formed a sort of cap sleeve, and they felt cool against your bare skin. The skirt of the dress hung beautifully from your body and the silk material flowed like the delicate waves of the calm ocean that you were currently sailing on.

The door to the room opened and Malcolm stepped in. He was dressed in grey and gold, and his hair was smoothed back. Silver cuffs and buttons gleamed under the rays of the setting sun, and he the hesitant smile that he wore turned into a genuine one upon seeing you.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“I feel beautiful,” you replied.

Malcolm stood at the doorway and motioned towards his pocket watch. “It’s almost time.”

You backed away from the mirror and grabbed the bouquet of white roses. With flowers in hand, you reached your brother. He held out his arm and you looped yours through it.

He led you out of the room, through the cabin, and up the dock. Everyone stood when they caught sight of you, and the harpist began playing. With every cord she struck, you took a step closer towards your future.

Brahms watched you with the intensity of a starved man. Your body vibrated and a large smile spread across your face. When you reached the end of the aisle, Malcolm kissed your cheek and turned to Brahms. He took a step closer and whispered something into your fiancé’s ear: ‘Remember your promise: No harm will come to my sister.’

Brahms nodded and when Malcolm stepped back, the merman pulled you towards him. The magistrate cleared his throat and the ceremony began.

While the magistrate spoke, you glanced at Brahms from the corner of your eye. He too wore a large, blinding smile.

You were happy, and you couldn’t help but think about the events that had transpired a little over a week ago.

When you had awoke from the strike that Cole delivered, you had found yourself back in your room with Brahms asleep beside you on the bed. Malcolm sat on the chair to your right, and he was the one to break the wondrous news to you: Cole was dead. He had fallen, hit his head on the balcony’s rail, and fell to his death.

It seemed too good to be true, but you didn’t care. You were free! With Cole’s death, there was no arranged marriage. And seeing how his death was an accident, the opposing kingdom could not attack without losing their supporters, which would leave their kingdom in financial ruin.

And it was then that Malcolm handed you the old, leathern-bound journal that his father had written in, years ago before Malcolm was even born. He kissed your forehead and left you alone (Brahms was still fast asleep beside you).

You had read the entirety of the notebook within the span of two hours, and during that time, you couldn’t help but glance at the slumbering man that clung to you. Somewhere deep inside you, you knew that Brahms had been the merman that killed Emily, but for some strange reason, you weren’t afraid of him.

Malcolm returned shortly after you read your step-father’s journal, and by that time, Brahms was awake. He was laying between your legs, head resting on your unbound chest, and a lazy smile on his face.

It was then that your brother told you about the events that transpired when you had fallen into the ocean all those weeks ago. He also told you that it was Brahms that saved you from Cole, who in turned killed the vile general.

Brahms nodded here and there, confirming the story, and he had tightened his grip on you. He was afraid that you would push him away when you knew of who and what he was, but to his delight, you only held him tighter. You loved him.

“And do you, Princess Y/N, take Brahms as your lawfully wedded husband?” The magistrate asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I do.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Brahms, you may kiss your bride.”

The former merman wasted no time. He cupped your cheeks with his hands and placed his lips over yours. You smiled against his lips and Brahms pulled you close, pressing your body against his.

When you pulled back, the crowd cheered.

By the time the moon was high in sky, the celebration came to an end. You and Brahms hurried to your wedding suite. No sooner had the door shut behind you, your husband tackled you onto the bed and covered your skin in kisses.

Your hands wounded in his thick, curly locks, and you sighed as he began sucking on the column of your neck. Brahms moved his hips, pressing his erection against your center, and you gasped.

A soft groan fell from Brahms and he hurriedly removed your dress, not caring that the string of pearls around your shoulders broke. He needed you, and you needed him. Neither one of you could wait anymore.

His hands wandered the expanse of your naked body and he whimpered at the beautiful sight. Nothing could have prepared him for this. You were more beautiful that he dared to imagine, and you were his, just as he was yours.

Brahms opened your legs, revealing your glistening sex, and he lowered his head. He stopped when he reached your hooded bundle of nerves and he pressed his tongue on it.

Your body jolted back and you cried out loudly. Brahms settled further into the bed and began exploring you with his tongue and fingers. No inch of skin was spared, and with every passing second, you became more and more undone.

Brahms slipped his tongue inside of your sex, earning him a breathless gasp. His nose brushed against your clitoris and your legs tightened against the side of his head. You laced your fingers through his hair and moaned in pleasure. With every thrust of his tongue and jostle against your clit, you could feel an unfamiliar knot forming within your lower abdomen. Your body was beginning to grow taut and your breathing became labored. Brahms’ tongue entered your core once more, reaching deeper than before, and something inside of you snapped.

Your back arched and a white, blinding pleasure overtook you. Every single nerve came to life and your textured walls clamped around your husband’s tongue, and something wet trickled out of you.

Brahms swallowed your sweet nectar and you collapsed back onto the feathered bed. Your legs shook in the aftermath of your orgasm and you chest heaved.

The former merman removed his clothes, living him naked, and you greedily drunk in the sight before you with hooded eyes. He was beautiful. You had often thought about his naked form when you found him on the beach, but now that he was on top of you, between your legs, you couldn’t help but shudder.

His cock stood proud and his testicles were heavy with seed. Fat drops of pre-cum trickled from his weeping slit. Thick veins decorated the underside of his member, and it was flushed a brilliant pink color. It was large and you whined when you thought about him entering you.

“Please,” you panted, “I want you inside me.”

Those six words undid what little composure Brahms still had left, and without warning, he thrusted inside you, breaking the thin tissue that was nestled inside of you. A cry of pain and pleasure fell from your lips, and your husband rested his forehead against yours.

His lips moved and you read the silent words. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I will.’

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, and you peppered kisses along his scarred cheek. “I love you, Brahms,” you moaned.

His thrust faltered upon your heartfelt confession, and the merman nuzzled against your neck, placing tender kisses here and there, then he proceeded at a faster pace.

The two of you quickly found a rhythm, and with every thrust, the two of you became closer to your impending peaks. Beads of sweat collected on your chests, and after a particularly deep thrust, your nails dug into his back.

Brahms hissed and pressed his cock against your cervix, sending you over the edge. The walls of your sex clamped down hard around him, and the textured tissue squeezed his cock in a rhythmic pattern.

You clung to him with all your might as your soul momentarily left your body, and you cried your husband’s name.

Your pleasured cry of his name, and the squeezing of your walls against his cock became too much, and Brahms came with a silent cry. His thick seed shot out and you gasped at the feeling of being filled with your husband’s essence.

Brahms collapsed on top of you, his cock still inside of you, keeping you connected and his seed trapped within you. You ran your hands up and down his back, carefully tracing the red marks you left on his creamy, freckled skin.

Your husband hummed and licked the small drops of sweat from your breasts. He traced his tongue over your nipple and you gasped when he took the erect bead in his mouth. He suckled on it and looked up at you through lidded eyes.

He then flipped you over, not once removing his still erect cock from your semen filled center, and you balanced yourself on him by placing your hands on his curl dampened chest.

He moved beneath you and placed his hands on your fleshy hips. You smiled down at your husband and began riding him, determined to make the both of you ascend to the stars once more.

Brahms watched you sleep beside him, and he gently ran the tip of his fingers up and down your bare back. Your neck, chest and breasts were covered in dark love bites, and your combined fluids painted the inside of your thighs, with most of his cum nestled deep within you.

For once in his life, he felt happy.

“Oh, sweet Prince.” A familiar voice called out.

Brahms slowly and carefully climbed out of the bed, and wrapped a blanket around his naked waist. His bare feet carried him to the modestly sized balcony that was connected to the suite, and once he reached the railing, he glanced down.

Spume, the sea witch, was staring up at him with glowing golden eyes. She titled her head to the side and smiled. “The waves spoke of a beautiful wedding between a prince of the sea and a princess of land. I just had to see for myself.”

The former merman stared at the witch in indifference, causing the sea witch to laugh. She moved her hand and a large column of sea water propelled her into the air, towards Brahms.

Spume wrapped one arm around his head, allowing their lips to meet, and with her dominant hand, she opened his mouth. Purple magic swirled around his head, and something warm and orb-like entered his mouth. Once the orb rested on his tongue, Spume quickly pulled away.

“Swallow, Your Majesty.”

Not knowing what else to do, Brahms did as instructed. Something heavy settled in the center of his throat and he rubbed the spot that glowed golden.

“A wedding gift. Enjoy your new life, Prince Brahms.”

And with that, Spume returned back to the ocean and disappeared beneath the waves.

Brahms took a step back and mumbled, “What was that?”

His eyes widened and he tightened the grip around his neck. He had his voice back!

Brahms ran back into the bedroom and jumped onto the bed, starting you awake. You noticed Brahms’ excited expression and smiled tiredly.

“Darling, are you—”

“I love you!” Brahms cried, crashing his lips to yours once more.

And the two of you lived happily ever after.

#slasher x fairytale au #slasher x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire x you

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