#Rock Beast AU

[partywithoutsmiling]

Idea that has been knocking around for few months now; lets call it 'Rock Beast AU' Basis being that Branch - and his Bros- are carrying some Rock Troll herritage in their blood, and thus the Ultimate Powerchord affects Branch rather differently- more violently- than in the movie The shot itself launches him into Poppy's prison which comes crashing down with both of them, knocking her out and causing injuries (and also causing her to miss the aftermath of the Powerchord) She comes to within a prison cell, confused and aching, with no-one but a 'Beast' for a company in the cell adjacent to hers (Unknown to her, Barb, seeing the effect the strings had on Branch- and the effort it took for her subjects to subdue him after, not without injuries- puts her plan on Zombifying everyone on hold, at least untill she figures out how to either reverse or control the 'Beast')

(Unknown to Barb, the longer the 'Beast' spends in Poppy's company- who, albeit afraid of 'it', is still too softhearted to not try and make friends- the more of Branch returns to the forefront of his mind. It does help that Poppy, put in essentially solitary confinement with no other troll to talk to, talks to the 'Beast')

(It isnt untill Barb deigns to come by to try and experiment with the Guitar on Branch again, that she learns that it's no mere critter keeping her company- and Barb, hardly willing to admit her plan being faulty, is quite eager to lay all the blame on Poppy's shoulders- after all, Branch took the hit for her)

(Poppy, now enlightened with the identity of her cell companion, doesnt take long to fall into guilt- after all, the last time she and Branch talked, they argued, and she dismissed each and every of his warning)

(It weights down on her, and causes her colours to become muted- not having the faintest idea that Branch will hardly take the defeat and is already aware enough of himself to start carefully planning their escape, in which his sudden strenght and ability to fly comes very handy)

The idea for the AU- with some different lore and effects surrounding the strings- is that during their escape, where Branch figures they might as well use their alliance with the Bergens to their advantage, they crash land when the weather turns bad. Shenanigans ensue, where they have to try and avoid rock trolls searching for them- untill by pure chance of luck, they manage to encounter John Dory

(Also Poppy doesnt have her crown, as Barb gloatingly took it, saying she will hardly need it anymore)

[pechachaos]

perhaps there’s something there that wasn’t there before 🌌✨ /ly

[mantisgodsaus]

More selkieverse worldbuilding time. Fun fact: all selkies are bound to one of the four classical elements (fire, earth, air, water). The specific element varies by individual, but it tends to run in families - due, largely, to the fact that the creature that your pelt belongs to tends to heavily affect how inclined members of a strain may be to being a given element. The best-known, of course, are pinnipeds, who are almost always Water aligned, but marsupial selkies are known for frequently being aligned to Earth, and nearly every single avian strain out there will trend strongly towards Air. Fire tends to be rarest, with no consistent lines, turning up only occasionally in individual selkies.

When aligned to an element, a selkie will naturally be drawn to that thing - Water often produces an impossibly strong draw to water, both the sea and any other bodies of water that may be available to a selkie. Earth might be drawn underground, spelunking or tunneling and going ever deeper until some Earth selkies may wind up not seeing the sun for weeks or months at a time. Air, of course, produces a longing for the air and for flight - and Fire, a draw towards heat and flame which has been well-known to lead to disaster.

Beyond the longing for the elemend one is bound to, one's alignment also tends to offer resistance to one's element - Earth, for example, tends to make a selkie far more resilient against blunt force than other members of its species and offer a strong resistance to the psychological impact of darkness and claustrophobia, and Water selkies are often heavily resistant to both water pressure and any form of drowning.

With most forms of selkie, a strong presence of their aligned element will also tend to make them a bit more difficult to harm - while not offering an offensive advantage, a seal in water tends to simply be harder to hit, a bird in the air will find more ways to dodge you in the air than you knew existed, and trying to chase a weasel into a set of tunnels will have it finding more exits than you ever knew existed.

The final thing that an element affects generally isn't evident until a selkie dies. Upon a selkie's death, the bug body will generally decompose into its associated element within less than a day - though the dead sealskin will remain, the resultant body is rarely stable enough to be formally recognized as a body if you don't know precisely what to look for. Though the exact material varies, it is always tied to their core element - seafoam, lake water, and pond scum have all been recorded from pinnipeds of various forms, cinder and ash is common from Fire, Earth has been known to crumble to sand and leave bug-shaped stone formations in equal part, and Air has the disquieting tendancy to not leave any sign of a body at all.

Though there have been a multitude of rumors and myths suggesting that some selkies may gain the ability to fully control and manipulate their element, when sufficiently attuned to it, there is no concrete evidence to suggest it - historically, all signs have pointed to this being folklore, not fact. Primarily, this seems to stem from a quirk of selkie psychology - something similar to the call of the void. 

Occasionally, particularly when near the ends of their lives (either by old age or should they have the time to feel it after being dealt a mortal wound), selkies are known to seek out any font of their element that they can. Though poorly researched, there are enough anecdotes to construct an idea of the phenomenon. Selkies affected by this will commonly claim that the thing they're seeking out is "calling to them" - an intensification of the pull that element normally has on a given selkie, and an urge to follow it deeper - the bottom of the ocean, the centre of the earth, the very highest part of the sky, the burning heart of a flame.

Should they listen, and follow the call, they rarely come back - losing themselves to the pull of their own essence's wish to join with the greater body of its element. Unlike other methods of death, this does not generally leave a pelt behind, as most selkies will want to bring their skin with them to seek out whatever lies at the other end of this call, and thus the pelt will also be recombined into the core of whatever force of nature they've gone to seek.

[thisisbecausepolyvoreclosed]

First Time In Storybrooke/Return To Storybrooke outfit concepts for Reese in both random alternate universes me and my friend, @disneyfan50 , have going on with my oc, Reese (daughter of Hades version) and disneyfan50's series, An Untold Story.

Top one is for Reese in the AU we dub Rose AU, where she appears in Tales of Auradon onwards as explained on this concept designs post, but unlike prior concept posts, Reese does not have blue hair while in Storybrooke, as after following Rose after the disasterous talk with Beast and Rowena takes the two to Storybrooke, the curse with its effects on magic, blocks Reese's fire hair, meaning she finding with surprise without blue hair, she really does look like her adopted family.

Bottom one is for Reese in the AU we dub Once Upon An Time AU, where she appears from the start of the alternate universe as explained on this concept design post and despite gaining some of her fire hair back a little while in Auradon, returning to Storybrooke with Rose and Rowena means any fire hair is gone once more.

[cherrywoodaxe]

misc aus

[lotusfartstwice]

Various beastly au scribbles.

[madmanwonder]

Ask "Happy Valentine, My Sweetheart" Rock Lee to Euphimia from Code Geass

“Happy Valentine, My Sweetheart.” Lee expressed his heartfelt feelings toward the beautiful pinkette princess who was shocked and blushing badly at the unexpected confession from the eccentric martial artist.

[merakiui]

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea. 

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.” 

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

[yuutx]

ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝐎𝐇, 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ~ ! (𝒢𝐸𝒯𝒪 𝒮𝒰𝒢𝒰𝑅𝒰)

sailor! geto suguru x f! siren! reader ﾉ 18+ content. ﾉ mythological creature au ﾉ nsfw + unprotected sex / raw sex ﾉ size kink ﾉ handjob ﾉ dirty talk ﾉ praise kink ﾉ slight degrading kink ﾉ hair pulling ﾉ clit play ﾉ tongue kissing ﾉ riding ﾉ orgasm denial ﾉ creampie ﾉ msub → mdom + fdom → fsub ﾉ not proofread ! ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

i was literally ab 2 give up on this fic,, supa supa glad i didn't ! ! i rllie luv this idea 'n had a fun ( but sorta frustratin ) time writing it ! art credits go 2 @/shiraki_shiki on twitter ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !

The water lapped against the side of the boat, the gentle current rocking the wooden vessel. The sun was beginning to set, the sky painted in hues of pinks and purples, the colors reflecting off the waves. The wind rustled through the leaves of the trees, a faint breeze carrying the scent of sea salt and pine, the air heavy with humidity. Geto hummed softly, the tune a familiar one, the sound of his voice echoing in the silence. You swam beneath the surface, keeping just out of view, peering up at him through the crystal-clear waters.

Your tail swished, propelling you through the water, your scales shimmering in the dying sunlight. You watched him, studying his every movement, the way his hands moved deftly, his fingers curling around the rope, tying the knots securely. He worked with ease, his expression relaxed, his dark hair swept back, a few strands falling loose. You found yourself drawn to him, your curiosity growing, the urge to get closer, to learn more about him, gnawing at you. The many sailors you had seen before had been quite.. unsightly, but he was different. His skin was smooth and pale, his features sharp and angular, a strong jawline and high cheekbones. And his eyes, his eyes were what caught your attention the most. They were dark and intense, like twin pools of obsidian, a deep, endless void, the pupils dilated, the reflection of the sun dancing on the surface of the water. You felt entranced by them, your gaze never wavering, the intensity of his stare making your skin prickle.

You drifted closer, your fins fanning out, the tips of them breaking the surface, rippling through the waves.

A soft, delicate voice caught his attention, the melodic sound drifting towards him, his name being carried by the wind. He looked up, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. He scanned the horizon, his brow furrowed, a spark of unease flickering in his eyes. He had heard that same sound before, a few nights prior, and he had dismissed it, assuming it was the product of his imagination, but now he was certain that he had heard it, a haunting, beautiful voice calling out to him.

His heart hammered in his chest, his pulse quickening, his palms sweating. There was something in the water, he could feel it. It was watching him, waiting. A creature, a beast. He had read the legends, he knew the stories. The tales of sirens, half-fish, half-human, that lured sailors to their deaths, singing their hypnotizing songs. What he didn't know was that you didn't want to kill him, in fact, quite the opposite.

You could smell him, his scent drifting towards you, his blood pumping through his veins, the scent of his skin and sweat filling the air. The water was tinged with a metallic tang, his fear making your mouth water, the scent of him invading your nostrils.

"What are you doing out here all alone?"

He turned his head, searching for the source of the voice, but he couldn't see anything, the shadows too thick, the ocean too vast. He swallowed, the sound loud and harsh, his throat dry. "Show yourself." He demanded, his voice strained. You chuckled, the sound echoing through the air, the tone laced with amusement. You swam closer, the surface of the water rippling around you, your tail splashing in the waves. Your fins brushed against the hull of the ship, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. You hummed, a low, musical tone, the notes flowing freely, the sound lilting and sweet. He froze, his eyes wide, his breath catching in his throat. "Where are you?" He called out, his voice cracking, his fingers clutching the rope, his knuckles turning white. "I'm here." You answered, your lips curling into a smirk, a mischievous glint flashing in your eyes. He turned, his gaze roaming over the surface of the water, the moonlight reflecting off the ripples, a faint shimmer catching his eye. You hummed again, the notes flowing freely, the sound reverberating in the air. He shivered, goosebumps prickling his skin, the sound wrapping around him, sinking into his bones.

"You're a pretty one, aren't you? All big and strong. So handsome." You purred, the compliment sounding genuine, the praise sending a rush of heat through him. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, his pulse thundering in his ears. "Why don't you come a little closer, hm? Let me take a look at you." You cooed, the words dripping from your tongue like honey. He hesitated, his muscles tense, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He knew the consequences, he knew the risk. But he couldn't deny the pull, the magnetic force that drew him in. He inched closer, the boat creaking beneath his feet, the wood groaning under his weight. The scent of him was intoxicating, the heady, masculine scent making your mouth water, your fangs bared, the points digging into your bottom lip. "What's your name, sailor boy?" You asked, the question laced with a playful edge, the words teasing.

"Geto. Geto Suguru." He answered, his tone clipped, his gaze sweeping over the ocean. His eyes widened as you came into view, your tail glistening in the moonlight, the scales shimmering, a rainbow of colors reflected on the surface of the water. Your fins twitched, the translucent appendages rippling, the thin membrane stretching outwards. "Sugu.. what a cute name." You giggled, your voice taking on a flirtatious tone, the sound making his heart skip a beat.

"Thank you." He mumbled, his cheeks flushing, the compliment flustering him. He stared at you, taking in your features, the soft curves of your body, the shape of your waist, the swell of your breasts, the delicate features of your face. You were beautiful, ethereal. You reminded him of a doll, a porcelain sculpture. His eyes darted to your face, his gaze flickering over your skin, your scales, the shimmering iridescence of your fins. "You're not human." He whispered, his words coming out as a statement rather than a question.

"Of course I'm not, silly." You raised a hand, reaching out, your fingers grazing the hull of the boat, the tips of your claws raking against the wood. "But I think you already knew that, didn't you, Suguru?" He shivered, his body reacting to the way you said his name, the sound of his given name on your lips making him weak. You smiled, your teeth flashing, the points glinting in the light, the sight of them making his heart leap into his throat. "Tell me, sailor boy, have you ever been with a girl like me before?"

You asked, your voice taking on a husky, breathless note, a hint of desperation creeping into your tone. Sirens weren't meant to be alone, and the lack of contact was beginning to wear on you. "No." He murmured, his mind wandering, the image of you, your naked body pressed against his, flashing in his mind.

"No? Hm.." A feigned pout formed on your lips, your gaze drifting lower, settling on the tent forming in his pants. "Oh, I see. Is that for me, sailor boy?" You teased, the words making his cheeks heat up, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat, his tongue feeling heavy. He let out a strangled moan, the sound spilling from his lips before he could stop it. Your gaze snapped up, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, a devious glint flashing in your eyes.

You reached out a hand, trailing your fingertips over the material of his trousers, a delighted giggle escaping you when he twitched, his hips jerking forward. "So sensitive.." You mused, the sound of your voice sending a jolt through him, his cock throbbing in his pants.

"Well, help me up then, won't you? It's only polite to invite a lady on board, isn't it?"

You batted your lashes at him, the motion exaggerated, a teasing smile playing upon your lips. He nodded, his movements clumsy, his limbs stiff. He reached down, his fingers curling around your wrist, his skin brushing against yours. He pulled you out of the water, your tail flicking in the air, then disappearing and separating into legs instead as he placed you on the deck.

Your seashell bra fell loose, your nipples pebbling, the cool night air causing them to stiffen. He swallowed thickly, his eyes raking over your form, taking in the sight of your plush curves, your soft skin, the way your breasts heaved with each breath you took. His cock twitched, his arousal becoming painfully obvious, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Your soft tune resumed, the melody flowing through him, the sound sending shivers down his spine. He was trapped, enthralled, hypnotized. Your voice was soothing, intoxicating, a sweet nectar, dripping from your lips. He couldn't look away, his gaze never leaving yours, the intensity of your stare making him feel weak, a rush of heat flooding his veins. Your lips curled into a grin, a smug expression flitting across your features, the sight of him falling under your spell, giving into your song, pleasing you.

The tension was palpable, a thick fog settling over him, a haze of desire clouding his mind. "Why don't you show me what's hiding in those pants, sailor boy?" You whispered, your voice low and husky, the sound causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. He fumbled with the zipper, the material sliding down his legs, his boxers tenting, his hard cock straining against the cotton. Every one of your words took over him, controlling his body, making him obey. Your voice was his master, the sound of your melody commanding him, his willpower waning, the last of his resolve slipping away.

You reached up, your hands finding his shoulders, gripping the material of his shirt, pushing him backwards. He stumbled, the force of your shove catching him off guard, his back hitting the wooden floorboards. He hissed, the impact sending a jolt of pain through him, the dull ache throbbing in his lower back. You crawled on top of him, your knees bracketing his hips, your fingers tracing patterns on his skin, the touch light and teasing. You ground your hips down, the heat of your pussy seeping through his boxers, the dampness soaking through the fabric. He moaned, the noise getting lost in the back of his throat, his jaw going slack, his eyelids fluttering. Your hips rocked, the motion smooth and fluid, a steady rhythm. You hummed, the sound vibrating through his body, his cock twitching in response. "Such a pretty human, aren't you?" You murmured, the praise making his skin prickle, his cheeks flushing, the heat rising to the surface, coloring his skin. You leaned forward, your lips ghosting over his jaw, trailing over the column of his throat. You nipped at his flesh, the contact sharp and sudden, the sensation causing his pulse to quicken. "Suguru.." You sighed, the sound soft and breathy, a hint of desperation creeping into your tone. He shuddered, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, his nails biting into your skin, the stinging pain causing you to whimper. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down, freeing his aching cock, a breeze causing his heated skin to cool. You wrapped a hand around him, the warmth of your palm encasing his shaft, a groan escaping him, the contact making his body quiver. He was huge, his girth and length making you tremble, a delicious mix of apprehension and anticipation thrumming through you.

"Such a big boy." You cooed, a playful edge to your voice, your thumb swiping over the head of his cock, smearing the beads of precum gathered there. You pumped him, your fist gliding over his heated flesh, the rhythm slow and lazy. "A-ah, fuck.." He groaned, his hips jerking, the motion involuntary, a reflex. "F-feels good.." He slurred, his words slurring together, the combination of his moans and the way his cock throbbed in your palm making you wet, a fresh wave of slick coating your inner thighs. You pressed the pad of your thumb against his slit, the pressure making him cry out, a loud moan escaping him, his back arching. His eyes rolled back, his mouth hanging open, a string of curses and profanities falling from his lips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck.. oh god, please." He babbled, his voice cracking, a strangled whimper spilling from his lips, the sound desperate and needy. Your grip tightened, the pace of your strokes quickening, his hips thrusting upwards, his movements frantic. You watched him, his body writhing beneath yours, the sight of him coming undone making your blood boil, your lust building, a fire burning in the pit of your stomach.

Geto felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening in his abdomen, the feeling threatening to snap, his release nearing. "Fuck, I-I'm gonna cum." He gasped, the words tumbling from his lips, his eyes screwing shut. You stopped, your hand stilling, your grip loosening. He whined, the sound high-pitched and pathetic, his cock throbbing in your palm. "What are you doing?" He growled, his tone frustrated, his expression one of disbelief. You smiled, a smug, self-satisfied grin, your fangs flashing. "You're not cumming yet, baby." You purred, the word falling from your tongue, the pet name making his cock twitch. You lifted yourself off him, a whine of protest falling from his lips. You spread your legs, your knees planted on either side of him, your hands gripping the edge of the deck. He watched, his gaze roaming over your body, his eyes widening when you sank down, your dripping pussy swallowing his cock, the warmth of your walls enveloping him. "Fuck.." He cursed, the sound coming out as a hiss, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingertips digging into your skin, the stinging pain making you gasp. You braced yourself, your palms flat against his chest, using him for leverage, your body moving on its own, instinct taking over.

You rolled your hips, the movement slow and experimental, the drag of his cock against your walls sending a jolt through you, the sensation causing you to clench around him. The feeling of being filled was foreign, strange, and you felt your body struggling to adjust to his size, the stretch causing an ache to bloom deep in your core. "God, you're fucking tight.." He groaned, his breathing ragged, the strain of holding himself back, evident on his face. "Mm, I bet you've thought about this, haven't you? You've fantasized about a pretty girl like me riding your big cock, haven't you, Sugu?" You asked, the words punctuated with a roll of your hips, the tip of his cock pressing against a spot inside you, the contact sending sparks of pleasure racing through your being.

He moaned in response, his lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers gripped the wooden floorboards, the tips of his nails scraping against the surface, leaving behind deep scratches. He bucked his hips upwards, the force causing you to yelp, a loud cry of surprise escaping you. He set a brutal pace, his cock slamming into you, the motion making your body quiver. He groaned, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure, the feeling of your pussy stretching around him, almost too much to bear. Your thighs quivered, your muscles trembling. You weren't used to this, the feeling of being so full, the sensation of his cock filling you up, making you feel like you were being split in half.

He fucked into you relentlessly, groans and grunts falling from his lips, his face screwed up in a mask of concentration. He could feel his climax approaching, the tension in his abdomen building, the familiar sensation of pleasure coiling in his stomach. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." He moaned, the sound guttural and raw, the words a warning. Your grip on his chest tightened, your fingers digging into his skin, the points of your nails pinpricking his flesh. You leaned down, your breath hot and heavy, your teeth grazing his throat, nipping at the exposed skin, before you were tossed over onto your back, the change in position causing you to gasp, your body quivering.

Geto hovered above you, his arms caging you in, his hair falling loose, the strands tickling your face. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, a look of feral hunger crossing his features. "You.." He panted. "You're such a tease." He growled, his words laced with a hint of venom. His fingers tangled in your hair, his grip tight, the pull stinging, causing you to whimper. He pulled, the strands wrapped around his fingers, yanking your head back, exposing the column of your throat. He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh, the bite painful and sharp, a choked cry of pleasure spilling from your lips. His hips snapped forward, his cock slamming into you, a loud moan escaping him. The sounds that came from him were guttural and primal, animalistic. The noise was unlike anything you had heard before, a mixture of growls and groans, the sound making your body quiver, a shudder wracking your frame. "Little minx." He grunted, his grip on your hair tightening, the sting causing tears to prick the corners of your eyes. "Such a dirty girl, aren't you? Soaking my cock like this." His breath was hot and heavy against your ear, the heat of his breath making you squirm, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. "You like that, don't you? Like it when I talk dirty to you?" He murmured, his voice a low, seductive drawl. Your pussy clenched around him, a whimper escaping you. He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "So fucking cute." He breathed, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

He pulled away, his gaze flickering down, taking in the sight of his cock disappearing into your dripping cunt, his length glistening, coated in your slick. His thrusts were deep and powerful, his cock hitting spots within you that you never knew existed. His pace was unrelenting, his movements frantic, his hips slamming into you, a loud slap ringing through the air, the sound echoing. "F-fuck, Suguru.." You gasped, the sound coming out as a strangled sob. "Please.." You pleaded, the word drawn out, your voice strained, the tone high and desperate. He smirked, his lips curling into a lopsided grin, a devious glint flashing in his eyes. His fingers found your clit, his touch light, the pressure making you jolt, a broken cry of pleasure escaping you. "That's it, that's a good girl." He praised, the words tumbling from his lips, the praise sending a rush of heat through your body. His fingers circled the sensitive bud, the pads of his digits massaging the swollen flesh, his movements slow and deliberate. "Sexy little thing.. all for me, aren't you? You're mine." He growled, the statement sounding more like a claim than a question. "All fucking mine."

You moaned, his words igniting a fire deep in your core, your body responding to his every touch, his every word, your desire burning, consuming you. "Yesyesyesyesyes!! A-All yours! Mmh-!" You cried out, the words tumbling from your lips, your voice a breathless, keening whine. His fingers continued their ministrations, his thumb rubbing firm, insistent circles against your clit, the contact making you arch, your back bowing off the floor. You reached out, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingertips digging into his shoulders, your nails biting into his skin, leaving behind red welts. You clung to him, your hold on him tight, the only thing anchoring you, keeping you sane. "S'.. close..!" You whimpered, the sound barely audible, the words slurring together, the syllables blending into each other, incoherent babbling. He grunted, his fingers working furiously, the movement of his digits rough and uneven, his pace faltering. His thrusts became frantic, his movements erratic, his hips snapping forward, the motion harsh and jarring. "Gonna.. cum.. cum inside this gorgeous pussy." He panted, the words spilling from his lips, his mind hazy, the only thing he could think about was you, the way your body reacted to his, the way you fit so perfectly around him, squeezing him like a vice.

"M-mmhhmm! Pleasepleaseplease!" You begged, and his lips crashed against yours, a bruising kiss, the intensity stealing your breath away. His tongue slipped into your mouth, the intrusion hot and wet, the slick muscle sliding against yours, his taste flooding your senses, the flavor of his saliva filling your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, his fist pulling, yanking the strands, the sharp sting causing you to yelp, a loud, wanton moan escaping you. Your eyes rolled back, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, your release imminent. Your walls fluttered, clenching around him, a strangled gasp escaping you, the feeling making him grunt, the sound rumbling through his chest. Sloppy, wet noises filled the sea air, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, mixing with the symphony of moans and groans, the melody reverberating throughout the ship. "M-'m gonna.. gonna cum!" You managed to choke out into his mouth, the words muffled by his lips. His hips jerked, a few hard, punishing thrusts, before he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing, the feeling making you whimper. His lips smashed yours harder, the kiss sloppy and uncoordinated, his mouth becoming more and more demanding as he came, the warm, sticky liquid coating your insides, his seed painting your walls. The sensation of his cum spilling inside you, coupled with the relentless pressure on your clit, was enough to send you over the edge, a powerful orgasm washing over you, your pussy clenching, squeezing his cock, a high-pitched scream tearing from your throat, the sound echoing through the night air.

He continued to fuck you through your climax, his thrusts erratic, the rhythm uneven and haphazard, his movements faltering as he rode out his orgasm, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through his body, the sensations almost too much to bear. His thrusts slowed, his pace becoming sluggish, the momentum fading, his hips rolling, his movements lazy, his cock still buried inside you, the feeling of him stretching you out making you whine.

He finally stilled, his breath heavy, his lungs burning. He pulled away, his lips detaching from yours, a string of saliva connecting you, the strands snapping, falling against your chin. His chest heaved, his pulse racing, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. "That.. was fucking amazing.." He panted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, his expression smug, his cockiness palpable. He chuckled, the sound low and husky, a soft, contented sigh slipping from his lips. He looked down, his gaze flickering between the two of you, his eyes focusing on the space where your bodies were joined, his softening cock still sheathed inside you. "My pretty little siren.. you really were made for this, weren't you?" He cooed, his voice taking on a playful tone, a hint of teasing creeping into his words. You blushed, the color rising to the surface, your cheeks flushing, a pretty pink spreading across your face. You giggled, the sound sweet and innocent, the sound sending a rush of heat through him. "Oh, Suguru.. you have no idea."

[captain-joongz]

A little show

Pairing: Min Yoongi x f!reader

Genre: uni au, pure smut with a dash of plot, some fluff, strangers to lovers

Word count: 9.6k

Summary: Who knew that getting off in the uni bathroom to get away from the world's most boring lecture could lead to getting absolutely railed by a cute postgrad student... but third time's the charm, right?

Warnings: slight exhibitionism, masturbation in a public bathroom, sex in a public bathroom (for once they're even using condoms lol), yoongi is a little shit but he'll rock your world, dirty talk, slight choking kink, dom-ish yoongi, who am i kidding he's a fucking beast, fingering, backshots, rough sex, some begging, biting and marking, they literally don't talk to each once before fucking

A/N: oof this was totally unplanned but i cannot be held responsible for anything after seeing the d-day concert movie, this is all yoongi's fault. also it ends surprisingly fluffy for the filth that's contained within

credit for the divider to @saradika-graphics, thank you so much <3

I blinked rapidly, trying to keep myself awake while the lecturer droned on, his nervous slightly stuttering voice carrying through the classroom and lulling everyone into a half-asleep haze. Every Tuesday I had to sit through 90 minutes of this man stumbling through every topic, trying to connect with the classroom full of people while anxiously stepping around the whiteboard projecting his presentation.

I was fully understanding, this was his first year teaching and he still hasn’t shaken off the stage fright, but that didn’t stop me from wishing I had never enrolled into this class and rather spent the time doing literally anything else. It didn’t help that it was an afternoon lecture, dragging on until 5PM, which was usually the time I was already completely fried.

I looked around, noting the other students similarly fighting off sleep or browsing internet on their notebooks, some valiantly still trying to keep their attention on the lecturer and failing miserably. I watched the girl in the row in front of me order a cute sweater, deliberating between two colours for about ten minutes before choosing strawberry pink. I approved.

My body was screaming from being bent over the desk in my boredom, back bent so crooked when I straightened out it cracked vertebra after vertebra like a xylophone from nightmares. I sighed, squirmed around, checked the time. Only 5 minutes have passed since I last looked. I barely suppressed a groan. I couldn’t sit still for longer than a minute, leaning back then pressing forward, folding and unfolding my legs, just trying to find a comfortable position to spend the next 40 minutes in and failing.

After 5 more minutes I reached a boiling point, playing with the thought of just booking it halfway through, but instead my unoccupied brain started entertaining itself by slipping into a territory that it deemed more fun. I started thinking about what I’d rather be doing, where I’d rather be, flushing slightly from embarrassment but surrendering to these thoughts as they presented at least some form of entertainment.

I made it barely 10 minutes before I was so painfully wet and aroused I definitely couldn’t make it through the lecture anymore. I had to do something about it, now.

I wasn’t shy about the fact that I occasionally enjoyed wanking in some more public spaces like bathrooms, the thrill of someone possibly coming in and having to keep quiet was getting to me. I didn’t indulge in it often, just when I got really bored and my brain immediately went to “let’s get off to entertain ourselves” instead of doing something normal like other people, just when I was sure there was only a slight chance of someone actually coming across me.

But thinking all that, I realised I’d never taken such liberty while I was in the uni building, probably just thinking about getting out of there as quickly as possible, but fuck, this lecture was getting to me. Somehow it felt more morally wrong than some other random ass places, but I deliberated on it. We were in a secluded corner of the building, it was really high and there was no elevator, the classrooms were smaller and above there was construction going on, which resulted in this place usually being totally deserted except for those unlucky souls that still had lectures here. I was pretty sure there was no other class going on here right now and the chance of someone from here going to the bathroom at the same time was slim.

On a whim I decided to take the risk, my body heating up knowing I was about to give in to the need. I quickly stood up, grabbed my phone and made my way outside. The hall was empty except for a single guy sitting by a table directly across from the bathroom door, but I figured it would be fine. He was wearing headphones anyway, head bobbing to a beat I couldn’t hear and fingers nimbly clicking something on his laptop and toying with the mouse. I slipped past him quietly and went straight for the bathroom door.

Inside was quiet, as if cut off from the outside world, the only two toilets both empty and door wide open. I went to the further one, not that it made much difference with how small the room was, but it still made me feel a little better.

With the door closed and locked for better feeling of security, the excitement finally got the better of me and I rushed to stick my hand into my skirt to pull down my tights and panties, fingers immediately finding the slick folds.

I bent over, the stall small enough to allow me to lean on my elbow on one wall while my ass pressed into the other, fingers going straight for my clit and wasting no time in pressing on it and circling it desperately. Quiet sighs of pleasure spilled from my lips, body trembling with pleasure heightened by the fact I was in a public space.

I barely even touched myself and I could already feel how fucked out I was getting, knees shaking and the pleasure mounting dangerously fast. In my mind I imagined myself bent over the toilet and a warm presence behind me, getting fucked good, strong hands gripping my waist hard, pulling me back on the cock like a toy while telling me to shut up, laughing at me while I bit my fist trying not to let the whole university know how good I was feeling.

My orgasm was approaching embarrassingly quickly, the pad of my finger furiously toying with my clit while my knees were shaking with the mounting pressure waiting to snap. I was so wet I felt my juices dripping down my thighs, dripping onto my hand and making my finger slip all the time as I tried to get myself to cum as fast as possible.

That didn’t seem to be that hard as I could already feel myself hurling towards the edge, cunt spasming around nothing, desperately wishing to be filled, as my ass pressed harder into the wall and my back arched. I could feel a little cramp starting up in my wrist, but I didn’t let up, keeping the pace on my clit as I felt the start of an intense orgasm, the sensation bursting through me like a tornado and I let out a moan muffled into the crook of my elbow. My knees buckled with the force of it and thank god that I was still leaning on the wall otherwise I would have for sure fallen down.

My whole body relaxed, thighs and knees still shaking as I tried to get my breathing back under control. The bathroom was suddenly eerily quiet now that there wasn’t blood rushing through my ears and I wasn’t blinded by my own ecstasy, and I flushed in embarrassment but still couldn’t stop myself from a little joyful giggle leaving my lips in breathless wonder.

I took my time getting myself back into order, cleaning myself up and righting my clothes again. I was in there for only about 15 minutes, so there was no reason to rush. I did notice that my legs had a little boneless swagger to them as I suddenly went from high strung in boredom to perhaps a little too relaxed, a stupid little grin pulling at my lips as I swayed my hips leisurely.

But that changed the moment I walked back out onto the hall. The second I was out of the bathroom I immediately found myself in direct eye contact with the sole student sitting out there. I only had a second to note he was very attractive before I realised he was watching me with the air of amusement, eyes darkening and a smirk forming on his lips as he leaned back and gave me a once over.

I flushed under his heavy gaze, freezing like a deer in headlights. It was obvious he knew what I’d been doing in there, something in my demeanour must have given me away. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes lingering on my hands clutched together before amused grin set onto his face.

I broke out from the daze suddenly and set into motion again, escaping his hungry eyes and entertained aura, hurriedly scurrying back into the classroom where I sat stewing in my own shame for the rest of the lecture.

When I walked back out after we were dismissed, the hall was empty, to my great relief.

“Come on, you should come tomorrow at least for a little bit,” Jungkook whined, pouting at me and hands tugging at the sleeve of my shirt. I gave him an unimpressed look, firmly resistant to his charms, which probably made me the only person in the world that was capable of that.

“I told you Kookie, I’m not feeling it this week,” I said for the fifteenth time that day, “Maybe next time.” The dance major cutely stomped his foot and tugged on my sleeve again. His wild hair flailed around with the wind, probably getting into his eyes, but he ignored it in favour of annoying me.

“But the next party won’t be for god knows how long,” he whined, giving me his ultimate puppy eyes and blinking cutely, “Come on Y/N, you need to let go a little.” Now, I would lie if I wasn’t swayed a little bit, but the exhaustion was weighing on me and I was looking forward to just having a quiet evening in ignoring all of my responsibilities and pretending I have no essays due and there aren’t any deadlines I was missing.

“I’m sorry Kook,” I softened my tone a little to convey I truly was apologetic, smiling at him gently, “I promise I will definitely go to the next party.” The man brightened and straightened out, letting go of me and setting out on the sidewalk leading out of the campus.

“I have your word! No takebacks!” he shouted excitedly and I ran after him laughing. I knew he wouldn’t let me forget it, so I just resigned myself to going to the next party even though I quite disliked them. I had nothing against partying, but I just preferred to go clubbing and dancing, not spend my evening sitting on a stained couch in someone’s living room listening to total strangers get zoinked out of their minds and talk about assignments. But I would go for Kookie. Just once though.

We walked side by side for a moment, just enjoying the awakening spring. It was still pretty cold outside, but the sun shone more often and the temperatures were enough to wear just a light jacket instead of coats with shawls, so I soaked in the atmosphere. People were beginning to filter outside, sitting around on the green grass, talking and studying, and it was nice to see.

Looking around I suddenly froze, standing still in the middle of the path while Kook continued for a few more strides before he realised I wasn’t following. He gave me a confused look, but I was already fighting an embarrassed blush and didn’t pay him much mind.

On the grass by a big tree was quite a familiar looking student, his long wavy dark hair similarly pushed around by the wind as he bobbed his head to music presumably playing in his headphones. He was wearing all black, standing out as a sore thumb in contrast with the green lit up by sun, but he was fully engrossed in his laptop and paid no attention to anything going on around him.

“Hey Kookie,” I called out to my friend, finally looking at him, “Do you know who that guy is?” I discreetly pointed in the man’s direction, hoping I wouldn’t draw anybody’s attention by being a fucking weirdo. Jungkook was a social butterfly despite his shyness and he seemed to know half the university (probably a side effect of hanging out with Jimin all the time), even people from majors that had nothing in common with his, so I was pretty confident he would be able to correctly identify the menace of my life.

“Who?” he started confusedly looking around, eyes jumping around the students just living their lives. I tried pointing again, hoping he would see where I meant without having to outstretch my arm fully. “There, that guy in the black sitting under that tree.”

Jungkook’s eyes finally locked onto his figure and a recognition immediately lit up his face. I chuckled. Of course he did know him.

“Oh sure!” he exclaimed, “that’s Yoongi hyung. He’s a little bit university famous.” I looked at him in shock and then glanced back to the expressionless man sitting on the lawn.

“Famous? Famous how?” I pressed for more info, this time it was me who way playing up the cute act, hanging onto Jungkook’s arm and batting my eyelashes at him. He gave me an amused smile, seeing right through me.

“Well, he’s handsome and yet cool and mysterious, girls love that shit,” Kook played it up, flipping his hair sassily and fluttering his lashes, making me scoff at him amusedly, “Plus he’s a rapper and sometimes performs in the local clubs and bars, so he’s pretty popular.” I turned us away from the black-clad student who was still unaware of anything going on around him and pulled us back onto the path.

“I see,” I hummed noncommittally, not giving him any indication of why I would suddenly ask about Yoongi, but based on the amused looks Kookie was giving me, he must have had an inkling why the sudden interest.

“He’s actually in the same year as Joonie hyung, they’re interning together at the same studio,” Jungkook continued, keeping his eyes on me to gauge my reaction. I hummed again, not saying anything anymore and just sending him teasing looks.

“If you come to the party tomorrow, Yoongi’s for sure gonna be there,” Kookie mentioned seemingly casually, watching me out of the corner of his eyes as he pretended he didn’t care mischievously.

I only shot him a glare and pulled on his arm, leading us out of the campus towards the café where we were supposed to meet Jimin and Tae, Kookie’s friends who graciously adopted me into the group after I got befriended by the shy giant.

For the rest of the afternoon I could feel Jungkook��s eyes on me, his lips pulled into a barely concealed smile as he fought the impulse to tease me in front of the boys about what he must have thought was an embarrassing crush on the school’s resident heartthrob. I ostentatiously ignored him, only shooting him warning glares here and there to which he always responded with shit-eating grins. Jimin and Tae kept giving us confused and entertained glances but ultimately decided against asking what was going on, much to my relief.

God, if they only knew the truth about why Yoongi even was on my radar in the first place.

The next Tuesday I walked into the classroom again, fully determined to sit through the whole lecture and not move even an inch from my seat. This time I chose a chair in the back, where I could comfortably be on my phone and distract myself from the thoughts of last week, from the attractive man and his smirks. I wondered whether he was sitting there again today, listening to what I now assumed was his own music, laid-back and effortlessly hot. I began to squirm in my seat again, but I quickly tempered it down, scolding myself gently for having such a one-track mind.

Once again I made it through an hour and with 30 minutes left, I began to face a crisis. The boredom was getting to me and I needed to use the toilet, my bladder screaming for help and making me shift around on my chair in discomfort. I thought that I couldn’t really face the bathroom without getting extremely embarrassed, but in the end I lost the battle to nature and got up.

Only, stepping onto the hall, I looked up and lo and behold, there he was – Yoongi sitting peacefully by the window and clicking away on his computer, his big black headphones firmly on as always. The movement by the door must have registered at the corner of his field of vision and he eagerly looked up.

The moment his eyes laid on my figure, frozen once again in the hallway and heating up under his stare, he smirked widely like he won the lottery, leaning back and making himself comfortable on the chair. With his gaze following my every movement I hurried into the bathroom, cheeks blushing and knees turning into jelly.

On instinct I went to the furthest stall and locked the door behind me shakily. Having taken care of my business I paced the stall nervously, already feeling myself bend under the tension. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, knowing Yoongi was sitting outside fully aware of the nature of my little trip last week, but his demeanour, the winning smirk and dark eyes made me want to break that promise.

Embarrassingly enough, I could already feel myself getting wet again and I begun to lose the conviction to just walk away and go sit back into the classroom for another terrible 30 minutes. The thoughts of Yoongi waiting in the hallway, hungrily watching the bathroom door and thinking about me with my hand up my skirt were getting to me and I finally broke.

Swiftly pulling down my tights and underwear I didn’t waste anymore time in sticking my fingers between my folds, gathering the wetness and rubbing the swollen bud begging for attention. I couldn’t hold back the little sighs and moans of pleasure, my body hyper-sensitive and the lust coursing through my body more intense than I could remember ever feeling.

It didn’t take long before I was choking on the moans I desperately tried to stifle on my arm, knees shaking and close to buckling and pussy clenching on nothing, feeling so empty and so desperate for anything I was losing my mind.

And if I was deliriously cumming on my fingers only a moment later while imagining Yoongi fucking me roughly in the uni bathroom, that was only my business.

With trembling fingers I quickly cleaned myself up, blushing when I realised I was so wet the whole top of my thighs was covered in my sticky juices. Putting myself back together I rushed to scrub my hands clean and soon I was standing behind the door, taking a few deep breaths but the excitement still getting the better of me and I eagerly walked out, expectantly looking for Yoongi’s reaction with a little sly smile on my face.

And I was not disappointed.

The second I stepped out, his head snapped in my direction, confirming that he really was waiting for me to come out. His cheeks were also lightly dusted with pink from excitement, his eyes as dark as midnight with his pupils blown wide with lust. He immediately licked his lips, eyes raking over my form and taking in the shaky knees and trembling hips, the blush on my face, both from recovering from an orgasm and shyness, hair a mess and lips bitten red.

Yoongi suddenly stood up and I realised that he packed up his laptop and headphones, all his stuff probably stuffed into his neat backpack that hung off of his shoulder. He side-stepped from the table and leisurely made his way towards me, black dress pants nicely hugging his form, white tee tucked into them accentuating his slim waist and a thick black oversized shirt hanging off him in a way that made me slightly feral.

But there was something else he wanted me to see, and I clocked it as soon as he got close enough, cheeks absolutely blazing red and my pussy valiantly clenching again even after such an orgasm.

He was hard. When my eyes slid down again to appreciate how the pants fit him so perfectly they landed on an unmistakable bulge, the front of his pants tenting in a tell-tale sign of how much he enjoyed my little show. I gasped and suddenly all confidence sapped from my body and I was left aroused and aching, willing to do anything. He watched me with a mix of condescension and arousal, knowing how easily he won over me and loving how receptive I was to just a light teasing, how the blush spread down to my collarbones and my mouth opened subconsciously, eyes glazing over and brain no doubt filled only with the thoughts of his cock.

But with an arrogant smirk he passed right by me, heading for the door of the men’s bathroom. Only when he was halfway through the door, he threw me a look over his shoulder, winking at me and his grin turned wild and rough. Then he disappeared inside.

I was left in the hall gasping for air, body ravaged by tension and lust and head full of images of Yoongi standing in the bathroom stall and hurriedly yanking at his cock, the red tip wet with pre-cum, the liquid getting smeared all over his length by his eager hands trying to get himself to completion as fast as possible. I imagined him grunting, head thrown back and mouth open but still curled into that annoying smirk.

A door opened somewhere a little down the hall and a mess of voices flowed out, startling me out of my reverie and I realised I had been just standing in the middle of an empty hallway staring dumbly at the bathroom door. I felt the bashfulness catch up to me and it sprung me into movement. With one last look at the door I scurried back into the class and spent the last 15 minutes staring into the wall with flaming red cheeks.

When I walked out after the class ended, Yoongi was back to his place, sitting completely relaxed into his chair and grinning lazily when his eyes caught mine. I felt my whole body jerk with a bolt of lust, but I ducked my head and quickly ran down the stairs, rushing out of the building and towards the café where the boys were already waiting for me. Jungkook stared at my flustered face with an unreadable expression, and I let him think whatever he wanted, too preoccupied with fighting the image of Yoongi cumming all over himself just twenty minutes ago thinking of me masturbating just a wall over.

Later that week, after many orgasms, much deliberating and a whole lot of shame I decided I needed to hear his voice. I kept thinking back to how Jungkook mentioned he was in the same year and major as Namjoon and that he was a performing rapper, and I knew Namjoon put his stuff online. And if Yoongi really was a known name in the bar scene around the area, he must have too.

Asking Jungkook about his stage name would be too humiliating, so instead I decided to rake through Namjoon’s insta because he must have his friend’s account there somewhere, hoping Yoongi would forgive me a little social media stalking. Firstly I scrolled through Namjoon’s posted pictures, but he rarely tagged other people. Most of his pictures were of artworks or Joonie doing something silly and living his best life.

So I switched to the pictures that others tagged you in. It took a while, but I was able to see that most of them were from this guy Hoseok that I had seen around but haven’t really spoken to. I knew he was a double major because he did dance like Jungkook and Jimin, but I had never realised he was also in the same major and year as Namjoon. He seemed to post a lot from the studio, often with Joon hunched over his computer in the background, but after some digging I was able to find one that had them all in it.

It was also from the studio, it must have been the one the boys were interning in, presumably all of them together. Hoseok’s face was grinning in one corner as he was taking the selfie and even though it was dark, you could clearly see two men sitting at a table together and discussing something with serious looks on their faces. A laptop sat between them and one of them had his hand lying on the pause button. It was Yoongi and Joon. Only their side-profile could be seen in the photo, but it was unmistakably them. The description only said “hyung is scolding joonie again” but tapping on the photo it showed that both of them had been tagged. Bingo.

Yoongi’s account was full of mostly dark pictures, some from the same studio and some were of him on stage mid performance, but there weren’t as many as Namjoon and Hoseok had on theirs. I scanned some of them quickly, but even though he looked super hot and the photos were extremely well done, it wasn’t the reason of my searching.

I checked the name of the account again – it was Agust D. And there was a link in the bio. Without thinking I clicked it and was transported to Spotify, Yoongi’s entire career laid out clearly in front of my eyes in the form of three albums.

I spent the evening listening to them, letting his music wash over me and losing myself in the beat and the lyrics. No matter what I was looking for when I wanted to listen to it, I got everything and more. I suddenly understood all those star-struck students that according to Kookie trailed hopelessly after Yoongi, the man had a real talent and an aura that just sucked you right in, like a fly getting trapped in a very smug spider’s web.

His voice was surprisingly lower and rougher than I anticipated, the songs had no shortage of him growling or screaming, emotions pouring off of his voice in waves that just swept me along.

And I couldn’t wait to find out what he sounded like when he was getting his rocks off.

The next Tuesday I climbed those 4 floors of stairs confidently, wearing a short skirt and cute heels, gingerly picking a spot in the class that would allow me to slink off in the middle of the lecture again. Yoongi wasn’t sitting in the hallway yet, but I believed he’d show up soon enough.

The anticipation was coursing through my veins, making me jittery and giggly. From the corner of my eye I could see a classmate giving me a strange look, mouthing at me if I was okay and I nodded hurriedly, giving her a smile, hoping she wouldn’t pay any attention to me when I had to leave.

If the two lectures before were unbearable, this one took the cake. I could barely contain myself, squirming in my seat, trying to make myself comfortable while I checked the time every 2 minutes, wishing half the lecture had already gone by and always getting disappointed at how early it still was.

My mind was going into overdrive, feeding me ideas and fantasies, replaying last week’s encounter on loop. I couldn’t see anything except for Yoongi’s lopsided smirk planted firmly on his face as he made his way into the bathroom to jerk off, his face as he came thinking of me.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and I was absolutely losing my mind, thighs pressing together and hands tangled into the fabric of my skirt, bunching up the material. I made it 40 minutes before I grabbed my phone and sneaked out onto the hall.

Yoongi’s head shot up immediately, already sitting by the window waiting for something. This time I didn’t freeze up, instead I was the one who smirked at him and confidently walked up straight to the bathroom. He watched me raptly, something predatory glinting in his eyes as he leaned forward on the table. Couldn’t help but notice that today he didn’t have his laptop out, he just sat there and watched me, but I moved forward not giving it much thought.

I raised my eyebrow at him and winked right as I disappeared into the bathroom, the door falling shut behind me and sealing me inside in the calm and quietness. I rushed to the furthest stall, shutting the door behind me but not bothering to lock, too horny to think clearly.

I couldn’t believe this was getting to me so much, but the moment I managed to slide my tights low enough and ran my hand through my folds, I was already so wet it was astonishing. I laughed at myself in disbelief as my finger found my clit and circled it. Who would have thought this would become my weekly routine, jerking off in the bathroom while a guy I’ve never even talked to sat outside smirking.

But not today it turned out.

Just as pleasure began coursing through me at the ministrations, pleasured sighs leaving me freely as I got cocky not getting caught until now and the squelching of my wet pussy getting played with rang through the quiet space. Then, I heard the door open.

Immediately I froze, hand stopping but still stuck between my thighs. Slow silent footsteps made their way towards the stalls and I hoped whoever this person was, they would take care of their business quickly and leave right afterwards, but they seemed to be taking this in a really leisurely manner. I was holding my breath, counting the seconds, ears straining to catch any kind of sound coming from them.

“Don’t stop on my account, kitten,” a gruff voice suddenly piped up, the footsteps stopping right outside my stall. Relief and lust rushed through me at his appearance and I couldn’t hold back a desperate whimper, the fingers on my clit going back to work. There was a chuckle behind the door and then he was pushing it open.

I must have been a sight, underwear and tights pushed under my ass, skirt bunched up around my hips, bent over with my back arched leaning on the wall as I desperately played with myself, mouth open and eyes glazed over.

Yoongi’s eyes raked over me and he hummed lowly in appreciation. He made his way in lazily, shutting and locking the door behind him before leaning on it and just watching for a moment. I tried to put on a show for him but I was truly gone, the three weeks of built up arousal carrying me high and my body racing towards the edge in record speed.

I watched him back, watched his dark hungry eyes, his tongue peeking out to wet his upper lip, the way his hands flexed by his hips, twitching with the need to grab himself. I could see his bulge clearly, the tight black jeans barely able to contain it, and I was going crazy for it. When my eyes jumped back to Yoongi’s face, he was smirking at me knowing where I’d been staring at. What I wanted.

Suddenly he pushed himself away from the door and stepped towards me. Startled I straightened out, fingers stopping once more. He descended on me hurriedly, pushing me into the wall with his body, caging me in. Our faces were suddenly only breaths apart and Yoongi took his sweet time, teasing me by getting closer and pulling away with a laugh. I whined, my clean hand coming up to tangle in his hair and he let me, watching me from above as I writhed against him, wordlessly begging for any touch from him.

Finally, he took pity on me and with a cocky grin smashed our mouths together, immediately prying my lips open and licking inside, claiming me roughly and thoroughly. I moaned into him, body arching into his and he pressed closer, pressing me into the wall again and our bodies touched from our heads to our toes. His hand went to my neck, wrapping around it lightly and grabbing my jaw to keep me still as he kissed me with all his might.

Now with both hands I grabbed onto him, one going around his neck and one around the waist, and he broke the kiss to laugh at me quietly, turning my face with his hand so he could kiss around my ear.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that kitten?” he whispered, voice gravelly with arousal, “Coming in here every week… playing with your pussy… making yourself cum… and then coming out and giving me those eyes, cheeks still flushed from your orgasm and yet playing so coy and shy… you’re such a minx.” I tensed, eyes rolling back as he started nipping at my neck, laying wet kisses and bites all over any skin he could get to.

I didn’t even notice when Yoongi’s other hand found its way between my legs, fingers roughly pressing onto my clit. I choked on a moan, head falling back and hitting the tiled wall, hands flexing into his clothes. He bit my shoulder enough to leave a mark, chuckling at my loud keening before pressing his lips to the shell of my ear again.

“Last week I thought I would go crazy sitting there,” Yoongi continued, almost growling into my skin as his fingers twisted meanly around my sensitive nub making me tremble, “I couldn’t focus on anything, not when I knew how much you wanted to give me a show. Almost went to jerk off at least five times but I held off until you came out to repay the favour.” He chuckled again, hand tightening a little on my neck as he leaned back to look at me.

I tried to get my breathing under control but I was stuck with my mouth hanging open, noises flowing out freely as if this wasn’t a public bathroom. Yoongi didn’t seem to mind though, quite happy to watch me come undone just from a little teasing.

“It was the same for me,” I whispered, looking into his eyes and this time playing coy very much on purpose, licking my lips and batting my lashes to play it up, “Had to sit through the rest of the lecture while thinking about you in here. Was hell.” He snickered darkly, immediately catching onto my act.

He hummed, finger dragging across my lower lip, fascinated for a moment before he snapped back to himself, mouth pulling back into a smirk.

Without a warning his other hand moved lower, fingers tracing my entrance before two of them plunged inside. I moaned out, body seizing up at the sensation. I was wet enough that they went easy but there was still the pleasurable sting of being stretched out on two digits.

Yoongi certainly wasn’t the type to waste time. He hummed satisfied, watching me with those dark eyes, testing the waters with a few shallow pumps before he started finger-fucking me earnestly. Just like everything else, even now he wasn’t gentle, flicking his wrist up and pushing his fingers as far as they could go, curling them to scratch at that one magic spot that had me seeing white.

I whimpered loudly, hips gyrating to ride the motions, already feeling the stirrings of a powerful orgasm lurking on the horizon. Like a shark sensing blood Yoongi chuckled and twisted his fingers on the next thrust. I keened, hands flying up to tangle into his clothes and hair, hips jerking and chasing after the feeling.

“So selfish, kitten,” he tsked at me, still keeping his cool even though I could see his erection attempting to burst through his pants, “only thinking about your own pleasure. No respect for others, huh?”

My first instinct was to apologise, but I got choked up on the words when he started up his pace again, so instead I decided to be a woman of action. Slowly trailing my hand down his torso, feeling him up on the way, grabbing onto his chest, his slim waist, until I finally reached his crotch.

With the first touch he let out a light groan, fingers stuttering and eyes falling shut for a moment, then he was suddenly back onto me, kissing me wildly while his hips fucked into my hand, letting out gruff groans and sighs into my mouth, which I accepted gladly.

For a moment we were just lost in each other, not caring about the noise or the place, just pleasuring each other, touching, feeling. Then Yoongi was tearing away, hand flying from my pussy and stepping back. I couldn’t stop the pathetic whine that left me, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment at his amused face.

Instead he grabbed me and turned me around until I was leaning on my arms on the wall behind the toilet, one leg up on the closed lid for support. I shivered in anticipation, knowing what would come next. Yoongi was moving about behind me, clothes shuffling and rustling. Then his sweater hit the floor. I turned my head to watch just as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silver packet. He grinned at me and winked when catching my eye, then reached out to me, condom in hand.

“Can you hold this for me for a second, darling?” he asked as sweet as honey, but there was something devilish twinkling in his eye.

“Of course,” I answered him. I meant for it to be sassy, but it came out on a breathless whisper as I took the packet and watched Yoongi’s hand run through his hair before setting on his belt. He unbuckled slowly, attentively watching my eyes soaking in every second as he pulled the belt through the buckle and out of his pants. Fingers toyed with the button before popping it open, tongue wetting his lips and hungry eyes eating me up. I trembled under his attention but held still, not even breathing as his fingers grasped at the zipper and pulled it down.

Tired of playing, he pulled his tee out and put the hem between his teeth, revealing his taunt stomach and pretty waist. Winking at my obvious gawking, he finally pulled his jeans and underwear down, his erection springing free. The sight of him shocked me to my core, standing there with his t-shirt in his mouth and a smug glint his eye while he leisurely fisted his flushed red cock. I could feel my pussy gushing and clenching around nothing, desperately calling to be filled up.

Yoongi plucked the condom packet from my limp hand and made a quick work of putting it on. He lined up behind me, hands finding my waist to pull my tee from the skirt, making contact with bare skin.

I gasped when I felt his cock slide through my wet folds, but quickly keened and arched into it. One of Yoongi’s hands tightened on my waist while the other disappeared to grab his length.

“Easy now,” he chuckled at my trembling body, my hips chasing after his cock and trying to entice him into fucking me.

“Please,” was all I could get out of my mouth, “please Yoongi, just fuck me.” His hand tightened again and there was a beat of silence before he snickered.

“So you naughty girl do know my name,” he teased and I froze for a moment, embarrassment flooding me. I turned to him again to see him smirking at me, tee hanging off of his form. “I heard it around,” I whispered sheepishly. He hummed, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Not really fair, is it?” he teased some more, a mischievous expression taking over his face, “Is it, Y/N?” I narrowed my eyes at him jokingly and he grinned.

“Now, what’s your excuse, mister?” I asked him sassily, “Not like I’m a campus celebrity… unlike someone here.”

“May or may not have asked Jungkook cause I saw you two hanging out,” Yoongi admitted easily, laughing at me when I paled.

“God,” I groaned, “No wonder he was getting so cheeky whenever you came up in a conversation.” At that Yoongi raised his eyebrow again, amusement dancing on his features.

“That happen often?” he asked impishly, leaning against me and once again letting me feel his cock sliding through my folds. I gasped a little and blushed even darker. “You’re Namjoon’s friend, so occasionally,” I bold-faced lied straight through my teeth and from the look on Yoongi’s face, he was aware but let me get away with it.

There was a moment of silence where we just stared at each other, mischievous little smiles on our faces, and then Yoongi hummed, pulling his tee back up to his lips and biting down on it. I shuddered, the lust once again taking the fore-front seat in my mind. This time he didn’t stop for anything, grabbing himself with one hand and the other going to my waist to hold me in place.

The tip of his cock circled my entrance and I subconsciously clenched, a gush of wetness leaving me. I whined and wriggled in his hold and he tsked at me again before sliding inside in a single thrust with a light condescending giggle. I groaned, pussy immediately squeezing around the intrusion, feeling every inch and ridge. There was a hitch in Yoongi’s breaths, both hands migrating to my waist and grabbing so tightly I felt his nails digging into my skin.

He barely gave me a second before pulling out and thrusting in again, setting a rough pace from the get-go. All I could do was bury my head into the crook of my elbow, biting into the soft flesh there to keep myself from moaning loud enough for the whole school to hear.

The stretch of his cock was exquisite, the slight burn heating up my already sensitive body to a near boiling point. With every thrust there was a tiny twinge of pain that left me breathless, desperate to muffle any noise that could cut our meeting short.

Yoongi didn’t seem to care much about noise, hands on my waist mercilessly pulling me back onto his cock and fucking me with so much force I felt my whole body twitching with the overdrive of sensation, the slapping of our sweaty bodies against each other and the wet squelch of my weeping pussy getting filled to the brim loud enough to substitute for our own sounds. He was grunting gruffly, the noise seemingly leaving his mouth involuntarily and getting muffled by the tee.

I turned my head slightly to look at him, and god, he was a vision with his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and face the picture of ecstasy, body rippling with the motion of his pumping hips and strong veiny arms and hands gripping onto me hard enough to go red with the force. I couldn’t hold back the moan and he toppled his head forward to look at me, a tired self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips at seeing my fucked out expression.

“Take your fucking shirt off,” I gasped out breathlessly, chuckling at his teasingly narrowed eyes, “You have such a dirty fucking mouth, can’t stand for it being shut.” Yoongi laughed, throwing his head back in delight. Within seconds the piece of fabric joined his sweater on the floor and he leaned forward, hands picking on my own shirt with a mischievous expression.

“Shouldn’t you even the score?” I loved how deep and gravelly his voice became with arousal, even when he was being mischievous I could hear the growl in it and it drove me crazy. I scrambled to listen to him, tearing the shirt off and flinging it behind us. Yoongi’s hands immediately travelled up, playing with the edge of my bra before swiftly undoing the clasp and dragging it off. I gasped lightly at his skilled handiwork and giggled, but Yoongi was already preoccupied with kissing along my shoulders and shoulder blades.

His hips angled better and then jerked them into me again, cock sliding even deeper now. I groaned and arched into him and that was his que to start fucking in earnest again. In this position I could hear the strained sighs and grunts every time he slid back inside, the rough deep pace taking a toll on us both.

The back of my thighs was burning from standing bent over and straining my hips for this long and it added to the mix of feelings running through me. I could feel my orgasm catching up with me, Yoongi’s cock now hitting a spot on every thrust that made me want to scream with pleasure, sliding in so deep I swore I could feel him in my belly and it was so good my head was spinning, and all that came out of me were raspy moans. Yoongi bit into my shoulder, grunts raising in octave, hands pulling at my body to meet his thrusts.

I prayed to god that the walls were thick enough to keep the sounds from escaping onto the hall. I knew that if someone stepped inside now, there would be no masking what was going on, we were both too gone for that, just chasing our pleasure.

I was so close, the weeks of build up and the foreplay and teasing making me delirious. There in that moment I just wished I could stay like this forever, to feel this delicious ecstasy for the rest of my life, but I was so close to snapping I just needed a little extra push even though my head was so high in the clouds wishing to be never brought down.

“Please Yoongi, god,” I choked out, “please, I’m so close.” That seemed to snap Yoongi back into his attitude again, but he couldn’t hide how affected he was too.

“What do you want, kitten, mm?” even he couldn’t talk properly through the gasps and grunts, but still tried to sound as cocky as possible. Instead of talking I grabbed his hand and brought it down between my legs.

Yoongi pressed himself to me closer to make the reach more comfortable, his chest glued to my back as he nibbled on my neck and shoulder, giggling breathlessly when his naughty fingers started drawing tight quick circles on my clit.

My moans got louder, the pumping of his cock, hitting so deep inside of me, combined with the stimulation on my clit made me seize up, whole body shaking as the pleasure overtook me. Yoongi groaned every time my pussy clenched around him, drawing him deeper and closer to his own end. Both of us were so sweaty we stuck to each other, the temperature in the stall rising so high it was almost unbearable.

“Yoongi,” I gasped out, just repeating his name breathlessly as I barrelled to the climax, feeling the beginning of the tingling washing over me, pussy seizing up. Yoongi’s hands were like vice on my body, my waist littered with red indents of his nails, some already purpling slightly.

“I know, kitten,” he whispered into my neck, “Me too, you can let go.” The moment those words left his mouth my orgasm exploded over me, enough to blind me and send my ears ringing for a few moments. I let out a raspy groan, hands scrambling to find purchase on the wall and if it wasn’t for Yoongi’s hold on me, my buckling knees would have sent me crashing to the floor, but all I could focus on was the euphoria blooming through my body, flooding all my senses with so much pleasure I could barely fully register anything that was going on. Yoongi fucked me through the peak, hips losing rhythm and all decorum until finally he gave last few hard pumps and stilled too, coming with a drawn-out moan, hands pushing our hips as close together as they could go.

We clung onto each other as we attempted to catch our breaths again. I felt my arms slipping on the tiles as the pleasant ache started setting into my hips and lower tummy, legs screaming for a reprieve as my brain slowly came back into function. I blinked my eyes open, not even realising I had closed them at some point. Yoongi was basically hugging me from the behind, draped over me just breathing deep, faced smushed into my shoulder blade. Then he chuckled.

“You think we’re still in the clear?” he laughed, “How thick do you think these walls are?” A giggle tumbled out of me and before I knew it we were both laughing breathlessly, bodies still pressed close.

“This is officially the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” I told him, shaky knees trying to keep my weight as I started to gather my wits. Yoongi let me go easily and helped me find my balance as my whole body ached, back killing me after Yoongi railed me like a madman.

“And here I was, thinking this was just regular Tuesday for you.”

I slapped his shoulder lightly, but the blush on my cheeks revealed that I couldn’t really say anything to that. His amused snickers told me he was well aware, so I just stood there and watched him slip the condom off, tie it up and then just awkwardly stand there not knowing what to do with it.

“Guess I can’t just casually drop a used condom into a bin in the girl’s bathroom,” he stated nonchalantly, and I giggled at him. In the end he grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and hid it inside, putting in on the closed bin lid for the moment.

Next Yoongi swiftly cleaned himself up and pulled his jeans back on, but when I reached for the paper to do the same, he swatted my hand away. With a much gentler smile he got it himself, kneeled in front of me and started cleaning me up, gently wiping away the mess left on my centre and thighs. I watched him attentively, the soft look on his face making him look boyish, only the naughty glint in his eyes reminiscent of the man he was just a few minutes ago.

When our eyes met, I returned the smile, hand instinctively going to tangle into his hair. I meant to just card it through the dark wavy locks, but the heated look he gave me had me shuddering again, fingers tightening. Yoongi smirked, tongue licking at his lips sensually just inches away from my exposed pussy.

“Still thinking about naughty things, kitten?” he said, voice dark and deep, “Like the sight of me on my knees for you?” I hesitated for a moment before untangling my hand and gently pushing him with a blush.

“I see,” Yoongi hummed thoughtfully, “maybe next time then.” With a wink he stood up and when I didn’t move he motioned for me to start dressing up with a smirk, handing me my bra and t-shirt. We slowly clambered out of the stall, stretching and trying to get all the body parts to working order again.

“How about,” Yoongi drawled out, self-assured and with the attitude of someone who just got their rocks off, “you ditch the lecture you never really go to anyway and we grab something to eat?” I stopped in my tracks, shocked but pleasantly surprised at his offer. I checked the time quickly.

“There’s only like 10 minutes of class left, I can sit that out and then we can go,” I answered, smiling softly, but Yoongi smirked with all his might, something devilish glinting over his face. He leaned towards me, grabbing me lightly by my shoulders.

“Not looking like that, you can’t,” he whispered meanly and spun me around. The moment I laid my eyes on myself in the mirror, I gasped. Yoongi was standing behind me grinning like the devil admiring his handiwork. My neck was littered in little bites and spots ranging from dark pink across red all the way to purple. Yoongi let out a satisfied hum, almost sounding like a purr, his hands going across my waist to pull at the tee tucked into my skirt to reveal more reddish purplish bruises from his fingers.

I turned in his arms and slapped his shoulder lightly, completely flustered by his antics. “How can I walk out of here now? Everyone will know what I’d been doing instead of sitting at the lecture,” I whined, more embarrassed than angry, but Yoongi’s laughing face was totally free of any remorse, “I look like someone beat me up.”

The man said nothing, just pulled me closer to kiss me gently. I looked at him with wide eyes for a moment before I whined again: “I don’t even have a scarf with me today.” He burst out laughing and patted my hip softly.

“I’ll get your stuff, you wait here,” he whispered conspiratorially and with one last wink he was gone. It took him only three minutes to stick his head back into the bathroom, looking a little ruffled and a lot amused.

“I suggest we get going fast, I’m afraid a guy leaving the ladies restroom isn’t as inconspicuous as I wished it was,” he got out quickly, smirking impishly and handing me my coat. I tried to wear it in a way that covered most of the marks, but it was futile, more than half of my neck still on full display.

I walked out of the bathroom the same moment the door to my classroom opened and students started filing out. Yoongi exchanged a single glance with me before we both took off, running down the stairs like we were being chased, only stopping once the building doors slammed shut behind us.

“Jimin’s café?” Yoongi asked breathlessly, still trying to get his strength back and leaning on his knees. I grinned at him and grabbed his hand, already pulling him in the right direction.

“Sure, let’s go!”

Bonus:

“Holy shit! The fuck happened to you?” Jimin exclaimed loudly enough for the whole café to hear the moment he saw me walk through the door. Jungkook and Tae, who were sitting at a small table near the counter to keep Jimin company while he had his shift, turned to look at me only for Kookie to promptly spit out whatever he was drinking.

“Holy shit!” I gave him an unimpressed look and walked up to Jimin to order.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” I side-eyed him sassily, but Jungkook was grinning mischievously, a knowing glint in his eye. I flushed under his gaze and looked away at which he started laughing loudly.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe you actually did it,” he giggled, properly entertained by the situation and by my embarrassment. Tae was watching it all unfold, confused look on his face.

“Did what?” Jimin asked, similarly confused.

As if on cue the door opened again and Yoongi stepped in, ignoring everyone currently staring at him and walking straight to me, arm curling around my waist to pull me closer to him. He bent down slightly to whisper in my ear: “Got rid of the evidence successfully.”

“Holy shit!” This time it was Tae who screamed, coming full circle. I gave their smug smiling faces an annoyed glare and turned to Jimin to order again, but he was trying to conceal his grin behind his hand. Even more vexed I turned to Yoongi who was smirking smugly like a cat who got all the cream, hand possessively squeezing at my bruised waist.

“On second thoughts, we shouldn’t have come here,” I said to no one in particular, then turning my narrowed eyes at the man of the hour himself, “and wipe that smirk off your face, mister.” There were giggles from the boys all around us, but Yoongi just swooped down and kissed me softly, then pushed us closer towards the counter.

Jimin cleared his throat and tried to put on a professional expression, but there was mirth in his eyes that I just knew I was going to get all the teasing later. Tae and Kookie cleared out the mess at the table and made space for us to sit down, one looking more amused than the other.

I gave them both the stink eye and ignored them, checking my phone instead, trying to reply to all the messages I’ve missed in the last hour. Around me there was silence, everyone just sitting there looking at each other grinning, before Jungkook cleaned his throat and exclaimed:

“God, fucking finally! Thought Yoongi-hyung was gonna talk my ear off about you!”

“Kookie!” There was a pretty blush spreading on Yoongi’s cheeks, a polar opposite to the cocksure man that was railing my brains out 20 minutes ago. I giggled and squeezed his arm. He gave in easily, leaning towards me.

Then he set his eyes on Jungkook and narrowed them teasingly. “We’re gonna settle that later you brat.”

[partywithoutsmiling]

It is finished!

From left to right, the grandparents- Rosiepuff and Brazen- and the parents, Mulberry and Thorn(berry)

This is the pretty much universal headcanon for all of my AUs, and you can read more about them here

(an additional headcanon to Thorn: the Skull belt is worn only by the Royal Rock Family and the Skull Tattoo marks the Heir to the Throne)

(Considering all that, pretty neat to imagine a fun scenario where Barb notices the tattoo on Branch's chest when he gets zombified, and after World Tour finale leaves her pondering what it might mean)

[undertheorangetree]

Pomegranate Seeds

Summary- A retelling of the abduction of Persephone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Hades and Persephone AU. Star-crossed lovers vibes. Uncle/niece incest. Making out. Angst. Fluff. Titty sucking. Handjob. Cunnilingus. Vaginal fingering. Soft smut. Mild praise kink. Mildly OOC Aemond.

Author's Notes- Yeah I was a Percy Jackson/Greek mythology kid, thank you for noticing. I'm still playing incredibly fast and loose with the mythology tho so we're gonna have to make our peace with that. This is a beast btw, it's like 9.6K and you can find the rest on AO3 with the link below :)

divider created by @firefly-graphics

It is moments like these, she thinks, that she loves most.

Alone in the meadow, surrounded by wildflowers, the babbling of the creek as it flows over the rocks. Everything green with the exception of the purple, white, and yellow flowerheads but lush and everbearing and alive, the sun little more than a hazy warm glow, not yet hot enough to be overbearing. It is peaceful here, so much more than she is used to. She had come to an agreement with her step sisters, Baela and Rhaena, that they allow her a few hours on her own in this meadow, undisturbed by anyone else. Though her mother much preferred to that she remain alongside her sisters whenever she is out of sight, she, Baela, and Rhaena had come to an agreement that what her mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. And besides, they were never too far away from her. Being water nymphs, they could be by her side in less than a moment if she really needed them, so long as she doe does not stray too far from the river. And she has never been more grateful for it than she is right now.

Stretching her arms high above her head, she stretches out along the grass, enjoying the feeling of every blade of grass, the sweet smell of the blooms wafting on the breeze. Admittedly, this meadow had not been quite so plentiful when they had found it, following along the winding river, but she is the goddess of spring. Flowers bloom at her word and sun shines with her will. It had not been too difficult to turn this meadow into her own personal paradise, away from the chaos often wrought by her mother and brothers and stepfather.

There is a sudden change in the wind that causes her to sit up. Colder than it had been before, something more akin to winter than spring. The ground seems to rumble beneath her, shaking as if the sudden cold has sent it to shiver. Curiously, she turns her head toward the tree line, where the birches and willows keep the meadow shielded from view, only to find a man standing among them. Dressed in all black- breeches, cloak, and the shred of his tunic she can see beneath it- his platinum hair is almost jarring in contrast. He is not a big man, long and lithe, but there is an air to him that feels dangerous, dangerous enough to give her pause. He has not noticed her yet, face turned away, but she can see the long, stern plains of his face from where she sits, looking incredibly serious. That seriousness is only exacerbated by the dark leather eyepatch covering the eye closest to her, a deep red scar carved beneath it.

She does not think she has ever seen anyone here before, not outside of Baela, Rhaena, and herself, and his presence here is almost incongruous. Still, there is an air about him, one that makes it clear that he is a god just as she is, and that alone should make his surprise appearance less shocking.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice seems to catch him off guard. Quickly, he turns toward her, shoulders tense, but they relax when he takes her in. She cannot imagine that she is intimidating, sitting flat in the grass all alone. “Hello.”

But it is that reminder of the grass that brings her pause. What is this man doing here? Where had he come from? It is not as if this meadow is easy to find, hidden amongst the trees as it is. She feels her brows furrow, head cocking in question. “How did you find this place?”

She had not put a glamour over this meadow, but she did not feel she had too. The forest, though light and airy, was a labyrinth of trees that seemed deterrent enough to keep any unwanted guests away. They were incredibly difficult to find your way through and she had been convinced it would be impossible to try- for God or mortal.

Near impossible, it seemed then.

His eye darts back to the treeline, taking half a step back. “If I am intruding, I can leave.”

“No.” She says it far too quickly and she can see the way his eyebrows raise in response to it, but she can’t find it in her to be ashamed. She is intrigued by this man, more so than she likely should be, and finds she wants to know more. To learn how he came to find this place. “Just because this place is unknown does not mean it is mine alone. You may stay. Beauty like this should be enjoyed.”

“Wise words,” he agrees, coming toward her. He hesitates at the end, torn on whether or not to truly join her, but it seems courtesy wins out as he lowers himself to the ground, joining her amongst the flowers. He looks entirely out of place, black against the blooms, but she says nothing, keeping her observation to herself.

They sit in absolute silence but she does not mind. He sits stiffly, as if uncomfortable, while she continues to take in all that is around her. From here, she can see the way the willows sway with the wind, the white puffy clouds floating by in the soft blue sky.

“I did not mean to,” he says. She looks at him, head tilted once again. “To find this place. It was not my intention. Though I admit I have never seen anything quite like it.”

She smiles, though he could not possibly know that he had complimented her. “It is a rare thing.”

“It feels almost as if it were from a painting,” he adds, looking around the meadow to take it in further.

She joins him in it, finding no shame in admiring her own work. It is a pretty place, though that had always been her intention. Olympus was beautiful in and of itself, but it was stark in that way. Ethereal and otherworldly, but cosmopolitan. Bright white marble, painted statues, stained glass. Everything beautiful, to be sure, but not in the untamed way that she seemed to crave. She preferred the beauty that was found in nature, in heavy branches filled with green leaves, tall grasses and wildflowers and crystalline waters.

“Do you know much about art?” she asks to fill the silence.

He seems caught off guard again from her question, but answers it anyway. “Not as much as I would like, but I can appreciate the beauty in something as well as any man. Though do not tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”

She laughs. “You needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Which periods do you prefer?”

They talk for hours, the conversation unfurling as naturally as a bird’s wing. Art, history, philosophy. There is no subject they do not indulge in. He becomes less awkward with time as he grows more comfortable around her and she almost pulls a laugh from him not once, but twice. It seems quite the feat, for a man as serious as this one seems to be, though she does not let her pride get the better of her. When she asks him how she managed to find her well kept secret, he had simply said that one always finds the best things when you are not looking for them. A non answer, but that was alright. She was sure she could coax the answer from him eventually.

“Forgive me, I never asked you your name,” she says after what must have been hours, half appalled by her lack of manners.

He does not seem to mind, a good natured half smile making its way onto his face. “My friends call me Aemond. You may as well.”

It is not uncommon, for Gods to prefer more earthly names. She is often the same. There is power within a name and for such an innocent encounter, she does not feel the need to have him call her Persephone or Kore or any of those that strike some rumination of power and fear. So she gives him her common name, the one she feels is more true to who she is, and he smiles in response to it, repeating it back to her as if to test it. She likes the way it sounds when he says it, the way each letter seems to roll off him tongue, and somehow hearing him say the word alone is enough to make her flush.

She turns her head to hide it and only then notices that the sun has dipped below the trees, leaving the sky a hazy orange. Her mother will be expecting her home soon and there is no telling how poorly she will react if Rhaena and Baela return home without her. She doesn’t doubt that Rhaenyra will send her great serpent Syrax after her should she be even a moment late.

“I have to go,” she says, unable to keep the apologetic tone from her voice.

Reluctantly, she stands, brushing the dirt from her skirts. His lips had parted at her announcement, but now he ducks his head in an understanding nod. She smiles at him, not truly wanting to go yet, and makes her way toward the creek to call upon her sisters to come and fetch her. She does not make it two steps before he is calling after her.

“Can I see you again?”

She turns back to look at him. The insecurity on his face does not seem to match his features, looking almost out of place there. Still, she finds it entirely endearing and she realizes that she would absolutely like to see him again.

“Yes,” she agrees softly.

“Tomorrow?”

She does not bother to fight the smile itching its way onto her face. “Yes.”

He matches her smile then before standing. He comes forward and takes her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste kiss there. “Then I shall see you on the morrow, my lady.”

She can do nothing but hope he does not notice how hot her face has become.

“On the morrow.”

Read the rest here

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships. 

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing. 

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel. 

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe. 

For years they did this until they were gone too. 

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time. 

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman. 

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder. 

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance. 

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more. 

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified. 

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you. 

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders. 

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away. 

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind. 

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock. 

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation. 

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you. 

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind? 

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant. 

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back. 

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel. 

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt. 

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all. 

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued. 

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned. 

Nothing. 

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins. 

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting. 

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south. 

And then you lock eyes once more. 

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself. 

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him. 

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

 “Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.” 

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements. 

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples. 

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?” 

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself. 

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills. 

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear. 

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before. 

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.” 

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind. 

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?” 

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching. 

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly. 

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in. 

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising. 

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave. 

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze. 

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.” 

Your tight arms somewhat loosen. 

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships. 

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living. 

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.” 

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back. 

He was…asking you? 

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.” 

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids. 

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting? 

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling. 

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle 

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart. 

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him. 

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still. 

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash. 

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face. 

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel. 

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish. 

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him. 

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck. 

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked. 

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head. 

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand. 

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings. 

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.” 

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.” 

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.” 

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden. 

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment. 

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them. 

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles. 

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.” 

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping. 

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you. 

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you. 

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?” 

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching. 

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch. 

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement. 

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up. 

Feels nice.  

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing. 

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following. 

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist. 

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t. 

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose. 

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.” 

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?” 

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look. 

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.” 

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening. 

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?” 

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does. 

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.” 

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips. 

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different. 

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment. 

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.” 

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship. 

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne. 

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.” 

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.” 

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt. 

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often. 

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle. 

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen. 

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder. 

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.” 

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—” 

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh. 

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…” 

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.” 

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?” 

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat. 

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction. 

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat. 

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

 “Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”  

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once. 

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers. 

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure. 

A dangerous mix of two different lives. 

It couldn’t last.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[ladykailitha]

The Fallen

I blame @vecnuthy for this entirely. Seeing all their Sleep Token posts has completely intersected with Steddie and you get this.

***

Modern AU: Corroded Coffin makes it big. Like Metallica levels huge. Like every up and coming metal band is clamoring to open for them levels of fame. When this metal band, The Fallen comes on the scene and are dismissed as glam rock wannabes.

They are very theatrical. They are dressed in long coats with hoods and face masks. The guitarist, bassist, and drummer all have full Venetian masks of different colors. The bassist has one that looks like a starry night (but not Starry Night if you know what I mean). The Guitarist has a red devil’s mask, horns and all. The drummer is in a black death mask. The eyes of the mask are closed and it looks eerie as fuck. The most dramatic of the masks belong to the lead singer. He wears an opaque white lace mask with the mouth and chin cut out so he can sing.

Their outfits match their masks.

The lead singer, Abbadon, the fallen angel is in all in white with a splash of color on the lining of his coat. Sometimes it’s pink or baby blue, sometimes it one of the colors of bandmates, black or red or starry midnight blue. He wears high heeled boats and not always of the combat variety. Once he wore stilettos with a baby blue stripe up the side. It’s the outfit that gets made into dolls and merch the most. Most of the time he’s shirtless, but has been known to switch it up with lace or sheer tops.

The guitarist plays up the devil persona to a tee and calls himself Asmodeus, the demon of lust. Red leather and fetish gear. Thick red combat boots. His guitar is even blood red.

The bassist is called Astraeus, the titan of the night. While in certain light his clothes look black, but they are in fact a dark blue with bright stars, swirling galaxies, and glowing nebulae. His bass is of the night sky as well.

And finally the drummer, Azrael. Angel of death. Always in black. His drum kit is black with black metal fittings. Even his drumsticks are black.

Like I said, at first dismissed as wannabes but they are killing it. It’s clear that not only are they talented, their flare for the dramatic adds to their mystique. Soon they are the new rising stars of metal.

Dustin is their biggest fan. He loves them. Eddie is offended at the highest level. How dare this little butthead like The Fallen. Dustin rolls his eyes.

“Dude, Corroded Coffin is still number one in my book,” he tells Eddie. “But you can’t deny that Abbadon is a beast on vocals.”

Eddie is forced to concede the point. Abbadon knows how to really get the through to the emotion of a song.

So when Dustin gets front row tickets to The Fallen’s concert in Indy, Eddie reluctantly joins the little twerp.

And the concert starts. First the drummer gets lowered into his seat on giant raven wings.

“Azrael!” the announcer calls out.

And the crowd goes wild.

The man slips out of the harness and wings ascend. Eddie cocks his head, yeah all right that’s kinda cool.

Azrael hits his drums and the bassist gets lowered on to the stage. All shimmering blues and purples, like actual stars, lands deftly on the stage and Azrael hits the high hat.

“Astraeus!”

The crowd is frantic now. Screaming and jumping up and down.

As soon as the wings are unstrapped and lifted away Astraeus riffs on his bass and the crowd eats it up.

Eddie likes this one. It’s unique.

Then Azrael starts up again as another man is lowered and it takes everything in Eddie’s power not to roll his eyes at this one. Red leather gear, horned mask, and fucking bat wings.

He stomps on the stage and really wails on his guitar. Eddie looks over to see that Dustin is absolutely eating it with the rest of them so he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“Asmodeus!”

Dustin is vibrating so hard that Eddie’s fears he might literally crawl out of his skin with excitement.

And then the entire stadium goes silent. Like stock still. Eddie is looking around him confused.

He looks back at the stage and there descends the absolute most devastatingly handsome man Eddie has ever seen and he hasn’t seen his face.

His arms are out stretched and his head is bowed. Once he lands air cannons shoot out white feathers out at the crowd and the wings ascend without this man.

“Abbadon!” the announcer screams for the final time.

“Indy!” he shouts into his mouthpiece.

And the crowd screams could deafen the most resilient of metal goer.

Abbadon starts singing and the crowd is losing their god damn minds. And yeah, yeah. Eddie is one of them.

They’ve got a stage presence that can’t be manufactured.

And then about half way through the concert he sees it. Abbadon turns his head just right and holy fuck, Eddie is losing his mind for a different reason. He manages to take a picture with his phone before Abbadon turns.

After the concert Eddie grills Dustin about the band all the way home. But the only thing the kid knows is how awesome the band is.

He gets to the hotel and starts watching every interview with The Fallen ever. And he pulls up one from about a year or so back where Abbadon is talking about the masks.

Abbadon pulls out a black mask and holds it up to the light. “See? You can tell that the eyes have mesh covering over them. They work the way two way mirrors do. Azrael can see out of them just fine, but you can’t see in.”

There are a lot of impressed nods, Eddie is definitely one of them. That’s certainly a neat trick.

“So what’s the reason for the masks at all?” the interviewer asks.

Abbadon looks at the members of his band and they all nod. He licks his lips.

“Because if we had been ourselves when we started on the scene,” he said, “we would have be called posers and we wouldn’t have even gotten this far.”

Eddie paused the video and took a deep breath.

Fuck.

Just then Jeff wanders into the hotel room and looks at the TV.

“Is that The Fallen?”

Eddie hums. “Yup.”

Jeff grabs a drink from the mini-fridge and makes his way over. “Oh hey is that poser interview?”

Eddie hums again.

“He can’t really be serious about that,” Jeff says with a huff. “No one in the metal scene would call anyone posers, not if they truly loved the music.”

“We would have,” Eddie says with a finality that brings Jeff up short.

“The fuck we would have, man,” Jeff snaps. “There’s no way.”

“We would have it was Steve Harrington’s band.”

Jeff’s eyes go wide. “There is no way that’s Steve Harrington.”

Eddie pulls out his phone and zooms in on Abbadon’s neck. He hands his phone to Jeff.

“Okay so the dude has moles on his neck,” he says handing the phone back, “lots of people have them.”

Eddie goes through his phone and pulls up a picture of Steve. He’s not in the exact same pose but it’s close enough. He hands the phone to Jeff again.

Jeff squints and then zooms in.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie drapes his hand over his mouth and purses his lips.

“Steve Harrington in a metal band,” Jeff says in awe. “All be damned.”

“When The Fallen came on the scene,” Eddie says dropping his hand so his talk, “we were outselling Metallica in records and ticket sales. If the rest of the band are preps like Steve we would have mocked them relentlessly.”

Jeff sits down hard on the sofa next to Eddie. “Shit.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands.

“We got to tell someone, man,” Jeff says. “This is huge!”

Eddie in his haste to look at Jeff accidentally hits the remote.

“Do you think you’ll ever do a reveal?” the interviewer asks.

Asmodeus leans over to speak in the microphone. “Ask us again in ten years if we’re still selling out crowds.”

Eddie fumbles it again, but manages to turn off the TV.

Jeff and he looks at each other.

“We can’t say shit, man,” Eddie hisses. “It would be like outing someone as gay or trans before they want to.”

Jeff slumps in his seat. “Fuck. Yeah. You’re right. Shit.”

They’re silent for a moment.

Eddie cocks his head to the side. “What I don’t get is how the kids don’t know.”

Jeff opens his mouth and then closes it. He shakes his head slowly. “Sorry but if I was Steve I wouldn’t tell them shit either.”

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Look,” Jeff says turning to face him, “they’re great kids. Brilliant D&D players, nerds, geeks, and dorks the lot of them. But I would not trust them with a secret that big.”

Eddie thought about all the time that they accidentally blurted out something that didn’t make sense out of context, but once you knew, holy shit was it a miracle these kids didn’t get into more trouble.

“Yeah okay.”

After a moment of silence Eddie looks over and frowns at Jeff. “What are you doing my hotel room anyway?”

Jeff holds up his beer. “Your beer was cold, I forgot to put mine in the fridge when we got in.”

“Asshole,” Eddie grouses, bumping Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff kisses his cheek. “You love me though.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

*

Steve is in his dressing room after their last concert of the tour for their second album scrubbing the hell out of his face because that mask is prone to giving him the worst breakouts, when he notices the blue roses.

He gets a lot of flowers but never blue roses. He rinses off his face and walks over to the them.

There’s a note and he thinks he recognizes the handwriting. It’s short and sweet and absolutely terrifying.

“I know your secret, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’ll never tell.”

It’s not signed, but the ‘sweetheart’ gives it away.

He messages Robin.

“Get Eddie Munson in here right now!”

She protests that she doesn’t know where he is. But Steve knows he has to still be in the building and sure enough she finds Eddie waiting in the wings, looking smug as hell.

Her eyes go wide and cursing up a storm drags him into the dressing room.

She presses her back to the door.

“Who told?” she squeaks.

Eddie laughs. “No one, I swear.”

“Then how did you know?” Steve asks.

He hands Steve his phone with the picture he took at the concert. Robin wanders over to peak over Steve’s shoulder.

“So it’s a picture of his neck,” she murmurs.

But suddenly Steve gets it. “It’s my moles!”

Eddie nods, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t giggle.

“Shit!” Robin hisses. “Do you think anyone else figured it out?”

“I doubt it,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I’m just obsessive that way.”

“About moles?” Robin says with a frown.

“With Steve.”

Robin blinks. “Right I’m out of here.”

She closes the door behind her and they are left alone.

The night ends with Eddie in Steve’s bed asking him for The Fallen to join Corroded Coffin on their next tour next year and there is no way Steve could say no to that. His bandmates would kill him.

They go on tour and the hardest part is dodging rumors that Eddie is two timing Steve with Abbadon because when The Fallen and Corroded Coffin perform together they make out on stage.

Then for The Fallen’s ten anniversary they do a reveal and Dustin is livid.

Robin and Steve had been telling him for years that they were just low level PAs and not a famous rockstar and his equally mysterious manager.

They’re forgiven when Steve tells him that half the songs on the first album are about him and the rest of the kids.

***

This is just a rough draft. I might expand on it in full later.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child

[casinocarpediem]

▪︎■☆ Worship⛧🩸 ☆■▪︎

(Part 1.)

☆ 🔞!!VIOLENT AND VULGAR!!🔞

☆ cult!Miguel ohara / forrest monster/cryptid! Reader

☆ a little gift for @miguel-owhora !!

☆ violence is written in this work of FICTION. Things such as infant deaths or death in genera

☆ Hi!!! So I'm sorry for not writing as much but I've been verrrryyyy very busy‼️ (laughs and throws myself off a cliff) any who! Enjoy this little thingy!! I'm still in love with dad's cryptid AU after all this time 💕

°○☆Violence under the cut☆○°

Blood. Metal rust. And other animalistic things that would have a normal camper running for their lives. Then dying. Not out of some beast or an accident. But out of exhaustion. Limbs failing. Eaten away by the very grass of the ground only to be picked up by another predator.

Any normal person would run away. Any normal person would have thought twice before doing something stupid in uncharted woods.

Miguel was different. He was a cunning man. Frighteningly intelligent. Charming and observant and curious. Leave him in the woods with nothing and he's already built a somewhat stable community, sheltered and protected by... something out there. Something unexplainable. Something... you.

This was your forest. From the very beginning. Your memory is hazy of how your form, reeking of the more purer forms of mother nature herself, birthed upon the world to reek order. Not havoc. Not peace. Just a simple balance that you maintained for centuries.

You followed nobody. You didn't need to. And you killed if necessary. Or if you simply wanted. You had free will. Unbound by anything. Literally. Not even any mental constraints could keep you from moving through the night unexpected. Unlike any kind of animal the the world has ever witnessed.

Miguel was a different man. When he came into your forests, the winds tasted like he or his sheep didn't deserve to die. Unlike every other settler or founder who decided to try to poison your grounds.

You let him be. His little village growing with the so called refugees he gathered. Creating houses with the trees surrounding the area.

Surprisingly, they weren't greedy. They didn't chop down every tree they laid their human hands on. Because Miguel didn't allow them to. And you were greatful for that. But you paid no mind to his existence. Other than killing of unwanted organisms. But Miguel, or his sheep never dare trek past the space you let them in. And if they did, they didn't make a mess of their tracks.

Respectfully respecting the environment. Respectfully Respecting you.

Time went on and you continued to observe Miguel and his little underlings carefully. Usually under the darkness of the night. They seemed obedient to Miguel. You could smell a mixture of fear and adoration, and that drew you closer to him. After all, this was your domain. And you had the right to dive deeper into the minds of these obedient critters worshipping you in a way.

One day, Miguel comes along bringing a surprising, pleasant little gift. From out of his own home, he creeps towards the darker shadows of the village. Where the trees grow tall and strong. Uncut and left alone.

An infant. Brought to your feet. An offspring that smells very familiar with Miguel's species. Only, it's cold. It isn't breathing. You can't hear it breathing. Its wrapped in grey sheep's wool and it smells fresh. Like it had died the moment it escape the womb first breaths being its last. And he leaves it there on the mossy rock in front of the trees and walks quickly back to the safety of his own home.

A few hours pass. You're intrigued at the gift. You haven't received such offerings in centuries. So when this, frail human being offers a dead infant like a gift for the altar, your curiosity gets the better of you.

You snatch the child. In yours jaws... or your arms? It could be anything. You were an indescribable creature manifesting the more chaotic sides of nature after all. The little infant, you've seen it all before. Chubby, quite noisy, fragile. And most importantly, delicious. You cannot explain the slightes, but in all of your years of being in this realm, despite not having the needed nutrition you'd usually intake, human offspring has a certain charming flavor. Something you'd feast on with gusto. Maybe it was the fact that through the cycle of life and death, you've always defied both aspects. And the loss of something brought to this world so sudden felt like experiencing the gifts to be caressed upon your tongue. Consumed. And valued.

Miguel does this more often. Leaving you gifts. Little sacrifices. Whether it be piles of wheat or fish. Or, on other days when one of his "sheep" go disobedient, you find their corpse carefully gifted in the same spot on the mossy rock. Like a gift. A gift for your generosity of giving them their home, and protection. Your little gift mauled and torn apart limb by limb and licked ever so viciously. In a graceful matter. Until there was nothing left. Not a spec of blood or bone.

You favored Miguel out of the rest. And it's obvious as to why.

Miguel was a curious man. Perhaps a little too curious, so to say. So when he comes out with his little gift at night rather in the morning and stays there, waiting for you, you waste no time to throw him onto the ground. Your weight practically crushing him. And you bite his neck and drink his blood. A taste of the person who's been so devoted to... amusing you. He tastes like any other ordinary person you've eaten before. Salty. Metallic. A little sweet. But his flavor is laced with sheer utter adoration. Rather than fear. Curiously, you drink a little more. And in fact, he doesn't push you away. He doesn't grab his weapon and attempt to cut your throat. He fully accepts it. He holds you while you take your fill of his own crimson fluid.

And you don't kill him. You leave him there as you disappear into the woods. And he's even more insatiable.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 21

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I am very tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.  

You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience. 

You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder. 

He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios. 

You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane. 

“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air. 

“You remember,” he comments gently. 

“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood. 

“Let the animal see you,” the king advises. 

You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears. 

“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.” 

“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?” 

“She,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, apologies.” 

“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.” 

He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back. 

“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.” 

The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge. 

The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle. 

“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response. 

“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.” 

You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip. 

“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.” 

“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver. 

“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.” 

You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you. 

You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness. 

The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits. 

The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along. 

“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.” 

He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step. 

You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going? 

Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without. 

He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip. 

“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.” 

He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice! 

“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further. 

“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you. 

You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space. 

“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.” 

You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.” 

“As a boy it was. At least, that���s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.” 

You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king. 

You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses. 

The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will. 

“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame. 

He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own. 

He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?” 

Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves. 

“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.” 

“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.” 

You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours. 

“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept. 

“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.” 

He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you. 

“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.” 

You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all. 

“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?” 

You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily. 

“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur. 

“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?” 

“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...” 

He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling. 

“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks. 

“Please, your highness--” 

“I bid you call me by my name.” 

“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.” 

“Did you have parents? Siblings--” 

“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.” 

He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--” 

“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.” 

His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.” 

“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?” 

“Anything,” he says. 

“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.  

He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.”