I’ve had a merman story kicking around for a while, but it’s had nowhere to go, and no audience to love it, so I reworked it for this prompt with a merman x female reader. Normally my stories are not this long, so don’t expect it to be this big every time I answer an ask. I had this one in my ‘unfinished ideas’ folder though. It still took me a good four hours to edit this into what it is now. I’m going cross-eyed from looking at it so long, so please forgive any mistakes, but I wanted to get it posted tonight for you.
Get comfortable, grab some water and a snack, because this is 9000 words of traditional merman (not a gorgeous Shape of Water creature this time) x female reader. Meet Tallis everyone!
Warnings for mentioned loss of childhood friend, and near drowning.
“Hello?!” you called, astonished at what you were seeing.
Those eyes. You’d never seen eyes like those before. Even through
the thrashings of the building storm, you knew you would never forget eyes like
those.
But you had more important things to focus on. What a young
man your own age was doing out in the sea in weather like this, you couldn’t
fathom. But you found your feet
faltering on the hard sand, waves thundering in your ears, spray coating your
hair and face in tiny droplets while the air roiled and the clouds seethed
above you.
As the boy vanished beneath the waves, terror reared its
ugly head in your mind. He was going to drown if he stayed out there in this. “Hold
on!” you yelled, the wind ripping your voice from your lips the moment the
words left your mouth.
You cursed and took your shoes off. The icy water hurt as it bit
into your ankles, but you forced yourself to keep going. No way the sea was
going to claim someone else on your watch. You’d lost your best friend to the
sea when you were children, and seeing that boy there now brought it all
rushing back like a crashing breaker.
By the time you were up to your waist, you knew you had
bitten off way more than you could chew. A breaker rolled in and knocked you
right off your feet.
“Shit!” you swore as you went under, sea water filling your
mouth. You fought for the surface but got no purchase under you, rolling around
in the surf like a toy in a washing machine. The thought that you were going to
die flashed across your mind for the briefest of moments.
Suddenly there was a weight around your waist, like an arm
or something, and you were yanked upright. Your face broke the surface and you
gasped, choking on the salt water that had dribbled into your lungs. Coughing
violently, you tried to fight to stay afloat, and then realised you didn’t have
to.
Have nearly 3000 words of powerful yet submissive alien. I hope this suits? Sorry I sat on it for a while – I hope you remember asking for it…
NSFW, with a little warning for brief mention of needles and wounds.
You encountered more kinds of xeno-anatomy in your first six
months aboard the ship than you’d seen in your whole six years of med school
back on Earth. This was an alliance battle cruiser, so you had a regular stream of every
shape and size of soldier imaginable coming through the med bay.
The ship’s doctor, Maehve, was a seven foot tall J’Hantahri
who brooked no nonsense when it came to her med bay. It tended to keep the
newer recruits from going there on a whim to get out of training exercises, and
soldiers who had a firm hand tended to sit still long enough to get patched up.
Maehve had four stomachs and you suspected that all of them
were made of iron, because you’d never seen her so much as flinch as she
treated detached shells, torn limbs, shattered horns, acid-spit burns, ruptured
these and broken those. She also liked to boss you around, which grated. You
ached to be the one giving orders for a change, but with your rank, the chances
of that were lower than your chances of finding a decent chocolate bar on board.
One sol, the First Officer himself was brought into the med
bay with a huge blaster wound in his ribcage. Apparently a mission to a hostile
planet for negotiations had failed and they’d barely made it out at all.
The hulking Kharmorian was even taller than Maehve, and he
was twice as wide. His skin was black as ink, and covered in microscopic flecks
of pearly white, like stars in the endless view from the observation deck. Six
eyes, arranged three on each side of his head, glared out from a flat face,
with slit nostrils that flared occasionally as his pain mounted. Thick, viscous
drool was occasionally known to slip from a mouth that was full of razor sharp
teeth, cylindrical, transparent, and gleaming like polished crystal, and his
jaw unhinged to gape wide enough to swallow your entire head whole if he was
really in a rage. Or in the canteen after a workout.
In short, he was nine foot of pure muscle, and rumour had it
his saliva was poisonous. But that might just have been his temper.
And here he was, cursing in his guttural, native Kharmorian,
and looking like he was about to try and eat Maehve whole, her chitinous
plating be damned. Inadvisable, you
thought with a smile.
His muscles were gorgeous as he gripped the edge of the
stretcher, snapping and snarling as Maehve lowered her mandibled face toward
the wound and chittered angrily before prodding carefully with one of her more
humanoid hands. She had a lot of hands.
He hissed at her, and as his mouth opened, you saw the huge
teeth, transparent and beautiful in the harsh light of the med bay. He had two tongues, you discovered, biting your
lip to keep from smiling. He was really very beautiful, if… intimidating.
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me,” Maehve rattled,
utterly unfazed by his display, her dry voice full of command.
To your astonishment, the massive First Officer went utterly
still. His torso was still clenched, however, and Maehve twitched her head like
a mantis. She cuffed him on the side of his head. She actually cuffed the First Officer as though he
were no more than a disobedient child to be disciplined.
“Lie back down. Don’t move.”
Again, an almost imperceptible shiver ran through him, and
he went slack on the gurney.
“Good.”
His legs, thick and muscular and speckled with more
pearlescent white dots, shook and he tipped his head back, all six of his eyes
closing.
You’ve never enjoyed spending much time around others, having grown sick of having your interests constantly mocked or scoffed at. Instead, you find your home amongst tales of fiction, be they read through a screen or from the pages of a well worn book. Physical books have always been your favourite though, and at the end of every day, you find yourself straying to a local cafe/bookstore, that blessedly runs well into the night. You choose the same place every time, settling into the little hidden nook by the far corner, surrounded by warmth and the scent of well worn pages.
One day however, as you sit on one of the worn couches hidden away behind the stacks in your little nook, you feel a heavy gaze land upon you. Looking up from the book resting on your knees, you meet the eyes of an intimidatingly tall and broad shouldered man, heart skipping a few beats at the quiet intensity of his red gaze. His voice is low and deep as he asks you politely if he may join you, and despite your usual response to such requests, you find yourself saying yes.
Oddly enough, it doesn’t take long for it to start feeling like him being there is how its meant to be. At first he begins to come every couple of days, silently and peacefully sharing your space, but soon enough, his presence becomes a daily expectation.
As you stand and swing your bag over your shoulder, preparing to leave one night, you pause, hesitantly offering your name. Your heart pounds heavily and you swear his strange red eyes almost seem to glow for a moment as you await his name. The man looks surprised for a moment and then deeply pleased, responding warmly with a tone that has your heart fluttering and heat rising to your cheeks.
You’ve always felt out of place, as if your very presence is somehow off and tilted to the side of some invisible line that those around you walk with little trouble. Growing up in an orphanage is difficult by itself, but the woman who ran the orphanage, always seemed to distrust you, and look at you like you were alien, an unsettling blemish. She made it difficult to feel safe, and always ensured you would never be adopted.
When a new church opened up in town, she was the first to insist that the children attend, claiming it would be good for them to learn godliness. Her gaze however, lingered on you a little too long to not show it for the lie it was. When you arrived to the church, she kept her eyes on you like a hawk, seeming deeply disappointed when entering the grounds, the church, and even getting “accidentally” splashed with holy water, did nothing.
The head of the church came out to greet the group a short time later, a rather attractive young man with a smooth charismatic personality. It was obvious your caretaker was smitten, and the man indulged her for some time before she directed him over to you with a look of distaste and desperation. As the man approached, you could feel something shift in the air, a feeling that he was different too, and seconds later, you were proven correct.
As he knelt before you, his back facing everyone else, you got to witness the way his grin widened, baring teeth too sharp to be human, his eyes flashing a deep smouldering red, yet somehow softening with affection.
“I knew she would be so foolish as to bring you to this… church. I’ve been looking for you for sometime little one. Its time you came home.”
You’ve grown up your whole life with your grandmother, never knowing a thing about your parents. She was loving to you, doting, but she never answered your questions of them. While she did let you have the run of the place, she absolutely forbade you from ever going into that strange secret little garden of hers, becoming angry and almost frantic at the mention of it.
Her little garden had tall vine covered walls on all sides, with no visible door. You knew there was one though, having found not only it, hidden behind the twisting vines, but the ornate lock that keeps it shut to you. You know where the key is, having seen your grandmother slip it around her neck each morning as she muttered to herself about Them. You’re not sure who They are, but with little other than your grandmother and the animals to keep you company, your curiosity burns greater every day.
One morning, she forgets to put on her key as she rushes from the house, reluctantly leaving you behind as you had been feeling progressively weaker as of late. Its only as you get up to get water, that you notice the key, sitting forgotten on her vanity. You feel a sudden surge of drive at the sight, and decide it cant hurt to take a peek while shes away.
Eventually you make it to the hidden door, opening it up with a loud click, and slowly stepping through. The garden is beautiful and surreal, filled with life, and in the centre of the garden, you find a wide circle of mushrooms. The closer you step, the stronger you feel, and you find yourself growing closer without even realising it. You look away for only a moment as you hear a car in the distance, but when you look back, there are two people there, both beautiful and strange.
They look a bit like you, you realise, though dressed in elegant, almost regal clothing. Their eyes seem full of emotion as they look at you. To your shock, they sink to their knees at the edge of the circle, reaching out for you with crystal like tears in their eyes, seemingly unable to pass some invisible barrier.
“Oh little heart! We have waited so long. Please! Please come before its too late! The Thief is killing you the longer she keeps you in this realm. Please little one, come to us”
It had been innocent enough when you first started writing them. A friend had suggested you write letters to yourself, to try and work through and understand your own feelings. Only, writing to yourself had felt stupid.
With a dry smile, you had decided to write a letter as if you were writing to Dracula himself. The idea was amusing enough, and surprisingly, you were able to be genuine with your letter, though you still didn’t express too much of how you felt.
The next day, feeling a touch of childish whimsy, you took it with you on your walk, and put it in the mailbox in town. it had no address or return address, but you thought it amusing all the same. Until a reply showed up at your doorstep a few days later.
It unnerved you at first, that someone had not only replied, but somehow known where to reply too. They seemed to have taken great care to make it realistic too, the paper of both the envelope and letter itself, feeling expensive and thick, and the writing done in elegant cursive.
After a few days, you decided that the correspondence couldn’t hurt, and so you replied to the curious letter, explaining the reason for your first, and apologising. It took only two days for a reply to come, after you had mailed yours, the same way you had before. There was acceptance there, and a tentative offer for you to continue. And continue you did.
Before you knew it, you had been writing to your stranger for over a year. Your letters with the stranger (call me Vlad, my dear) had become more personal, the two of you sharing things that you hadn’t really been able to voice before. It was nice to pretend that Vlad was real, and genuine with his stories and emotions. They chased away some of the darkness in your mind, and made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t so lonely and detached from the world.
Not all good things could last however. Your home life was only getting worse, and despite being an adult and having a job, you knew there was few options for you, if you left.
You started to lag in your responses with Vlad, your comments becoming darker and shorter. Eventually he questioned you about it, and you admitted that things were getting worse, and that your mind was taking you to increasingly dark and dangerous places. You honestly weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on like this.
By the time his next reply came, you didn’t have it in you to check. You knew it was all a lie, something funny and amusing to pass two peoples time, but it had felt like more than that for a long time, and your foolish heart apparently didn’t know the difference either. Your replies had become prompt with each other over time, never taking more than two days to send to the other, but your mind and heart were too clouded, and your motivation had died. A few weeks passed, and the letter sat unopened still, as did two more that had arrived.
You were in the midst of a loud shouting match, or rather being shouted at, when there was a knock at the door. They cursed at you and stomped over to it, going to see who it was, while you stared blankly at the wall, tucking all the emotions away. You flinched as your name was shouted, and hesitantly made your way to the front door, wondering who the hell would be looking for you of all people.
Standing there, an umbrella held overhead to block the rain, was an incredibly tall and broad shouldered man. His pale skin stood out starkly against his expensive black suit and long black hair. Pulling his sunglasses down off his face, you found your eyes locking with the dark hellfire seeming to burn within his own. His expression softened slightly from the cold intimidating look he had held, and he gave you a small smile.
“Hello my dear….”
Looking up, I felt all colour draining from my body. “Y… you’re real,” I whispered, fear mingling with awe and euphoria in my voice as a tear fell down my face.
He gently reached a hand out, cupping my cheek as he nodded. “You thought I was…otherwise, devotchka?”
So short, but made my heart ache (in a good way). Thank you Darling.
Listening to your religious co-workers murmur about angels and miracles, is always a little awkward for you. They had asked you before, if you believed in angels. You had hesitantly agreed, and to your relief they had asked nothing else on the subject, though they seemed surprised that someone like you, believed in angels.
The mental image of their reactions if you told them the truth though, are enough to have you giggling a bit. You had gotten a few odd looks for that, not that such a thing would be anything new, but luckily they had shuffled off a few moments later.
The idea of telling them that you had once smashed a vase over an angels head when they had appeared in your bedroom, or even the fact that they stuck around and have taken to calling you “Little Miracle”, is more than a little amusing. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t take such “blasphemy” well.
Your heart pounds heavily in your ears, deafening you to the rest of the world, and all you can do is stare up in shock at the person hovering over you protectively. You’re not sure what happened. One moment you were just walking down the street, and the next, there’s heat, brightness, pain and then them.
As you finally, dazedly break their gaze, to look around you, you realise that the entire street has been destroyed, and that the person hovering above you, just saved your life. Blinking blearily back up at them, you watch as they try to speak to you, unable to hear or process what they are saying.
What you do notice though, is their piercing eyes, and the large shimmering scythe, held in one of their hands, having been used to deflect the blow of some of the debris.
In general, Being a monster hunter is a thankless job. There’s always someone willing to complain about the damages, despite having been saved from a fate worse than death. Or someone calling you a murderer no matter how many lives you saved through your actions.
The days are long, the wounds many, and the gains barely enough to get by most days. But looking down at the small child in your arms, seeing their eyes full of tears of relief as the dying cries of the creature that captured them, sound in the background, you know that all of the pain is worth it.
Plot twist:
The child is actually a supernatural creature and the creature that captured them was a human.
You are a monster hunter. You hunt monsters. And sometimes, humans act more vicious and more evil than the one they label as the monsters. Sometimes, they are the monsters.
You are a monster hunter. You may be deemed as a murderer but the lives you have saved, both supernatural and humans, make it all worth it.
You are a monster hunter. And you hunt monsters down.
I was so desperately hoping that someone would go down this path. I have such strong feelings about the use of the word Monster. Love this so much
Toad's Cave 