#foamy toes

[sparklingchim]

ego season; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 6.3k

rating: 18+

genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, brother's best friend, college!au

warnings: jungkook's a lil flirt <3, unprotected sex, shower sex, doggy, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), creampie 🤭, cum play/swallowing, they like almost get caught 🫣, sum head in the locker room, disgusting kisses, CHANYEOL CAMEO!!!, nipple play, spanks, a teeny tiny mark, cursing, dirty talk, praise, spit

summary: pov: you make ur secret fuck buddy jealous.

a/n: hi hi besties enjoy i love u m going sleepies now <3

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You like the illicit.

Which is why you’re in the shower with Jeon Jungkook.

The guy who is your brother’s best friend.

Starting college and being away from your overbearing parents has its perks – the freedom it has given you has swayed you straight into Jungkook’s arms.

Turns out that despite the beginning of your little secret feeling quite mutinous and thrilling, it soon became apparent that maintaining it hidden from your brother Taehyung is substantially ridiculous when you share an apartment with said brother.

It gets even more ridiculous when you consider that they see each other every day because they play for the same hockey team.

You admit, choosing Jungkook as a fuck buddy was an inconvenient choice in which you had not considered the intricate aspects that would make sneaking around hardly possible.

But

The two of you are undeniably compatible in bed.

Luckily, you found out a few months ago at a frat party when you both were completely wasted and out of your minds.

After that night, there was no going back.

Being in college can be overwhelming at first. Lots of choices and opportunities. But it’s a vast contrast from your previous life, and you’ve fully committed to this lifestyle.

All your life you’ve longed to be in charge if your own decisions. Now that you're in college, living in a swanky apartment near campus, you have a little more freedom.

When there are no parents around to keep an eye on you, you can – almost – do whatever you want.

College is fun.

And taking a shower with Jeon Jungkook is fun too.

You giggle when Jungkook snatches your shampoo bottle from you before you can reach for it.

“Lemme do it.” He squeezes a generous amount on his open palm and rubs the fluid between his hands.

“Jungkook,” you scold. “That’s way too much.” You ogle the ample amount of shampoo coating his hands. Your lips drag into a pout as you watch Jungkook’s excessively besmeared palms extend to your hair. But it promptly fades when he begins to massage your scalp.

“But I like how it feels. Gets really foamy and bubbly.” He has a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he watches the solution grow into a rich foam of frothy bubbles on your head.

“Using too much can dry out your hair,” you mumble. Concentrating is a little difficult with Jungkook’s way too experienced fingers working on your scalp. “It can remove the moisture.”

“Oh, really?” His eyebrow twitches for the briefest second, that’s how you know Jungkook is actually listening to you because judging by his expression, he’s trapped in his own thought bubble.

It’s actually something you adore about Jungkook – whenever he is occupied doing something, whatever it is, he’ll put so much care into it and work diligently. Sweet – admirable, actually. It’s a characteristic you want to achieve as well, but you’d have to tweak on your impatience at first.

“Really,” you confirm.

“And I thought you were just saying that because your shampoo is expensive.” He teases you with a bob of his covered finger on your nose.

“That too.”

You reach behind Jungkook to grab your brother’s weird three in one shampoo. You squirt some on your hand and put it back. On your tippy toes you start to shampoo his hair as well.

He has his mouth twisted in a cocky smirk when he says, “The way you opened the door for me earlier seemed a little...” Jungkook cocks his head and ponders for a fitting word.

When he doesn’t come up with one you suggest, “Desperate?”

“Hmm.” Jungkook’s nose scrunches as he’s in thoughts. “I wanted so say rushed, but sure. Desperate will do.”

Your eyes roll in playfulness. “You were dripping with sweat, Jungkook. Didn’t want any of it dirtying my apartment floor,” you reason.

You texted Jungkook a good morning message and good luck on today’s game. He instantly replied with a thank you and told you that he had just finished his morning jog through the campus park. And maybe you offered him to stop by at your place because conveniently you also wanted to take a shower... (You hate morning showers). Taehyung had left a couple minutes prior to visit the gym.

“That’s the only reason?” A challenging twinkle flashes across his eyes.

The tip of your tongue touches your upper lip as you try to hide your smile. “Wouldn’t know why else.”

Jungkook nods. He grabs the shower head and tips your head back by grabbing your cheek. Carefully, he washes the shampoo out of your hair.

Jungkook is cautious not to accidentally splash water on your face and gently runs his fingers through your wet hair to remove the excess shampoo. You taught him well.

When he’s done, he offers you the shower head and it’s your turn.

Standing on your toes while trying to wash the shampoo out of his hair is always a little battle.

Usually, Jungkook comes to meet you by lowering himself, but at the moment his mind wanders elsewhere.

You first feel his hand on the curve of your waist. It’s a soft grasp. A gentle squeeze of your flesh that transiently side-tracks you from your task.

“Jungkook.” You try to pull him out of his little bubbles he’s trapped in. There’s a thickness to your voice, undoubtedly from his wandering hand on your body.

“Mmmh?’ He doesn’t look you in the eyes. Solely fixed on your body as his fingers mould against the supple form of your tit. You’ve always reckoned him to be a tits man, but he denies it and says he loves your ass equally as much. Liar.

“Bend down a little so I can rinse off the shampoo,” you request. His lashes flutter as he averts his eyes to you. A tiny crease appears between his brows like he has actually forgotten where he is and what you two have been doing. “Believe me, you really don’t want remnants of shampoo lingering in your hair.” You cock your head, fruitlessly waiting for a reaction from his head empty and hands full with tits haze.

Suddenly, Jungkook does bend forward. But not in favour of you, but to satisfy his own selfish desire to suck on your boob.

“Oh!” you squeal, pressing the shower head against his back. “Jungkook,” you chide, but your voice turns into a soft whine at the end.

“Hmm?” His hum together with your nub between his lips twists something in your tummy. His tongue begins to swirl around it, and you have to force your eyes to stay open. Jungkook’s inked hand reaches down your lower back. His subtle touches leave a trail of shivers, until his pads brush over the slope of your ass. He squeezes your cheek, firm fingers digging into your skin.

A small gasp escapes your throat.

With a lewd pop he releases your nipple. A lopsided smirk appears on his face, conjuring the little dimple on his cheek.

Jungkook’s dimple. So banal but so endearing. It’s a pretty contribution to the soft contours of Jungkook’s features – except for the sharp outline of his jaw. That adds to his image of the college jock. You like to tease him with that name, and he loathes it, but the sex afterwards is always so good.

You feel his other hand sneak down, grabbing a handful of your ass. He closes the distance between you again, pressing languid kisses along your neck. Begrudgingly, your eyes fall closed.

“Is this what you wanted?” A whisper of his mellow voice coaxes your breath to stutter.

“Yeah.” It’s merely a murmur. The tender nudges against your skin with his mouth unfold spellbound clouds in your mind, looming over your rational thoughts. “But the...” The shampoo you want to remind him, but he starts to suck on your skin and no more comprehensible thoughts form in your head.

You raise the shower head to Jungkook’s hair and wash off the remaining bits of shampoo. You make sure not to let the water run down his face.

“But what?” he asks, planting a soft peck on the flesh below your collar bone where his teeth have just sunk in. You’re not trying to act like a brat – you just care for his hair.

“Nothing,” you utter between pouting lips. “But no marks,” you alert.

“Just a tiny one.” Jungkook kisses the spot again. “No one will see,” he persuades.

Presuming you won’t wear clothes with a deep cleavage. Jungkook just made sure you won’t.

You put the shower head back on its place on the wall beside you. You struggle to secure it in the holder when you feel Jungkook’s hand move from your ass to your tummy.

Usually, you’d coax him into allowing you to put conditioner in his hair, but you can only concentrate on his hand slowly trailing down your belly button. When he cups your pussy, your hands clasp his shoulders.

A tantalising grin pulls the corner of his lips up. “You want this?”

You nod, your teeth capturing your bottom lip.

“Use your big girl words.” Jungkook runs his pad over your folds, eliciting a shudder from you. “Talk to me.”

“Want you,” you plead. Your eyebrows knit the further Jungkook dips his middle finger in. “Been wanting this for so long.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Last night wasn’t enough?”

The mention of last night shoots arousal and need straight to your core. An exchange of innocent text messages led to a phone call containing dirty words and hushed moans.

“No.” You shake your head. “I need you feel you.”

A chuckle bubbles in his throat. “That’s my girl.”

He spreads your wetness with his finger. Your hand wanders down to Jungkook’s tatted arm, squeezing his biceps when he brushes past your clit. His finger dwells there, putting pressure on your swollen bud. Your hips impulsively start to rock, a shaky whimper rolls past your mouth.

“Always so needy.” He draws his hand back. A petulant whine from you echoes in the bathroom.

“Shh,” Jungkook hushes you. Glimmers of tease spark in his eyes. “Bend over for me, love.”

With a puff, you turn around, bend forward and catch yourself on the tiled wall. It’s cold on your palms, but you’ll endure this if it means that Jungkook will make you cum.

He hisses behind you. “So fucking pretty.” A hand travels over your ass to your spine and back. “The prettiest girl,” he rasps. You earn a smack on your cheek, the pain leaving your walls clenching around nothing.

You turn your head, catching him just as he aims a trickle of spit at your pussy. He rubs it over your folds. His inked fingers vanish between your thighs.

“Oh fuck,” you moan as his index finger slowly enters you. He reaches deep, curling his finger to graze your spot. “More.” He’s teasing you, rubbing over your sensitive area in slow strokes.

“What do we say?” he taunts, specks of mock painting his voice.

“Please,” you reply. “I need more, please.” You’re putty in his hands. The desire to be touched bigger than your general wayward behaviour.

“Good girl.” Jungkook adds another finger. It’s just two, but you feel so full. So good.

While his fingers pick up on the speed, you feel Jungkook’s kisses on your ass. He has you rolling your eyes at the way his pads curl against your sweet spot, the knot in the pit of your tummy tightening.

Jungkook bites down on your flesh, drawing a squeal out of you. Your head twists to him again. He’s on his knees, his cheek resting against the curve of your ass as he captivatingly watches his fingers move in and out of you. A faint smirk hangs on his lips.

He meets your half-lidded eyes. His smirk deepens. “Can take a third one?”

You know you can – he knows it too – but you’d rather have his cock inside you.

“I wan’ you.” It’s a sulky request, but Jungkook’s eyes soften.

“You think you’re ready for me?” He pushes his fingers deep, remaining there for a while. Your knees buckle.

“Yes,” you pant. “I’m always ready for you.”

Jungkook hums. Your eyes focus back on the white tiles, expecting Jungkook to move behind you to bury himself inside you. With a pounding heart you wait. A gasp springs from your chest when

Jungkook’s tongue is on your pussy. He retreats his fingers from your quivering hole, using both his palms to spread your cheeks open. His tongue dives between your folds, inciting breathless whimpers from you.

“Taste so good.” Jungkook muffles indistinctly between licks on your wetness.

The sloppy sounds of his tongue lapping on your pussy fill your ears. Your throat constricts, the pleasure sends you spiralling, not permitting you make another noise.

One hand smooths over your back. You arch your back for him and Jungkook voices an approving hum against your core. Tingles sprawl everywhere, eyes falling shut as Jungkook swirls his tongue over your clit. He sucks on your tiny nub, and your thighs shake in response.

His thumb gathers your juice mixed with his spit and begins to circle your other hole.

“Jungkook,” you mewl. Your voice is small, barely having the vigour to drown out the noise of running water and Jungkook’s wicked mouth.

“Mhmm? What is it, princess?” His playful baritone timbre rumbles through your body, sparking the tight knot in your belly. The pad of his thumb continues to sweep over it, jolts of arousal teeter in your veins. He pecks your ass. “Want more?”

“Yes – please,” you answer hurriedly, voice laced with an equal amount of desperation and lust. It’s still early in the morning but Jungkook has you begging for his cock with no effort.

Jungkook straightens up to his full height. He squeezes your waist, his other hand pumping his thick cock. He rubs the glistening precum on his tip over his length. His eyes are glued to your inviting pussy, the urge to fill you to the brim fogs his mind, but he controls himself. He’ll get you used to his size before fucking you silly. The filthy thought of having you cum around his dick lures a restrained groan out of him.

Last night, when he heard your hushed whines and little whispers of his name, Jungkook was thirsting to come over and have his way with you. It had him lusting over you even after the phone call ended.

Jungkook taps his tip against your aching pussy. The wet sounds it elicits makes his front teeth dig into his lower lip. So wet. Just for him.

His head nudges your entrance. You inhale sharply, zealously anticipating the feeling of his cock sheathed deep inside you. Jungkook pushes his cock inside you. A mutual moan reverberates in the bathroom.

“Fuck.” Your eyes are tightly closed.

“It’s just the tip,” Jungkook mutters, fingers trailing up your spine.

“So big,” you babble.

“You can take it.” Jungkook’s hand finds your tit, firmly palming the smooth flesh. “You’re gonna take my cock like the good girl you are, right?”

The pet name makes your heart flutter. “I can take it,” you promise.

Gradually, Jungkook eases his cock inside you. He’s so deep. Your head hangs low. You’re so full.

There’s an inkling of burning pain from Jungkook’s size, but he allows you to adjust to him. His fingers tugging at your nipple steals your attention. A whine flies past your lips at his ministrations on your pebbled nipple.

“You can move,” you tell him once the pain dulls.

A delicate kiss is pressed on your shoulder blade before Jungkook draws back. His hands are firmly anchored in your hips. Jungkook pulls back until only the head of his cock is left between your walls. In a fluid motion, he bottoms out.

“Damn, you feel so fucking amazing,” he grunts, a harshness surrounds his tone. Jungkook loses himself. He finds his rhythm and thrusts inside your pussy with sharp motions.

You’re a mess beneath him. A moan of his name flees your throat. He smacks your ass and the sting rattles through you, tiny sparks fuelling the fire inside you.

“Faster,” you utter between pants. “Faster, Jungkook.” He picks up on his speed, hitting the sweet spot inside you in hastier succession. “Please don’t stop.” You sneak a hand between your legs. You press your index finger to your clit, stroking in swift circles.

Jungkook gathers your hair in one hand, twisting it around his fist. Your head lifts, back arching.

“You’re gonna cum for me?”

You’re barely able to register Jungkook’s question. Your high is inbound, threatening to spill over. “Y-yes.” It’s a broken cry, Jungkook’s rapid lunges of his hips make it practically impossible to talk.

“Please make me cum.”

“You wanna cum so badly, don’t you?” Mock sympathy laces his voice. His makeshift ponytail tugs you back. Your hands are merely touching the wall for support, but Jungkook has a secure hold on you.

You reply with an impatient whine.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” Jungkook muses. His grip on your waist tenses, delivering a particularly hard thrust. You curse at the way his cock kisses the deepest part inside you. “I think you deserve to cum.”

Oh God.

His hand with your hair bundled in his palm pulls you back to him. You reluctantly let your hands slip from the tiled wall.

“I’ve got you,” Jungkook assures. He snakes both his arms around you, keeping you safe. He gently nudges your hand between your thighs. You comply, allowing Jungkook to replace your fingers. “I’m gonna make you cum.” His voice promises into your ear. A shiver crawls up your spine. His possessive ass likes to receive credit for everything.

Jungkook’s middle finger rubs over your clit in circular motions. Your head tips back, completely engulfed in Jungkook’s enchanting touches on your body.

“So close.” Your head falls back against his shoulder. Your sweet moans fill his ear.

“Pretty girl.” Jungkook’s nose nuzzles your cheek. “Cum for me.” His other hand rests against your lower tummy. His palm puts pressure on that spot. Your eyes roll in utter euphoria.

When the taut coil snaps inside you, a fuzzy feeling rushes through your entire body. It makes your body tingle with bliss. The feeling is overwhelming your senses, your eyes can’t stay focused. You moan weakly, legs shaking.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. His words send warms chills on your skin.

His finger on your clit slows down. Jungkook lets you ride out your high, his thrusts deep and lazy.

When you peek a glance at him, you see him with brows knitted in pleasure. His dark hair is wet, long hair a mess on his head that you can’t wait to comb later. Jungkook’s sturdy body glistens with water and sweat, his shredded chest momentarily steals your attention until your eyes get distracted by the shimmering tattoos adorning his entire right arm, from hand to shoulder.

His colourful tattoos complete the look and add something irresistible to him, ridiculously charming – an impeccable portrayal of a ravishing man you should keep your distance from, but what can you say, your connection is like a magnet pulling you to him. You had kept your distance from him – even back when you two were still in high school and he was a grade above you – but once a taste of what it’s like to be with Jungkook and you became, mutually, addicted.

And as long as your brother doesn’t get a whiff of it – everything's fine.

“Wanna cum inside,” Jungkook breathes. His hand grips your ass tightly. “Can I cum inside?”

You rarely allow him to cum inside, but the way a desperate, whiny pitch accompanied by little puffs and moans colour his voice lets you decide otherwise.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Cum inside me, fill me up, Jungkook.”

“Oh, fuck.” His fingers sink into your waist. Jungkook fucks you relentlessly. “Gonna fill your pussy.”

With a guttural moan he pounds deep inside you, painting your walls white. Sloppy thrusts follow as he spills everything inside you, breathless noises hanging in the air.

Jungkook’s gingerly pulls his cock out, lightly tapping it against your pussy coated in your mixed juices.

“Bend over.”

Your hands are flat against the wall again, arching your back for Jungkook.

“Shit.” His palms smooth over the expanse of your ass. “Your tiny pussy looks so good filled up with my cum.”

You giggle. You feel his digits gently trace over your folds. He dips his finger in your cum filled hole.

“Up,” he instructs.

When you stand in front of him again, he holds his finger coated with his cum in front of your face.

On instinct, you open your mouth for him.

You close your lips around the pad of his tatted finger. Your tongue swirls around it, the taste of his cum spreading in your mouth.

Jungkook wears a fond smile on his face. He removes his finger when you swallow. “Good girl.”

Suddenly, someone yells your name from outside the bathroom.

You shriek.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Taehyung.

What the hell is he doing here so early?

You take a step back from Jungkook. “What do you want?” you yell.

“I think I left my AirPods here.”

Your eyebrows draw together in annoyance. “You came all the way back for that?”

Taehyung ignores your accusatory tone. “Can I come in? They gotta be here.”

You send a worried glance at Jungkook. But he just nods, giving your waist a reassuring squeeze.

The shower curtain is opaque. If Jungkook stays silent he won’t notice anything.

Jungkook pushes the shower curtain aside, pointing at the pile of clothes. Your pyjamas mixed with his jogging attire. Shit.

“Hold on a second,” you tell Taehyung, trying not to sound too panicked.

“I won’t look, _ _ _.” Taehyung’s voice drips in impatience.

“Just wait.”

You hurry to bend down, careful not to slip, and pick up Jungkook’s clothes from the floor. Jungkook hands linger on your hips to keep you safe. As you draw back, he pulls back the shower curtain and covers you both in the tiny shower.

��You can come in now.”

You hear him push down the doorknob. The door creaks a little as Taehyung enters the bathroom.

“It’s like a fucking sauna in here,” Taehyung comments.

The water is steaming hot – your choice, not Jungkook’s.

Your heart runs lapses in your chest. Your hand reaches for Jungkook’s arm, tightly holding onto him.

“Don’t forget that mum and dad are coming over this weekend.”

You mentally groan at his reminder.

Your first semester has just barely started a few months ago, but your parents can’t wait to check up on you.

“I know,” you reply.

“I think they wanna have dinner with Minho and his parents.”

Now you can’t suppress your piqued groan. Your forehead hits Jungkook’s biceps.

Taehyung chuckles. “You’re gonna pretend to be sick?”

“Mum will know.”

“Is me breaking his nose for you better?” You hear the smile on his face, but if you said yes, he’d totally do it.

You laugh. “Leave him alone. I don’t even know who he is.”

“Found them!” Taehyung calls. “Gonna leave now. Love ya!” You hear his steps leading him outside the bathroom. The door shuts close.

Jungkook and you remain silent until you’re sure that Taehyung left the apartment.

You heave a relieved sigh.

“That was close,” you mutter against his skin. Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

“So who’s Minho?” Jungkook briefly moves his arm to nudge your head.

“Just a guy who studies here as well.” You prop your chin up on his arm, looking up at him. “My parents are friends with his. They want me to meet him.”

Jungkook nods pensively. His palms slide down your back.

“Jungkook,” you warn when you feel him give your ass a squeeze.

“What? Lemme play with you a little more.”

“But it’s time for conditioner.” He grabs your hand mid-air, before you can fetch the conditioner.

He intertwines your fingers. “Just a little more.” Jungkook nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck.

Your eyes flutter close.

Your arms loop around his shoulders. A shaky breath springs from your chest when you feel Jungkook’s fingers between your legs.

“Gonna make you feel good. I promise.”

Jungkook is insatiable and you’re willing to give him every part of you.

The perfect match.

~

Hours later, you sit in class.

The lecture is almost done. You find yourself habitually scribbling doodles on your iPad, next to your notes.

You keep thinking back on the incident this morning and how Jungkook and you could’ve gotten caught. Maybe there shouldn’t be any visits from him at your place anymore – it's way too hazardous.

You don’t want Taehyung to find out. But you also don’t want to lie to him if you continue tackle this matter imprudently.

Your phone vibrates with a new message. You tilt the screen to your view. An immediate smile unfurls as you read Jungkook’s name.

Jungkook

hey

just wanted to make sure that you’re coming to the game later?

You

i am !! i'm excited

Jungkook

i’ll make sure to win for you

You

hihi

Jungkook

watchu up to rn

You

i’m in class

i’m bored

i don’t have friends

and i'm hungry

Jungkook

poor girl

you wanna come a lil earlier to the game?

You

why?

Jungkook

just so I can see you before the game starts

You

you’ll find me in the bleachers

like you always do

Jungkook

my eyes detect the pretty real fast ;)

You

🙄

Jungkook

so you don’t wanna give me luck before the game :(

You

how early are we talking about?

i still have classes

Jungkook

i dont know

enough time to give me sum good luck

You

what kind of giving luck are we talking about

🤨

Jungkook

you know

just

a little good luck kiss

You

good luck kiss?

you're annoying

Jungkook

i miss your lips

You

you’re sure no one will be there?

Jungkook

if you come early enough

You

i’ll come

just briefly

Jungkook

see ya princess

You’re gonna skip class to give Jeon Jungkook head.

The woman you are.

~

Jungkook slips you in the empty locker room without anyone noticing.

You both have mastered the ability to sneak into places unobserved, it seems.

“Just wanna stress that I skipped a class for you.” An accusing tone resonates in your voice as you turn to him, a finger poking his chest.

A bewitching smile swirls on Jungkook’s mouth. “Well, I’m happy that when you do, on a rare occasion, it’s to spend time with me.” He catches your finger easily, wrapping his hand around your wrist smoothly. Jungkook steps closer.

You can’t deny the giddy bubbles in your tummy whenever Jungkook flirts with you. It’s a prompt reaction – almost natural.

“You want your good luck kiss now?” The way he is staring down at you makes you feel a little jittery, but you keep his intense gaze, bashing your eyelashes up at him.

He traces a line with his knuckle along your jawline. “Whatever,” he answers. “Just the time I spend with you will bring me enough luck.”

A frustrated pout adorns your face. “I skipped class for this?”

“You don’t like spending time with me?” Jungkook’s brow quirks, a small playful smile curving his lips.

“No,” you deny vehemently. “I do like it. I just thought we were gonna do a little more than that.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I think you want it even more than me.”

Heat crawls into your cheeks. “So what?” You try to hide your growing shyness. “You were the one begging me to come here.”

“That’s right.” His thumb brushes over your lower lip, just the hint of a touch. “ ’Cause you always make me feel so good, princess.”

Shivers, everywhere. Jungkook leans down. He wants to tease you, you know it, but you stand on your tip toes and close the distance. You catch his mouth in a fierce kiss, fingers going straight into his hair, dishevelling the mess of his curls.

He walks backwards, pulling you along him until his calves hit the locker room bench and he slowly sits down. With his hands gripping your waist, he tugs you onto his lap.

“How much time do we have?” you whisper against his neck when he presses kisses down your throat.

“Don’t worry about it.” His lips move to your earlobe and he sinks his teeth into your soft skin.

“Jungkook.” You wanted to sound solemn, but it falls from you like a moan when his hands squeeze your ass. “I don’t want anyone finding us like this.”

“Then lets hurry.”

You shoot him a wide-eyed glance. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook ignores you and pulls you in for another kiss.

You are used to this, though. Spending your time with Jungkook like this always meant hurried touches and second look glances at the surroundings.

Your hips grind on his lap. Jungkook curses, his forehead falling onto your chest.

“I love this place,” he murmurs, palming your boobs through your tight sweater top. You giggle.

The bulge in his pants is pressing against you. Your hand clasps around it, squeezing a little. Jungkook groans at the feeling of your hand.

“I need you on your knees. Right now,” he commands in a rasp.

With a mischievous smile you sink down to your knees. Your trapped between his thighs. Jungkook quickly gets rid of his pants and briefs, pushing them down to his knees.

Jungkook’s cock lies against his abdomen. It’s pretty and salivating, his veiny length coloured in an angry red.

He strokes his cock, his thumb swiping across his glistening tip. “Open wide for me.” You feel his hand on the base of your neck. You obey nimbly, tilting your head upwards and sticking out your tongue.

Jungkook taps his cock against your tongue. The wet sound it produces sinking straight into your core. When he pushes his dick inside your mouth, you swirl your tongue around him. A string of curses follow the warm feeling of your mouth.

His cock is heavy between your lips. It reminds you of how his sheer size stretches your pussy when he fucks you, his mushroom tip rubbing against your sensitive spot and making you roll your eyes at the intensity. Your nails leave crescent marks in Jungkook’s thighs when you take him deeper.

“Just like that.” His voice gains something sharp and piercing.

You’re breathless when you pull off. You hold his length to your mouth; a dribble of spit runs down from his tip.

Jungkook moans at the sight of you spitting on his cock. He wants to shut his eyes and let your sinful mouth overtake every sensible part of him, but he can’t draw his eyes from you – his cock between your plump lips, your sparkly eyes looking up at him, a little teary because his size is still a little too much for you. Angelic.

Jungkook wants to blow his load right then and there.

Your head bobs up and down, palm stroking the part you can’t reach. The air is filled with wet, slurping sounds alongside Jungkook’s scratchy groans. You lap at the underside of Jungkook’s cock, tongue rolling around his head when you reach it, a kitten lick at his slit to add your teasing.

His dick twitches in your grasp. “Fuck.” He gathers loose strands in his palm. His hand lingers on the back of your head with your hair in a bundle to support you.

He urges you forward and your mouth closes around him again. Jungkook pressures you to take his cock deeper and you take his length further until your nose pokes his crotch. With shimmering eyes, you blink repetitively, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

“God, you look so fucking pretty with my cock stuffed in your mouth.” Jungkook hisses, keeping you down there. You swallow and his cock twitches again, the curse that flees his chest is low and it does something to your pussy.

He pulls you off his cock, just to push you down again. You gag, eyes tightly closed as Jungkook has his way with you.

“Love to hear you gag for me.” A deep crease appears between his eyebrows. “So good at taking my cock. Gonna make me fucking cum.”

Jungkook’s muscular thighs shake beneath your palms. His hips move desirously upwards, full length sheathed in your throat.

“Gonna cum – fuck ‘m gonna cum. You’re gonna swallow like the good girl you are?”

Jungkook’s cum shoots inside you. His hand in your hair goes limp. You suck on his tip, lazily stroking his dick to pump everything out while he’s breathing heavily above you. He hisses when your gentle touches are too much from him, pulling his cock from your mouth.

“Swallowed everything?” His voice is low, a little drowsy from his high. His fingers smooth over your hair to tame the mess he has created.

“Uh-huh.” A smile is on your face. You give his spent cock a peck before you rise.

Jungkook pulls his clothes back on. You walk to your bag discarded on the floor to search for tissues.

“There’s no way we’re losing the game today,” Jungkook says, smirking.

While you somewhat clean your hands you say, “Don’t jinx it.” When you’re done, you grab your phone.

“I’m not. We’re winning this.”

You stand in front of him. “Can you hold this?” You hand him your phone with the camera app opened, the screen showing you. Your fingers fold around his wrist to get the perfect angle of your face and you start fixing the mess of mascara Jungkook was the cause of.

“You don’t believe in me?”

“No, I do.” Impishness sways in your tone.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Princess, you should know me better than that.” He cocks his head, eyes intently watching you. “If we win, I’ll have my way with you tonight. If we don’t, you’re in charge.”

A tiny giggle escapes you at his proposal.

“Sure.”

You’re in for a ride.

~

Watching a hockey game of your brother has always been fun.

Not particularly because you are a fan of the game, but because you like to see Taehyung beam in his love and passion for it. You’ve always been a big supporter of his.

What made the games a tiny speck more enjoyable for you was his hot best friend playing with him.

You can’t keep your eyes off Jungkook. You keep searching for him, observing every move and play.

Sometimes you have to force yourself to pry your eyes away and see what your brother is doing.

It’s hard to force your attention away from Jungkook, but it’s even tougher to feign nonchalance because you attended the game with Chanyeol – a friend from class, but you two initially became friends at a frat party.

He usually tags along with you, together with your friend Naeun but she couldn’t accompany you today – too swamped with work.

“Taehyung’s really amazing.”

Chanyeol’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. Your eyes fly from Jungkook to Taehyung, your throat constricts like you’ve been caught in a criminal act.

“I know,” you say, a little awkward. “He’s always been this good.”

It’s half-time. The fifteen-minute break has just started. The bleachers are crowded, though some are leaving to use the small break.

Suddenly, the huge screens show close ups of the viewers.

The kiss cam.

The couple shown on the screen starts kissing and the entire audience cheers.

You’ve never been on the kiss cam. There are too many people in the audience anyway, the chances to appear on it are low.

Unbothered, you turn to Chanyeol.

“You’re coming to the party this Saturday?” he asks.

“My parents are coming over this weekend.” You sigh at the thought of it. “I doubt I’ll be able to go out.”

“Yikes.”

Your phone vibrates. You unlock it to find a new message from Naeun. You’re occupied with texting Naeun when Chanyeol faintly nudges his knees to yours.

“I’m sorry, I-” When you look up, you see yourself on the big screen. “Oh!” you squeal surprised.

Chanyeol laughs beside you. A rush of excitement and nervousness courses through your system.

Chanyeol’s eyebrows raise in question.

Should you? Chanyeol doesn’t have a girlfriend, you don’t have a boyfriend. There’s nothing to lose, really. Exhilaration is clouding your judgement.

Slowly, a timid smile curves your lips upwards.

You lean in closer. Chanyeol takes the hint and cups your cheek. When his lips touches yours, your tummy tingles. You share a heated kiss, your body leaning in closer as you get lost in it for a brief second.

The applaud and cheers are blocked by your ears. You only focus is Chanyeol.

The moment doesn’t last long. When you both break the kiss, you smile at each other, giggles surrounding you.

The kiss cam isn’t focused on you anymore, another couple on the screen.

“You’re a good kisser,” Chanyeol compliments teasingly.

“That was fun,” you reply, the thrill of it all making you feel light in the head.

When you cast your glance to the field, it slowly subsides.

Taehyung is looking at you with sharp look. You know your brother too well. His expression translates to are you fucking serious?

Yes, you want to answer. Lemme have fun for once.

Your eyes roll unintendedly when you avert your gaze from Taehyung. But they, somehow, instantly land on Jungkook.

Your chest flutters, even from a distance his effect on you is intense.

The look he gives you is blistering, straight into your soul.

No matter how this is will end, Jungkook is gonna have his way with you either way.

Oh, now you are definitely in for a ride.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

read pt 2 here <3

#jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook college au #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook drabble #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic

[charliemwrites]

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #commissioned work #ko fi commissions #simon x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #lifeguard au #beach au #simon ghost riley

[illgiveyouahint]

I wanted to talk about this and didn't find a post i could reblog so I'm doing it myself. I loved how even before the kiss reveal we saw the little ways in which August is treating Day like a child vs. Mhok who is always giving Day as much as he wants/needs. He gives him agency.

Like you get scenes like this:

contrasted with Mhok's

and again August with the

and later in the episode I saw him tying Day's shoelaces

Like Day, because of his crush, was finding excuses thinking it's just August being extra caring because of his love for Day but really it was August thinking that Day can't do anything himself.

I talked about this before but I loved the moment with Mhok in the bookshop and the Last Twilight book couple of episodes ago. Because it showed how much Mhok understands Day and understands that Day does want to do things himself and he wants people to not feel pity for him or not make him feel like he's some helpless child. Mhok is there to guide him and help him push his boundaries but he let's Day eat by himself with few basic instructions, he let's him take pictures of his toast by himself, bring sauces for his food from the cupboard by himself. He's helping him and guiding him but knows that Day wants to do these things on his own if he can. The solution to a stumped toe is not stop eating food in the kitchen but buying big foamy slippers that protect your fingers from getting stumped on the corner of the kitchen table.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #and obviously august has known/ been in contact with day for a short time #and so he obviously doesn't know all #but you look at gee who's also treating day the same as before #so you know it's possible to get it right #even if you've only just now started to interact with a blind person

[ectologia]

have you ever tried a makeup smear fic? one where the yandere makes her wear like lipgloss and eyeliner then smears it over her face like she’s lowkey a whore lmao

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒫𝒜𝐼𝒩𝒯𝐼𝒩𝒢 ؛ 𝓀𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓀𝒾 𝒷𝒶𝓀𝓊𝑔𝑜𝓊

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ humiliation ﾉ mocking ﾉ forced cunnilingus ﾉ name calling ﾉ bullying ﾉ crazy bakugou ﾉ mean bakugou ﾉ profanity

“Awh, look at you..” Katsuki coos, popping the cap of your eyeliner and holding it between his teeth. Your eyelids are pulled back to the hilt by his thumb, leaving you a teary mess as he oafishly free hands a string of ink across your lash-line. He pulls away with a triumphant grin, admiring his handy work as you blink away the black seeping into your pupils. The dainty pen is snapped in his fist, discarded onto the floor much like the rest of your make-up, shades of pink and brown left crushed into your carpet with their cases in fragments.

“Who’s a pretty girl?” He sneers, ruffling your hair with a big palm before taking hold of your bound ankles.

The metal clinks as he tugs the chains over his neck, allowing your trembling feet to rest on his shoulders, gracing you no escape.

“Wish I could say the same about this filthy little muff though..” Katsuki tuts, pressing your pussy-lips down to inspect your distorted hole. He slides a finger through the sticky webbing, flicking off at your clit. “Tsk.”

You don’t get a chance to reply before he’s dipping down, snorting like a pig. Engulfing with teeth and a fat tongue as he sticks it to your wet slit. Immediately, he’s shaking his head side to side, nuzzling his creased nose into your swollen bud as he sucks on your cunny hole with an unjust violence.

You cry out an incoherent plea, writhing in the stained sheets smudged with concealer and lipstick, the same colours he’d just finished caking your face in previously.

His head bobs up and down, routinely hacking a glob of foamy saliva onto your folds only to slurp it back up again.

“There we go...” He scrubs his chin of any fluid, sniffing his fingers as-well in a subtle fashion. “Nice ‘n’ sloppy.”

He stays preoccupied with slapping his heavy cock-head against your twitchy clit, even as you snivel into your shoulder, wincing and jerking beneath the heavy weight of his tip spanking your puffy pussy up and down. Pearly teeth bare at the wet splatters that jump from where you connect, spitting back up at him.

“You gonna’ behave?” He questions, leaving his stiff erection to flop onto your stomach as he raises two hands towards your face. Your skin is rolled and tugged on by a set of invasive digits, smudging black clouds of ink from your eyelids to your ears. “You gonna’ be a good little prostitute for me?”

You can’t feel your toes where they’ve gone numb from their ascended position, kicking up into the air as he sheathes his length into the pocket of your choke-hole.

Even as you scream raw from your throat, he can’t help but froth at the pair of pink glossy lips crying out for him. All shiny and glistening in the light, specks of glitter jumbled about inside the glass-like coating that paints them corner to corner. It turns him on, the thick globules of transparent gloop looking all to familiar to something else.

He’s compelled to spread the stickiness around, creating an exaggerated ark over what would usually be your smile, leaving a stripe of gloss in it’s wake.

“Awh..” He chuckles through his nose. “Such a lil’ cutie, you like getting your pussy fucked? Yeah you do, look at that smile.”

“Ngh.. ‘suki..” You keen, jostling the chains keeping your leather-cuffed wrists pinned to the headboard.

“Oh, ‘suki! ‘suki!” He mimics you as you sob, turning his mouth down and squinting his eyes in the same pitiful way you do, only without the crystalline tears dragging pounds of blush and bronzer down your cheekbones. “Please make love to my pussy harder!.. Yeah? ‘s that what you’re tryna’ say you little bitch?”

Even as you shake your head, he ignores you. To busy flicking at the artificial eyelashes he’d shoddily stuck to your lash-line, dramatic and bold like butterflies, nothing you’d ever dare to wear yourself, were it your decision.

“Please Katuki! It hurts, you’re hurting me!”

Your attempt to reason with him falls on deaf ears.

“Oh, I’m hurting you am I?” He only responds by pressing your knees back further. “Good.”

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha smut #mha smut #my hero academia smut #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x female reader #bakugou x female reader #bakugou katsuki x female reader #boku no hero acadamia smut

[faerygrant]

waiting room - carmen berzatto x reader.

summary: Carmen’s neglect of your relationship finally comes to a boiling point on the eve of your ten month anniversary.

The table had been set, your favourite China, courtesy of Pete and Nat upon their return from a couples trip two months ago. The bathroom adorned with rose petals and illuminated by a fiery orange flame, vanilla bean scent of your overpriced candles billowing throughout. The bubbles hadn’t subsided, still foamy and enlarged, though you were sure the water had probably gone cold by now.

You sunk to your knees, the caps hitting the cold hexagon shaped tiles leaving you to slightly shudder. All at once, you blew the candles out, the itch in your throat only growing. At any moment now you knew you’d crack, it was only a matter of time.

Once the candles were blown out, the tub drained leaving the damp petals to cling to the sides of the bathtub you made your way back to the dining room, the glistening China never failing to catch your attention.

You took a seat, the Picarde you’d worked so hard on preparing for Carmy was still placed in the middle of the table, covered by aluminium foil. The 2006 bottle of Barossa Shiraz, a gift from his uncle, peaked your interest leading you to pour a glass full for yourself.

With your glass in hand, wrapped up in your white robe you scattered out of the dining and into the living area, where you sat solemnly on the sofa. You’d taken off the dress you’d bought specifically for this night, if Carmy couldn’t remember to even show for your ten month anniversary, there was no reason he deserved the effort you put into looking nice for him.

Your relationship had started of very spur of the moment, introduced to him by a friend in highschool you’d lost contact once he set off for New York but still frequently thought about him. Once he was back in Chicago the two of you were set up on a date by said friend and things took off from there. The honeymoon stage had been almost perfect, his time, attention, affection it was all on you. But as the restaurant became busier and business grew, his attention shifted and his attempts to keep you happy had turned lousy.

So here you were, clad in your white bathrobe and a two piece set from agent provocateur you’d planned on surprising him with. A glass of Shiraz in hand and a heart that was slowly breaking every second the man you loved remained away from you.

At least 30 minutes had gone by and by this point the bottle of Shiraz had found it’s way into your lap, when the sound of the keys fiddling sounded from the door.

“Yo, you still up?” Carmen’s voice calls from behind the sofa, though you make no effort to acknowledge him. You can smell a mix of cologne and cigarette on him as he rounds the sofa and takes a seat by you. He makes no mention of your silence, almost as if he doesn’t notice it. Instead he opts to toe off his shoes and stretch into the chair.

“We were fucked today, Syd and I tried to keep shit running smoothly but we shat the bed with the new recipe. Salty as fuck, don’t think that balsamic glaze could save it” he speaks, his hands covering his face as he leans backwards, clad in his usual pristine white tee and black slacks. You once again simply ignore his words, waiting for him to address the elephant in the room.

“You listenin’ or am I talking to myself?” He brings his hands away from his face, finally acknowledging you. You place your glass of wine down and simply shrug.

“Alright what the fuck is the matter? You fuckin ignored my texts all day, I tried not to make a big deal of it, now m’home tryna’ tell you about my day and you’re not sayin’ shit?” He yells, louder than necessary, the vein in his neck bulging like it always does when he’s upset. His outbursts don’t frighten you though, not anymore atleast.

“What day is it today Carmen?” You quietly whisper, arms crossed over the other, your fingers playing with the fuzzy fabric of your robe.

“I-I don’t fuckin’ know, Wednesday?” He questions, elbows on his knees as he stares at you intensely.

“No, I mean what’s the fucking date today Carmen?”

“The 24th, why is this relev-“ he pauses for a second and instantly his eyes bulge. “Oh fuck, oh shit.”

“Exactly.” You mumble, watching as he goes red, already beating himself up.

“I’m so fuckin sorry, I- I fuck- I don’t even- fuck.” He yells, standing up and pacing the living area, refusing to meet your gaze.

“I’m a fuckin idiot, I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin sorry I don’t even know how I could forget I just, I- I don’t know.” He blabbers and you simply shrug. Your silence killing him.

“Say somethin, fucks sakes, anything.” He pleads with you.”

“I have nothing to say Carmen.” You stand from the sofa, face to face with him, his eyes already fling red, tears rolling down his red face and stray hairs sticking to his forehead.

“Please, fuckin take it out on me I deserve it” he grabs your arms placing them against his chest, pleading with you to hurt him like he hurt you.

“Fine, you want me to take it out on you, I will. I planned this whole dinner, a special night for the two of us since you’ve been working nonstop for the last two months and in return you couldn’t even remember our anniversary. I’ve tried Carmy, so hard to be understanding of your job but I can’t be left to wait for you forever.” A lone tear dropping from your eyes, as you watched his face fall in realisation.

“What’re you doin?, hm what’re you tryna say?” He yells with urgency. The purple-ish blue veins bulging and illuminating his pale skin.

“Carmen I’m not going to be left in the waiting room forever, I refuse to be second in a game I know I’ll never win. Your job means the world to you and I’m not going to make you choose.”

“You- I- please don’t do this, don’t do this, please don’t fuckin do this. I- I lo- I love you” He sniffles, hands bringing your face to his, both your heads leaning against the others.

“It’s for the better.” You whisper, eyes closed, forehead against his and heart shattering.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you

[stray-kaz]

Sand and Stars : a Sanji x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Time away from the others doesn't happen often, so opportunity must be snatched when stars abound.

You carefully rapped out the preapproved secret knock on the door to the kitchen: one, one two, one two three four. Sanji was standing behind the counter when you opened the door, eyes already on the doorway before you stepped through it.

"Hey, sweetheart" he said, wiping out a clean bowl and setting it down behind him. "What's up?"

"Are you busy?" you asked, leaning in the doorway.

He raised his eyebrows at you and dropped the cloth into the bowl.

"For you?" he mused. "Never."

You grinned.

"Fancy a swim?"

He eyed you, specifically the way you were clutching your hands behind your back, hiding something from his view.

"What you have there, love?" he asked, stepping closer.

You backed away and he stopped.

"It's a surprise. Do you have swim trunks?"

Sanji nodded.

"Yes."

"Put them on and meet me on the beach. Luffy says we'll be here for at least the night, so might as well make the most out of some free time."

Sanji watched you reverse all the way out of the kitchen and disappear, shaking his head to himself.

The soft shift of sand and a long, low whistle pulled your attention away from the vista ahead to the vision behind you. You sucked in a breath, trying and failing to keep your eyes on Sanji's face. Your heart beat an unfamiliar rhythm, startling you.

No matter how you tried, low slung swim shorts on tapered hips kept dragging your gaze down, muscled calves pulling it even further south.

Sanji couldn't help smiling upon witnessing your reaction to him; your eyes had gone wide as saucers and your lips parted on a soft "oh." He took his turn, drinking you in from top to toe. He didn't know where you had managed to find a bikini like that, but it was the same colour as the East Blue and clung to you how the waves hugged the shore.

"Hey" he said quietly, and your head snapped up so fast he worried about whiplash. "My eyes are up here, love."

You felt your cheeks burn and prayed he couldn't see it in the dark slowly encroaching off the sea. The moon was full, though, and Sanji gazed at you, head tilted to one side, as you were backlit by milky luminescence.

"Beautiful" he murmured.

You started towards him, but the sand betrayed you, pulling at your feet and making you trip. Strong hands snagged your hips to keep you from faceplanting and eating sand. You found yourself being tugged against a warm, solid body, your hips molded and kneaded by hands much larger than your own.

"I see you fell for me, love" Sanji teased, grinning.

You smacked his chest and felt his hands slide around you to rest on your lower back, pushing you into him.

"My eyes are up here, too, chef" you commented dryly, noticing how his gaze dropped to your chest pressed against his.

"Sorry" he apologised dutifully. "But there is a shortage of perfect breasts in this world and it would be a shame to ignore yours."

Your mouth fell open at his words and he lightly pressed it shut with a finger beneath your chin.

"Flattery..." you mumbled, flaming.

Sanji shook his head.

"Not mere flattery" he disagreed. "Truth."

You glanced down at yourself then up at him again. You reached around your back and carefully disentangled his hands, taking a single step back and keeping your eyes on his. He looked curious as you moved slowly backwards, the residual heat from your skin still tingling on his palms.

"Last one in the water's a bad pirate!" you yelled suddenly, and took off.

Sand flung up behind you as Sanji watched you go, giving you a headstart of about three seconds before he was after you, his much longer legs eating up the distance between him and you.

You had only just entered the water when he caught you, dragging you against him, breathing hard, foamy water kicking up around your ankles. You stared up at him, panting slightly. Your fingers scrabbled for a grip on his forearms and your gaze dragged hotly up from his chest to his collarbone to his jaw and finally, to his face. Your heart jumped a little from the look he wore all over it.

The sweetest hunger you had ever seen.

"What?" you gasped breathlessly. "What is it?"

"If you keep looking at me like that..." he warned, trailing away wordlessly.

You blinked, suddenly urgently needing him to finish that sentence.

"What?" you demanded.

He shook his head at you.

"I guess I'm a bad pirate" he breathed out, and covered your mouth with his.

He swallowed your sound of surprise before you forgot the sea, you forgot his ridiculous compliment, you forgot the Grand Line, and just melted into him. Stars spun overhead, wheeling in dizzying patterns as you clung to him and forgot to breathe.

Sand below and stars above.

Tagging: @writingmysanity @elizabeth-karenina @aaubin

#sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x female reader #opla #one piece #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #liss writes

[konigsblog]

How about yandere König, soap, and ghost (if that’s too many it’s fine!) when someone other than them hurts their darling

yandere könig, soap and ghost when someone other than them hurts their darling (gn!reader)

warnings: yandere behaviour, description of murder, blood, reader is scared of yan (sometimes) slight angst, making out, protective behaviour, obsessive behaviour

masterlist

simon ghost riley

-he saw it whilst you were making dinner, just as you flipped whatever, he saw the bruises on your arm you sustained from a few nights ago whilst out.

"[name], what is that??" he asked very bluntly, you nervously laughed it off, trying to explain it was just a bruise but he could tell through your eyes that were slightly glossy, you were lying.

simon sighed deeply, disappointed. "don't you lie to me now." he warned you, his eyes never leaving yours as he held the wrist in his hands. "when we were out a couple nights ago, a very drunk friend ran into me, grabbed my wrist and squeezed it hard and he also kicked my shin.." you revealed your lower knee to him, a large bruise forming.

anger took over his mind, groaning, "what was his name?" he just kept questioning you. "simon it's really n-!" he cut you off, "tell me the truth. " si demanded, you could nearly see steam coming out his ears

-once you told him his name, he stormed off. he came back holding a gun, covered head to toe in blood, and holding a black bin bag, that seemed like it was carrying something heavy..

a body?

john soap mactavish

-you two were making out, he grabbed your thigh trying to pull your legs over his shoulder, you winced in pain.

he stared daggers into your eyes, "darling, what's this?" he pulled down your trousers, seeing a large bruise covering the whole of your upper thigh. "uhm, we-" you attempted to lie. trying to save your friend from a punishment.

"what is it?!" he grabbed your thigh, pushing down on the pain. "i won't stop until you tell me." you cried out, your leg feeling numb. "okay-okay!! it was [best friends name] they didn't mean -" abruptly, he rose to his feet and left the door. slamming it shut.

-a few hours past, you were stressed. nail hitting stressed. hard footsteps banged against concrete, the door opened with a click and a creak.

he stood their, gun in hand. his hair had splatters of a scarlet liquid dripping down to his neck and onto his white shirt. "i would do anything for you, love."

but what you heard was, "only i can hurt you." as you glanced to the bruise, it wasn't your friend. it was him.

könig

-just as you two were getting ready for a bath, you discarded of all your clothes before stepping into the foamy, bubbly hot water. "maus?" his voice cracked, assuming he did it.

"kö, it's just a bruise..!" you tried playing it off and switching the subject, but nothing would make him budge. he kneeled next to the bath. grabbing your wet leg. "please maus..." he begged, you couldn't say no.

"okay... it was a friend of yours, when we were over and you were asleep he wanted to do something - he was drunk though - i pushed him off of me and and he pushed and kicked my leg." you mumbled. it wasn't a lie, the man was drunk.

"thank you, baby." he cut the conversation there. it was quiet, awkwardly quiet. everytime you said something it was either; shut down, ignored or just a one word answer.

he wrapped a towel around your wet naked body, carrying you bridal style to your bed. he placed you down, cuddling into you - a nightly routine you had grown used to over the course while living with könig.

he traced around the bruise, making sure not to hurt you further. he was delicate. "schatzi, im not gonna be here tonight i have paperwork to do." he lied, you knew that.

anytime someone had disagreed with you, or hurt you, or anything of a sort. their screams filled the basements eerie silence. gunshots could've been heard, he stuck to a knife usually.

he came back up, drenched in blood. he got onto his knees and held his arms out in a hugging manner, you hugged him.

he loved you after all.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #modern warefare ii #cod x y/n #ghost headcanon #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #könig #simon riley smut #konig x you #konig modern warfare #konig headcanons #könig modern warfare #könig x you #konig x reader #konig smut #johnny soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap mctavish #cod soap #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost simon riley #konig cod

[headphonegrl]

There’s a folder in Jude’s phone dedicated to you. It's a day shy of your first anniversary when you find out about it, stumbling upon it when he asks you to look for a screenshot of the recipe he’s using to bake biscuits. The exact one your grandma sent him, one of your favorite foods of all time since you were learning to walk and speaking gibberish in the hopes of forming a sentence.

Its title is a plain red heart, sitting above the number three hundred and forty-eight. You stare at it for a moment to make sure it’s right, you swipe out of the app and click back onto it as if to make sure it won’t disappear suddenly. Though it’s still there, the number and symbol staring back at you. There’s a funny lurch in your stomach when you tap the screen with the pad of your thumb, clicking on a random photo when they all show up in neat little rows of three.

There’s one of an arcade machine. The big display screen a cartoony shade of blue with cheesy racing cars and checkered flag graphics, with two grainy photos in the middle. One of Jude sticking his tongue out, his eyes squeezed completely shut. The other of you smiling cutely with all your teeth showing, Jude’s hand appearing from off-screen to give you bunny ears with his fingers. It was your fourth official date and you both spent it collecting as many arcade tickets as possible, only to just end up with glittery bouncy balls and pencils when you traded them all in.

Another one is of you standing by the sink in his bathroom, your hair clipped away from your face. There’s foamy face wash all over your cheeks and on the tops of your fingers, you hold your hands out to display them to the camera. You had promised to spend the night at his place for the very first time, and getting ready for bed had already taken nearly an hour due to all the talking. Jude sat on the edge of the bath wearing one of your fuffy toweling headbands, watching you endearingly as he fiddled with the lid of your moisturizer

One sticks out like a sore thumb, a screenshot from your childhood Instagram account that makes your toes curl with cringe. A heavily filtered selfie of you pouting with a caption that’s a variation of unrelated emojis. After a night out drinking overpriced cocktails, you both ended up sitting in bed scrolling through embarrassing photos. Looking back it might have been the extra tequila shot, but Jude found it so funny he struggled to gasp for air. He set it as his home screen as a joke and forgot to change it back for almost a month.

Further down there’s one from when you both went on holiday. A photo of you sitting on a wooden dining chair, your elbow leaning against the table with your cheek squished against the palm of your hand. You’re wearing the strappy sundress you bought earlier that week in a little boutique owned by an enthusiastic Italian lady. At dinner the strap keeps falling off your shoulder, and when no one is looking Jude plants a kiss exactly where it should sit. 

“Darl, have you found it?” Jude speaks up from the kitchen. Shortening the pet name ‘darling’ into just one syllable, as if the other one will ruin the flow of his sentence. Looking up you’re greeted by him standing next to the mixer, the flour down his front making the text on his shirt unintelligible.

“Yeah.” You click the arrow on the top left to take you back. Scrolling past some selfies and a bunch of pictures of the same sunset, until you find the recipe sitting next to a funny photo of his brother. When you get up to rest it against the shiny countertop so he can read it, your heart feels a little fuller. “Here you go.”

#cute idea #idk abt the result #football imagines #my writing #footballer x reader #footballer fluff #footballer x you #footballer imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham drabble #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fanfic

[jobean12-blog]

You and Me and Us

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,762

Summary: Bucky still carries the scars of his past and sometimes they haunt him in the present and in the process haunt you as well. 

Author’s Note: This is for my lovely friend Lau’s @sweeterthanthis Bittersweet Symphony Writing Challenge! I picked prompt #25: “Show meyour scars and I won’t walk away.” - Beyonce, Sandcastles. I didn’t use the actualy prompt in the story but rather was inspired by the idea of how we all have scars and how we carry them and how our loved ones share the burden. Thank you for hosting this darling! Angst is always a challenge for me so it’s good to give it a go sometimes! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: angsty, lots of feels, tears, but it all works out bc it has to. 

“Buckyyyy,” you giggle sleepily into the pillow, “that tickles.”

His strong arms wrap around you and he pulls you into his chest, smoothing his hands across your skin while his lips press to the crook of your neck.

“Mm, morning doll face,” he whispers as he nuzzles closer.

“Morning,” you sigh as your body goes pliant in his arms, your fingers curling into the sheets as he kisses more of your skin.

The early morning sun shines through the thin curtains and a warm ocean breeze blows in through the open window, carrying the scent of salt air and hydrangea.

“Let’s stay in bed today,” he murmurs before flipping you onto your back.

Your stomach grumbles in response and he laughs, his face lighting up and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his wide smile.

“Ok, I’ll feed you first,” he relents playfully, “but then you’re not getting out of this bed for the rest of the day,” he finishes as his kisses caress your shoulder.

“What about lunch?” you breathe out. “And…” you continue, the rest of your thoughts dying with your low moan.

“We can have all those in bed too,” he says, as he settles between your legs.

You drag your fingers through his hair, your nails scraping down his back before you wrap your legs around him.

“Bucky,” you gasp, your whole body warm and alive with his touch.

Like sand falling through a sieve the sensations start to dissipate and your skin grows cold, your own voice echoing loudly in the empty darkness.

“Bucky,” you say, urgent and more frantic.

Your hands and arms flail around, grasping the sheets in a desperate attempt to feel him.

Nothing but cold emptiness.

You wake with a startled scream, your hands tightened into fists and your throat dry.

“Bucky,” you whisper meekly, your voice cracking.

You’re met with silence other than the distant sound of the foaming waves breaking below and before you can stop yourself you fly off of the bed and out the back door.

Your lungs burn with exertion as you race toward the shoreline, your chest heaving with your large gulps of air and when you reach the edge you come to an abrupt stop, your momentum nearly toppling you over and into the cool water.

The sand seeps between your toes, gritty against your bare skin and the moonlight dances across the water, illuminating the foamy waves every time they kiss your feet.

Memories flood you like the rush of water, bringing you to your knees.

You can still recall every moment, every soft touch, every whispered word and you carry it all with you, a heavy veil that surrounds you in every waking moment.

Pressing your palms to your temples you clench your teeth before you scream into the night, the ocean swallowing up the sound.

Your hands fall to the sand, sinking deeper as the water gently buries them.

You replay those days, all those weeks ago, over and over in your head, wracking your brain to figure out what went wrong. There was no way he could just walk away from you, leaving you with nothing but the empty space, one that threatens to drown you with every breath you take.

You don’t know how long you lay in the sand, your clothes soaked and sandy and your cheeks stained salty from the tears.

With an effort that you can barely overcome you lift yourself up and crawl away from the waves, standing on shaky feet that eventually carry you back to the small bungalow hidden among the dunes.

Knowing that sleep will be pointless you drag yourself into the bathroom and run the hot water in the large tub. Stripping off your soiled clothes you climb in and sink down until your chin touches the surface bubbles, the soft scent of lavender drifting up to your nose and mixing with the salt air that blows warm through the open window.

You close your eyes and try to calm your breathing, sinking lower until you’re fully submerged under the water. You don’t come up until your lungs are burning and then you lean your head back, letting the tears roll freely down your cheeks.

Your skin is pruned and the water is cold by the time you leave the tub and wrap yourself in a towel. The moment you step out of the bathroom you know something is off, the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end and your body growing tense and alert.

With silent movements you sneak toward the bedroom, stopping at the small table in the hallway to grab one of the many knives Bucky had purposefully and expertly hidden around the house.

Your heart hammers against your rib cage as you creep quietly along the wall, your steps meticulously placed so you miss every creak in the floor.

You can hear something but you can’t make out what it is so you wait just outside the door and listen. Your fingers are fisted into the towel, your other hand closed tightly around the hilt of the knife. You catch some movement out of the corner of your eye and gauge the location as best you can then you let out a slow breath, readying yourself before jumping forward and throwing the knife toward the intruder.

Without a sound the knife cuts through the air and you watch, stunned, as long and deft fingers close around the hilt before it reaches it’s target.

“Bucky,” you cry, your body going still and barely breathing before you crumple.  

He’s on you before you hit the floor, the knife clattering to the hard wood as his arms wrap around you.

You sob into his chest, scratching your nails down the leather before you look up and into his eyes.

“You left me,” you cry. “You left….”

Your hands ball into fists and you hit him, beating on his chest and repeating the words over and over. He let’s you do it until you start to soften against him and he grabs your arms, dragging you closer and crashing his lips to yours.

“No,” you say against his lips and push on his chest, but he doesn’t release you and you quickly give in and melt into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again and again, in between kisses. “I’m so sorry doll.”

When you finally pull away you’re breathless for more than one reason and you swallow hard, studying his face, his features drawn tight with remorse.

“I don’t understand,” you say softly as your fingertips trace his jaw and the dried blood that lines it stains your fingers.

“I had to leave. I did it to keep you safe. They found me, Hydra found me and…I had to go.”

He stops talking and hangs his head, leaning it against your shoulder, breathing in your scent. He sags into you and you can feel the slight shake of his shoulders before he sniffles.

“I thought about you every second of every day. It was all I could do to keep going. I had to get back to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had to go?” you ask him, your eyes pleading as you tuck your fingers under his chin and lift his eyes to yours. “I had no idea what happened. One day I woke up and you were gone. No note, no trace…nothing. Like a ghost.”

Your pained words have him squeezing you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin in desperation.

“It was too risky. Keeping you safe is the only thing that matters. They would have come for you. I needed to get to them first.”

“You were gone for so long…I…I…” you start but break down again before you can finish the thought.

“Please,” he says.

You go still at that one simple word. “Please what?” you ask.

He lifts his fingers to your cheek, his knuckles brushing across your skin before he cradles your face in his hand and moves closer.

“You have to forgive me,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“Bucky.” His name is a sigh, pained and broken. “I can’t lose you. You have to trust me; you have to talk to me.”

His eyes flare and go bright with tears.

“I do trust you. I trust you more than anything,” he pleads. “It’s just. I hate it. Every part of me that…does these things. I need to protect you. From everything. Even from me.”

His confession brings fresh tears to your eyes and you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumb over his trembling lips before you kiss him softly.

“Bucky,” you whisper, resting your forehead to his. “You’re going to overcome this. All of it. You just have to be willing to embrace it and walk through it and come out on the other side of it.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes glimmering with pain…and love. “I don’t know how to get there.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” you tell him with determination. “Just don’t lock me out. If there are things you need to do…do them but don’t lock me out. Talk to me. Trust me. And promise me you’ll never leave like his again…even if it is to protect me.”

He strokes his thumb across your cheek, marveling at your words, your beauty, and the love you so willingly give him.

“I promise,” he whispers. “I promise doll. I’ll do anything for you. Anything. I love you more than life itself. Thank you.”  

He pulls you into his lap and the towel falls loose from your body, his hands ghosting over your skin, wrapping you in their warmth and strength and tightening when bury your face in his neck and place a soft kiss under his ear.

“It’s been a waking nightmare without you Bucky. I can’t bear it again.”

He grips your chin, his callouses scraping across your delicate skin, “you’ll never have to. I promise I’ll never leave you again.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and press closer as he lifts you in his arms and carries you to the bed.

“I promise,” he says again as he lays you down and covers your body with his.

His lips hover just above yours, the leather and rough material of his clothing harsh against your bare skin.

“I promise doll.”

It comes out as a whisper, a tease of his breath across your lips before he gently kisses you, pouring every ounce of love into it.

@book-dragon-13 @dreamlessinparis @goldylions @hiddles-rose @lookiamtrying @loki-laufeyson-1054 @randomfandompenguin @flordeamatista​ @manyfandomsfanvergent​ @peaches1958​

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #beefy!bucky x reader #beefy!bucky #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #bittersweet symphony writing challenge

[dadsbongos]

we need more airhead x megumi i loved that little series 🙏🏼

haha wholesome fun little addition to a fun little series - 645 words / not proofread :P

non-descript spoilers for chapters 212 +

~~~~

Hot sand is soft beneath your palms, specks clinging along the lines in Megumi’s palms. Foamy ocean laps at the muddy shore, and he sinks his feet down into the pliant ground. Stringy, inky green seaweed shreds are stranded along the empty beach. Despite the water being in front of him, Megumi feels it all around him as well. Bogging down his clothes and lifting his grown hair (when was the last time he could enjoy a proper cut?). He smells it. Oxygen still filling his lungs as the salty tinge invades his nose. And he hears it, too. Gentle wave after gentle wave licking up to his shoes. 

There is no sun, but he feels heat searing all down his exposed neck and drooling through his uniform. So hot it scars over his pale flesh. So hot he wishes he were dead.

Until his own shadow is engulfed by a wide bulb in the dark sand. Heat dissipates, and a calm cool overtakes the boil instead. 

Megumi twitches around, eyes wide and ears clogged with water, to find you, punching an umbrella into the beach. He looks up as you look down, you smile and you say something that he can’t quite hear.

“What…?” he dumbly mutters, voice airy in the disbelief that you’re even here.

“I said,” you emphasize, “‘All alone, handsome?’”

Megumi can’t respond, too busy watching as you slip under the umbrella’s shade and sit beside him. You practically lay against him, cheek smushing on his shoulder. 

“It’s boring out here,” your voice is loud. So much louder than the faraway ocean crashing. He watches through thick lashes as you glance around the abandoned shore, “At least it's clean.”

Megumi nods, too tired to wonder how it was you got here and how you plan to get out, and settles his weight against yours, “Yeah, well… who wants to look at trash while they’re at the beach?”

“True,” you turn your face until your lips are molded against his shoulder, he can faintly feel your frown through his sleeve, “I miss you, ‘gumi.”

“You do?”

“Yeah…”

Why? Where is there even the room for you to miss him? 

Megumi flattens his head on yours, eyes fluttering closed as he chastises himself. He should know better. You have a big heart -- certainly big enough to miss him even as the world around you crumbles. Megumi, meanwhile, had all the time to miss you when he wasn’t wishing he was dead.

“I want you to come home,” your voice is muffled, but he strains his ears to ensure your words don’t go unheard, “I want to make you a new recipe I learned… before all this.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum, jamming the toe of your shoe into the sludgy, wet sand and kicking it up to reveal a rock, “It goes with ginger…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you need to take me candle shopping again.”

“Do you really want me to go with you?”

“I want you with me all the time, ‘gumi.”

He has to stop himself from repeating the question. Even after all of this, you continue to want him around? His face, voice, and erratic hair -- even now, none of it disgusts you? 

Megumi has to be thankful for that. He isn’t sure he could so much as look in a mirror right now without cracking it open. 

“It doesn’t have to be right now,” you murmur, “I can wait.”

“Thank you…” he huddles closer to you, sucking up your warmth hoping it’ll make him feel alive again, “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” a breeze sweeps over, almost icy against Megumi’s bare neck. But it’s pleasant.

The washing waves overtake his ears again, but the heavy feeling of water has disappeared. Replaced with raw, crisp air. A bulbed shadow sways below, and a yellow parasol with printed daisies dances along with it. 

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #airhead reader #airhead regen

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Made for Him I

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, blood and gore, violence, death, grief, and other potential triggering 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: Peter finds himself alone after the loss of those around him, so he decides to find a cure to his grief.

Characters: Peter Parker

Note: I’m still very sick. I dug this out of my WiPs because I desperately wanna power through it.

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. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.

Love you all like Garfield loves lasagna. Take care. 💖

The Creator

On July 8th, 1822, Percy Bysshe Shelley drowned just off the coast of Livorno. His wife was famous for the resurrection of the fictional monster and the misguided doctor for whom her penultimate novel was named. Peter cradled the very one in his hand, the spine bent and the pages well worn by his habitual delve into the horror of Victor Frankenstein. 

His readings were studious and almost religious in nature as he worshipped the pages alongside the library of textbooks, theses, and medical reports that lined the shelves of his office.

The foamy waters flowed in and wetted the sand around his toes as he sat close in the folding chair he brought out daily to bask in the hot Italian sun. Sometimes he let the book rest in his lap as he closed his eyes to the sun and wondered if it was near that very point that Mary’s husband met his tragic fate. If he lounged on the very sands he was said to have met his rumoured lover and another poet. The fantasy carried Peter away for a time only to send him crashing back down.

One year to the day he left New York and he was growing impatient. He’d waited long enough as his trust only matured on the day he got his final degree, the one with the three vaunted letters below the golden crest. The only remnant of his former mentor, the man who showed him that life could grow in a lab, though he had only ever rendered it in metal and code. 

Peter wanted more than the cold armour and robotic voices, he could take Stark’s legacy and give it true life. He knew he could.

More than creation, he wanted love. He wanted a stalwart he could depend on, not the flaky girl he met in high school who broke his heart. He wanted to take the fiction in his grasp and turn it into fact. He wanted the world to know that he was more than Tony Stark’s pity project, he was a reckoning.

He stood and folded up the chair, carrying it by the cloth handle as he kept the book open and walked blindly across the uneven sand. He was at his favourite part, where the monster hid in the barn and the inherent spark of kindness drove him to complete the chores of the overwrought family. 

Then there came the reality of a harsh and unloving world, one he swore to never let touch his creation. He would only give them love, give them the perfect life he longed to have. The one he could live, just not alone.

The stone steps led up to the open terrace of the beach house that looked out onto the hot Mediterranean shore. The place was isolated but lively as the songbirds nested in the trees and the sun was ever shining above. It was the perfect retreat for the retired Avenger. The world didn’t need him anymore, he was dispensable. That kid, Miles, took up the mantle and the world forgot about Peter Parker.

He set the wooden chair down against the wall as he entered through the slatted door and closed the book at last. He passed through the curved archways and entered the airy kitchen, the open windows letting in the balmy Italian breezes. 

He poured dark grinds into the drip percolator and waited for the strong espresso to seep through. He took his small cup when there was enough to savour and shifted it over to the island at the center of the space. 

He kicked aside the rug and bent to hook his fingers in the indent along the hatch and lifted it with a grunt. He reached for his mug and carefully descended. He sipped as he came to the bottom and flipped on the switch to light up the space.

Everything was laid out in eager preparation. Over a year’s worth of planning resided in his secret space. One wall was lined with the endless texts he poured over between spurts of exhaustion-laced sleep, on the other, a vast array of equipment including beakers, microscopes, surgical tools, a tome secreted from Strange’s panoply of mystic fascinations, and several monitors floating from metal arms drilled into the wall.

At the center of the room was a large metal bed, shining and sterile. All he needed was there, a collection started years before he even considered the Italian retreat. He swore that day when he was through the tears and wrenching heartache of abandonment that he would never be left alone again. Not after his parents, or Tony, or May or MJ. He was ready to give his life away; to give life.

He just needed the proper parts to do so.

🧪

The head was the hardest part. 

Not harder to find than the other pieces, each kept preserved in a special compartment to keep them from mortification. He harvested them quickly, his first few attempts at the morgue proving too late. So he frequented the hospitals, hiding in vents and other tight spaces, using those tricks from his days of heroics to go unseen in his diligent but grim work.

He found a few women he didn’t mind but they just weren’t right. He needed eyes that made him feel fuzzy and a smile that made his heart flutter. He came this far and wouldn’t settle for anything but perfection. 

He knew the moment he saw her; disguised in a set of scrubs and a surgical mask, his reddish brown hair hidden beneath a cap as he watched her wheeled by. He was there when they called it and the machines went silent. There wasn’t time to linger as the doctor and nurses were called to their next patient. 

Peter kept to the back and waited for the rest to disperse to the next code and shut the door. He hopped up and pushed in the ceiling tile, wiggling through to grab the cube hidden within and slipping back down. 

She looked peaceful as he opened the case, the cool fog rising from the top as he set it on the tray and rolled it around the bed. She died of an aneurysm, so sudden she didn’t have time to look petrified. It made him sad to think of a life extinguished in the bat of an eye. Even if it was to his benefit.

As he sterilized the saw he pulled from his canvas kit, he figured it was meant to be. She was gone too soon and he was in need of a pretty face. He placed the teeth of the blade to her neck and paused. He couldn’t wait much longer, he had to get it done or it would be another one for the bin.

He began the grizzly deed, careful to slice through as cleanly as possible. The blood leaked out into the white sheets and onto the pillow and as he detached her head completely, it turned to an ocean, spurting violently from her neck. He cradled her head as he slipped it into a plastic bag and sealed it before placing it in the refrigerated case. 

He closed it and slung the strap over his chest, lifting his arm to string a web to the open ceiling. He hauled himself into the vent and slid the tile back into place. He began the careful crawl, the final piece of the puzzle jostling on his shoulders. 

He would burn his gown, cap and mask when he got out, the iron scent of her blood was starting to make him sick.

🧪

Peter felt the cold even through the thermal layer of his suit. His visor allowed for him to pinpoint his focus on the precise merging of nerve ends and tight stitches of his intent assembly. The laboratory was kept below zero for his work to preserve the parts until he could revive them. 

He turned up the heat in his suit to keep from shivering as he feared a single mistake.

After several scans, Peter found the brain to be beyond repair. He was disappointed but he found an easy solution. He was reluctant to throw away the pretty face; the face that had come to colour his dreams. So he found a new brain instead, young and fresh, without a flaw. 

He found himself distracted by the long lashes as he fit her open skull with its new motor. If he thought of it as just another suit, it wasn’t as repulsive as blood stained the table and his gloves. 

He hunched over and worked at connecting the brain stem, switching out his tools and repositioning to keep from damaging the ridges. It was the most important part of the process and he didn’t want to try again. He couldn’t go through it again. This was it. He knew it by the way he just couldn’t stop seeing that face; in his dreams, in his waking thoughts, and in its case, awaiting rebirth.

He would give her a precious gift but she would give him more. How could she not love her creator? Her saviour.

Peter replaced the top of her skull and forged it back into place, the laser singing a line around her scalp. He had a collection of wigs she could wear until it grew back and he could graft on a new set of follicles if needed. He wanted her to feel as beautiful as he saw her.

Done, he stepped back and admired his work, twelve hours of intent and tedious labour over her. The pieces fit together well and he was hardly disappointed. He didn’t care that the stitches would leave scars like spider webs across her flesh. He thought that made her even more gorgeous. He could hardly keep from trembling in excitement.

He placed the metal band around her brow and the transmitter on her chest. Every nerve, every muscle, every part of her was hardwired with delicate attention. He knew he could bring her back. Victor Frankenstein would blush to see it done right.

Peter went to the computer as the hoop connected to the table scanned every inch of her and showed no error in his assembly. Her neural network looked like a roadmap and her body was still untouched by decay or rigor mortis. It was now or never.

He keyed in the final command and a sudden hum went through the lab. He winced as he felt a force flow through his suit in the frigid room and her body twitched as the transmitter pulsed at her chest and the ring around her head vibrated. He checked the screen as he waited for a response. He dragged his finger over the monitor to increase the power.

“Come on, please,” he begged the universe, “I did it. I know I di--”

The heart rate suddenly jumped from the glowing red zero to an orange forty-three, then sixty, peaking at a blue one hundred, and calming to a steady sixty-seven. The computer began to beep in time with her pulse and her brain turned to a sudden rainbow of activity. He glanced over at her but she remained unmoving.

He felt a squeezing pain in his chest. Did he miss something? Maybe he was wrong? Maybe it would always just be fiction, a fantasy. He would always be alone, always a failure. He came around the desk and went to the table and looked her over.

He touched her chest and felt the beating of her heart beneath the sensors and lifted his fingers below her nose. She was breathing. So why then, wouldn’t she wake up?

#made for him #horror au #au #frankenstein #peter parker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #peter parker x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #spider-man #avengers

[rorywritesjunk]

For these foamy green hills are but saltwater desert

Richie, Mohji's lion, isn't doing so well. The crew end up at a small island with a dwindling population to seek help and Buggy meets Midori, the mayor who is far more stubborn and trusting with his crew than he can really comprehend. Rating: PG-13, gonna have smut at some point later though. Warnings: Buggy being obnoxious, of course. I'd call this a fast paced slow burn. It takes the place over the course of the week and days are split into two chapters. There's also some drama and other pirates. A/N: Full confession. I honestly wrote this because I have been watching the anime and Richie is one of the best characters. Do I know a lot about the anime? No. Is some of this chaotic and characters OOC? Of course! It's a fanfic. Is it self indulgent? Hell yes. I had fun writing this and wanted to share it. Also, I wrote this more with anime!Buggy in mind since we don't get to see Richie in the live action. Title comes from the song "Dryad's Promise" by Tricky Pixie.

Chapter 1

Day 1 pt 1

It was Mohji who requested they dock at the first island they came to on behalf of Richie. He said the lion wasn’t doing well, seemed depressed and was refusing to eat. It had gone on for days and the first mate was worried, and well, Richie was part of the crew so Buggy relented. It was another few days before they spotted an island they could dock at and Mohji hoped he could find someone to help his lion companion. Buggy thought anyone willing to go near a lion had to be pretty stupid.

He knew what Richie was capable of. He’d seen the lion wreak havoc and destruction on unsuspecting people and animals. Those paws of his could level a city block with one swipe. 

So when Mohji left the ship and came back an hour later with a woman, Buggy realized there was someone stupid out there, even if she was pretty.

She was wearing boots, a dress with a thick wool apron over it, and a bulky sweater. Her boots and hem of the skirt were caked in mud and the apron had what looked like crumbs stuck to it. Was she a vet or a baker, or something else? Buggy wasn’t sure but he followed Mohji as he led the woman to where Richie was resting.

“How long since he last ate?” The woman asked as she approached the lion. Buggy instinctively wanted to tell her to be careful, that that was a damn lion, but she held her hand out for Richie to sniff it, and when the lion nudged her hand she moved closer. “When did he start acting like this?”

“He last ate a few days ago.” Mohji told her as he chewed on his nails worryingly. “And he’s been acting weird for about a week. I don’t know what it is.”

Nodding, she knelt down in front of him and lifted up one of his paws, checking over his toes and feeling between his pads, checking for any splinters that could be bothering him. Buggy crossed his arms as he leaned over to his first mate.

“Shouldn’t we be concerned he may eat her?” He asked as Richie opened his mouth all of a sudden, but only to yawn. Mohji shook his head.

“He wouldn’t unless I told him to.” He replied as he watched nervously. He was a wreck over Richie. He hated it when the large feline wasn’t feeling well, and especially since they had been out to sea for so long, it worried him how long it took for them to get help. “I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“Wait, you think?” Buggy asked. “Is she even a vet?”

“Oh, uh…” Mohji shrugged. “I found her at a farm near the shore. She was feeding her animals and she said hi to me. I asked for help and she came with me.”

Buggy stared incredulously at his first mate. He really brought the first person he saw to the ship? He would wait to berate him after the woman left.

“How long have you been out to sea?” The woman asked as she reached up to run her fingers through Richie’s mane. The lion closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. She smiled and scratched behind one of his ears. “Because I think he’s bored. He needs some enrichment on land.”

“He’s used to being out at sea!” Buggy told her harshly. “He’s fine on the ship.”

“Bored?” Mohji repeated. “Oh, Richie! I’m sorry! It’s been a while since we raided any place, no wonder he’s miserable!”

“Raided?” She frowned. “Are you pirates?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact!” Buggy laughed. “You’re looking at the Buggy Pirates!”

“Oh.” A pause. “I’ve never heard of you. We don’t get a lot of visitors to our island.” She pulled back from Richie and looked at Mohji. “If you and your crew are able to stay for a few days, maybe a week, your lion can spend time on the island. There’s not a lot of us to worry about here, and I have some old cows and sheep he could hunt.”

“W-Wait, I’m the Captain!” Buggy snapped. “You should be asking me this!”

“Are you Richie’s owner though?” She asked with a frown. He looked dumbfounded but shook his head. “See, that’s why I’m talking to this guy. He came to me for help, not you.”

Buggy seemed, well, shocked he was being spoken to like that. Mohji looked to his Captain with a pleading expression; Richie looked at him the same way. Buggy grumbled under his breath and caved. He didn’t want his first mate or first lion to be miserable.

“Fine. Only a week!”

~

Her name was Midori. She was the mayor of the only village on the island, population 15. She wasn’t a veterinarian by any means, just a farmer who had been tending to her animals when Mohji came across her. She was kind, as were the villagers, to the crew as they came on shore. Richie was given a bed of hay in one of her smaller barns. Mohji joined him. She even offered her guest room to Buggy, saying it was proper for the mayor to host the Captain. He accepted, but he wasn’t sure what to think of her yet.

Buggy was confused. The villagers didn’t seem scared of him or his crew. Had none of them ever heard of him? Was he not famous in these parts? How could his name not strike fear in the heart of Midori when he had told her who he was?

He sat at her kitchen table as she fixed lunch for the two of them. It was a little odd. It was just him, the rest of the crew were going about the island, checking out the bar for beer and food. He watched her suspiciously, wondering what she had planned for him. Was she going to poison him to collect a bounty? Was this all an act and planned to murder him in his sleep? 

She placed a bowl of soup with some bread on a plate in front of him before grabbing him a beer. He watched her open the beer and took it from her, taking a few sips. That couldn’t have been poisoned, right? He would wait for her to start eating before he made his next move. 

“So, Captain Buggy, I’d love to hear about some of your adventures.” Midori said as she started eating. He watched her have a few spoonfuls before he started helping himself.

“What d’you wanna know?” He asked between mouthfuls. 

“Anything at all.” She smiled. “Please?”

Buggy eyed her suspiciously before he lifted the bowl up to his lips, drinking half of the soup before setting the bowl down and downing the beer. He swore she giggled before getting up to grab him another bottle. The hospitality was borderline uncomfortable for him, but if she wanted to hear stories then he would tell her stories.

By the fourth bottle he was telling of their last raid where they leveled an entire town and took all of their treasure. Midori was listening with rapt attention, hanging onto his every word, and she even let out a gasp at a particularly exciting part. Buggy sat back in his chair as he finished off his drink. She got up to grab him another one and he watched her, suspicion in his eyes.

“What are you getting at?” He suddenly asked. She looked at him in confusion as she opened the bottle for him. He took it from her.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.” She frowned. “I… just wanted to hear stories of your adventures, Captain Buggy.” She sat back down. “That’s all.”

“You’ve really never heard of me or my crew?” He asked. Midori shook her head. He looked a little put out by that.

“Captain, there’s only 15 of us on this island, including me.” She told him. “When I came here 17 years ago with my family, the town was bustling and full of people, but now everyone wants to leave to find treasure or have their own adventures, leaving many of us behind. We are either leaving on our own or dying, and it won’t be long until I’m the last one here.”

He took a sip of his beer, contemplating her words. “Why would you be the last one?”

“I love it here.” She smiled sadly. “It’s a beautiful island and I can’t imagine leaving it.”

“You may have to leave some day if you’re the last one left.” He said. “It would be stupid to stick around.”

“I guess I’m a bit of a romantic then.” She laughed. “I’m waiting for someone to take me away from here, you know, and we will fall in love and all that.” A wistful look crossed her face as she looked out toward the kitchen window. His ship was in view. She looked back at him with a small smile. “But like I said, not many visitors come through here so that limits my chances that a handsome stranger would come by and take me away. Who knows, maybe someone on your crew would offer me the chance!” 

He nearly choked on his drink, cheeks flushing. Take her away from here? What if… no, no. He couldn’t. He didn’t know her and couldn’t ask her to join the crew, to come along with him and leave the island. He was supposed to be suspicious of her, not feel wooed by her words of longing like that. It was a romantic notion, to be swept away by a handsome stranger like that, taken far from home for new adventures, having tales of her own. Instead he shook his head and sat back in chair. It wouldn’t be him since what woman would find him handsome? Even with a dwindling population she would have better luck finding a husband on this island than with a pirate. 

“Yea, well…” He grumbled as he raised his bottle to his lips once more. “I’m sure something will happen.”

Midori smiled at him as she collected the empty bottles and took them to the sink to rinse out. He kept his eyes on her, a thought coming to his mind. His hand detached from his wrist and flew over to her, tugging on the back of her dress. At least he was being polite enough not to pinch her ass (though there was a bit of temptation there). She turned around, eyes widening at the floating hand. Buggy let out a laugh as his hand flew back to him.

“H-How do you do that?!” She demanded as she stomped over to him, grabbing his hand and pulling it towards her. She gave it a few tugs, trying to see if she could remove it herself. Buggy jerked back from her.

“It’s the Devil Fruit I ate.” He told her, slightly alarmed by her more physical reaction than fear. “The Chop Chop fruit… my body can separate.”

He didn’t like the look in her eyes right then. Now he was regretting even accepting the offer for lunch at that point.

“I need your help with something, Captain.”

#buggy the clown #buggy x oc #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader

[quietwings-fics]

New Discoveries, in Good Hands

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler Additional Tags: Trans Rose Tyler, Facial Shaving, Minor Ninth Doctor/Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler, Touchy-Feely, Intimacy, Innuendo, Season/Series 01, Flirting, Denial, Trans Male Character, Fluff Wordcount: 3084 Summary:

Jack shows Rose what shaving is like. Rose enjoys more of it than she thought she would. (Or, Rose's first steps towards self-discovery.)

Rose is always surprised by how barren Jack’s room seems compared to her own. She tells herself it’s just a matter of time spent onboard the TARDIS, but she still pauses to frown at all the empty space. Even his bed is neatly made where her own remains in a constant state of disarray. The only reminders that he’s still living here at all are a spare t-shirt thrown over a chair and the sound of running water from the adjoining bathroom.

She makes her way over to him. She doesn’t knock, and didn’t when she entered in the first place, but she does call his name when she pokes her head in. “Jack?”

He turns back to acknowledge her, smiling beneath the beneath foamy wisps left of his shaving cream, though Rose is more distracted by his lack of a shirt and the dark hair spread down his chest that he hasn’t shaved. He leans against the sink, still dripping from where he’s been splashing himself clean, a straight razor held in place beneath his palm. “The Doctor sent you to fetch me?” he asks. Rose forces her eyes back up to his face, which Jack notices. It only makes his grin wilder as he angles himself to give her a better view. At that, Rose has to look away entirely, torn between laughing at his familiar confidence and flushing hot from head to toe. 

“Something like that. You were running late. He notices.” Sometimes it feels like the Doctor has Rose’s morning routine better memorized than she does. He might fail to pick up on when she’s upset if it’s right in front of his face, but never if it makes her miss her usual breakfast. There’s a subtle pull at Jack’s mouth when she’s done speaking, a brief pinch around his eyes, gone by the time he’s turning to the sink to finish shaving. 

“I had… a long night. Slept through my alarm. I’m almost done here.” The pause makes Rose want to push him for more, and she would if she knew where to start. It’s only a matter of time. No matter how good he is at hiding his secrets, he can’t stop himself from inviting them in to look for them. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t want Rose and the Doctor to know eventually, but whenever that might be isn’t today, so Rose is left searching for something else to say.

“He also said to ask what your opinion on sea monsters is,” she falls back on. Despite avoiding the earlier subject, nothing about Jack comes off as defensive. He hums a simple note as he washes shaving cream off the razor and asks,

“With or without tentacles?” Rose blinks. 

“Is that important?” she asks.

“Incredibly,” he answers. She watches the slow, practiced glide of the razor against the side of his chin, catching a few final hairs. He tilts his head slightly to get the angle right, showing off the curve of his neck to her. When Rose meets his eyes again through the bathroom mirror as he relaxes, he says, “Enjoying the show?”

“You like having an audience.” Jack leans down to cup his hands in the stream of water and splash his face. The razor rests at his side, the edge still foamy with cream and short, dark hairs. He pats himself dry with a towel, drops it against the sink, and then reaches out a hand towards her. Rose takes it without hesitation, stepping closer. Jack brings it up to the side of his face, resting her fingers against freshly shaven skin to feel the difference. Rose trails them down along his jaw and up again until she can cup his cheek in her palm. Jack’s eyes shut as he leans into her hand, relaxed and happy. In a week, maybe less, she knows she’ll be able to feel the rough beginnings of new stubble on his face. Something twinges in her chest as she thinks about watching that happen while she stays exactly the same. She frowns, not sure why that would even bother her.

She lets the expression fall away before Jack’s eyes open again. “Do I have to tell you you’re gorgeous? You seem to know already,” she teases. Jack nudges against her hand again playfully before she withdraws it.

“Never hurts,” he says. “Especially now that you’ve seen all the work I put in to stay that way. Unlike our Doctor.” Rose’s heart flutters with the ease with which Jack says ‘our’. “Do we even know if he ever shaves, or do you think he tells his chin hairs off sternly and they fall out in shame?”

“Sonics them away, I reckon,” Rose says, nodding as she lets her hand drop. The motion brings her gaze down to Jack’s chest again, and the speed at which she snaps her eyes back up to his makes her peeking even more obvious that last time. She can just feel Jack about to tease her about it, so she says the first thing that comes to mind to cut him off. “What does it feel like, anyway?” 

“What?” he says, and she can hear the barely restrained flirtation just behind the words, held back to answer her question. “Shaving?” 

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never shaved anything before?” He sounds skeptical. 

“Of course I’ve- That’s different!” Funnily enough, she can’t remember the last time she bothered to, either. No one around to remind her, she supposes. No wonder her legs have felt warmer under her skirts. She resolves to wear something long the next time she visits her mom. If she can’t see anything, she can’t say anything, and Rose can carry on exactly as she is. “I didn’t use shaving cream for my legs.”

“You should,” he says, casually. “You might need more to cover it, but it makes the whole process a lot faster. Less nicks, much more smooth, really prepares you for showing off in fishnets.” Before Rose has a minute to put together the pieces on him knowing all of that, Jack is reaching for his can of shaving cream. “Hold out your hand.”

When Rose does, he gives the can a light shake and spurts some cream onto her hand. The white foam spills messily across her palm from the nozzle. 

“Don’t-” she starts.

“There’s more where that came from,” Jack says, suggestive, completely ignoring her. Rose rolls her eyes. She squishes her fingers through the foam. “Well? How does it feel?” 

“Cold,” she answers. “Soft? A little like lotion.”  The consistency is the same, at least. It feels nice against her skin. Jack’s watching her, thinking. 

She’s still playing with the cream when she hears the water run again. Jack’s wetting the same towel he used to dry his face earlier. He turns back to her, fingers nudging her chin up. “Hold still,” he says. “I don’t want to get your shirt wet.” He dab at the lower half of her face with the warm washcloth. “Not that I’d complain, but I make a habit of only ruining other people’s clothes when they ask for it.” He motions her around with little taps against her jaw, and she follows, making it easier for him to dampen her skin with the hot water. “Which you still could. I’m not giving up hope yet.” He takes her hand in his own, palm up, and scrubs the shaving cream off of it for her before he puts the towel down.

“What are you doing?” Rose asks, though it’s obvious. She thinks she just wants him to say it for her, confirm this isn’t some kind of joke. 

(But even if she didn’t know, she’d still let him. She’s in safe hands with Jack. Very few people have ever made her feel that way.)

“You said you wanted to know what it was like.” He picks up the shaving cream can again. She sees him weigh it in his hand like he’s trying to estimate how much is inside before he shakes it again. He pauses just long enough for her to step out of reach if she wanted to, and when she doesn’t, he puts his hand beneath her chin again. It’s more sure now. He guides her with his thumb solid against her jaw, turning her head slowly to make sure he covers her face with the cream. It tickles more than it did on her hand, and Rose bites her lip to keep from giggling.

“I don’t have anything to shave,” Rose protests, a little late. Her chin and cheeks feel chilled by the shaving cream, but not unpleasantly. There are streaks of it on Jack’s hand as he draws back again. 

“I’m using my imagination,” Jack tells her. He washes his razor off for her, turning it this way and that beneath the sink before examining it to make sure nothing is sticking behind from its last use. It looks well-sharpened, but even when Jack rests it against her cheek for the first time, Rose can’t feel scared. There’s far too much focus in his eyes, even more so than when he was shaving his own face earlier. Very slowly, he scrapes a little of the shaving cream off her cheek. The razor slides against her skin, warm from the water it was under, contrasting against the cream and leaving the space behind it exposed again. “Breathe, Rose,” Jack tells her. She inhales, not realizing she’d stopped until he points it out. 

The next glide of the razor moves in time with her exhale as she holds as still as she can for him. His other hand has found its place beneath his chin again, keeping her steady. When all she can do is memorize the feeling of him touching her, she notices the little differences between him and the Doctor, that the Doctor’s fingers are slightly longer, that Jack’s thumb has more of a callous along the inside of it. The razor moves easily through the shaving cream, and she can see Jack begin to relax the longer it goes without incident, as though he needs more reassurance than she does that he won’t mess up and nick her.

“Smoothest shave I’ve ever given anyone,” he jokes, but his voice is low and warm. Rose swallows. 

Did he mean before that he was imagining her with… with what? Surely not a full beard, not unless he wanted to laugh at her… right? No. Maybe- Well, maybe he wasn’t imagining anything at all, from how concentrated he was.

Or maybe he was seeing her in his mind’s eye with a lazy week’s stubble, gently shaving it off for her. Did he imagine how it felt beneath his hands before when he was preparing her? Was he imagining it now as he rubbed his thumb along the bottom of her jaw? Would he like that, a little scratch of growing hair that she was letting him take care of? Rose’s could hear her own breaths from between her parted lips catching with the thought of all of it. 

Would she like that?

“You alright, Rose?” Jack’s voice pulls her out of her own thoughts before she can scare herself. Scare herself? Is she scared? Her heart is beating faster, but she can’t tell if it’s fear or something else. 

“Fine,” she answers, lying poorly. Jack pauses, and she feels his thumb rub against her jaw again. She focuses on that. 

Safe in Jack’s hands, wherever he’s taking her. 

“I’m okay,” she says, and this time, it’s true. Jack still waits for her to pout and say, “Get back to work, Jack.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says, a professional snap to the words like a verbal salute that makes Rose bite her lip again. The razor comes back, continuing its journey across her face and smoothing away the shaving cream. 

A few more drags in silence follow before a lopsided grin climbs onto Jack’s face.

“Found one.”

“One what?”

“One little brown hair,” Jack says. He flips the razor for her to see, and it really is the tiniest hair floating in the shaving cream on the blade. Rose stares at it. 

She feels strangely proud that it exists. Even stranger, a little sad that Jack’s shaved it off. 

It’ll grow back, she finds herself thinking.

“Blow on it,” he says. “Make a wish.”

“You’re thinking of eyelashes.” 

“I don’t think the wish will care that much which hair it came from.” She indulges him. She blows a few white drops of shaving cream back onto Jack’s chest. Without thinking, she reaches forward to wipe them off with her thumb. She freezes when she touches him, but it’s far too late to back out now. She brushes her thumb across each speck, following them down along his chest to the last one low against his ribs. Her fingers run over his chest hair as she does. It’s a fight both to make herself not react to that or to go back and explore a little more. Her cheeks are burning, and there isn’t nearly enough shaving cream left to hide it.

“You really didn’t need an excuse if you wanted to feel me up,” Jack says, and he sounds delighted. She almost pulls her hand back, but she stops herself. After all, he started it.

“Then I’m not going to bother with one.” With that, she resolutely slides her hand back up his chest. She feels it rise and fall slightly as he breathes, shift as he moves his arm again to continue shaving her. She curls her fingers to feel his hair move against them, the thick dark patch at the center spreading thinner across his chest. It’s soft. 

No wonder he doesn’t shave it. She’s jealous.

Jealous of what? It’s not like she can’t get her fill of him. Jack will happily let her. 

She tries to shake off the feeling and can’t quite. 

“Do you ever wish you were someone else?” He wipes some spare shaving cream off of her cheek. He’s almost done. Not that there will be much of a difference to show it, Rose thinks. She frowns. 

“In what way?” he asks. “Am I swapping places with someone, or am I turning into someone else?” She wonders how much his answer would change depending on which she chose, but in the end, she can’t pick both.

“The second one. I think.” Her frown deepens. “Sorry. I’m not sure what I’m asking. I’m confusing myself now.”

Jack takes her hand from his chest and lifts it to his mouth, absently kissing her knuckles before he answers. She’s not even sure he registered that he did it, too focused on the razor in his other hand and her question. 

“I like being me,” he says, honestly. “Wasn’t easy to get here, so I think I’ll keep it.” Rose withdraws her hand, touching the spot his lips brushed. “What about you?”

Rose feels the razor make its last pass over her face. Jack lifts it away. Not a single scratch on her. Not a spot of irritation where he wasn’t careful enough. Rose lifts her fingers to her cheek and finds the skin there as smooth as ever. 

“Yeah,” she answers, and she realizes she’s lying. “Who else would I even be?”

Jack passes over her face once more with the warm rag to get the last of the shaving cream off of her. He has to get another to dry her with. Rose enjoys the pampering.

“How about a Rose Tyler who’s been thoroughly kissed?” She turns her head up to let him. Jack’s arms wrap around her back. “Among other things,” he murmurs when he’s done.

“I’d like that.” Jack makes himself easy to get lost in, and right now, Rose wants that. It’s easier than… She’s not sure, but whatever it is, she’d rather be kissing him than facing it. And if Jack’s hands slide down to her waist and lower still, she’s not complaining.

She’s forgotten why she’d come in his room in the first place completely until the Doctor—who knocks as much as Rose did, which is to say, not at all—comes complaining. “Rose, you left thirty minutes ago, what are you-” He cuts himself off, and Rose drops her head against Jack’s shoulder to stifle a laugh. She doesn’t even have to look at the Doctor to picture his expression, rolling his eyes, annoyed that they could possibly think making out against a bathroom sink is a better use of time than what he has planned. Jack’s skin is warm, and they both unmistakably smell like his brand of shaving cream. She rubs her face against him.

“Just finishing up, Doctor,” Jack shoots back. She presses another giggle into his shoulder imagining the way the Doctor’s face must be screwing up in feigned disgust. She manages to get herself under control enough to lift her head and face him.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“About what?” the Doctor says. 

“Rose came in for a shave,” Jack answers. He strokes her chin playfully. “How’s she look, Doctor?”

The Doctor looks her over, once a cursory glance, twice a real study. Rose is curious what exactly he’s seeing. It’s not like she’d had anything to shave. It’s not like anything had really changed, had it?

But the Doctor gives her one of those lovely, genuine smiles, and says, “Most handsome boy in town, I’d say.” Rose’s heart skips a beat, but she tells herself that’s nothing special. The Doctor can always make her feel that way.

She wouldn’t mind him calling her handsome again.

(She wouldn’t mind him calling her a-)

“And me?” Jack wheedles for his own compliment. 

The Doctor lets his smile drop, showily unimpressed as he responds, “You missed a spot.” Jack shakes his head, disbelieving until he reaches up to touch the place the Doctor’s indicating on his own neck and finds a small spread of missed hair right there.

“We’ll wait for you,” Rose tells him, though the Doctor huffs about it and makes a face. He won’t go without her, and she won’t go without Jack, and somehow, they’ll make it work. 

Jack waves her off to follow the Doctor back to the console room.

(“Doctor, settle a bet? Do you shave normally, or do you…”

“Rose, I know you’re not asking me if I can sonic a beard off.”

“Course not. I knew that.”)

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

#fanfiction #teen and up audiences #1001-5000 #doctor who #jack harkness/rose tyler #jackrose #jack harkness #rose tyler #trans!rose #transmasc!rose

[melsuki]

tw. swearing

you were cold. so very cold. your teeth were near chattering, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck rising, and goosebumps were spreading all over your skin. quickly shuffling to bed, you dove underneath the covers and brought them right up your chin, curling yourself into the tightest ball you could in some sort of attempt to preserve some heat. katsuki watched you from the bathroom door, toothbrush still in his mouth and a towel thrown over his slightly damp hair.

“cold?”

“my balls are about to fall off oh my fucking god, its freezing.” you seethe, toes curling as you burrow yourself even deeper into your bed. “get your ass over here, i need to warm up.”

katsuki laughed at your potty mouth, and spat out the foamy toothpaste before wiping his mouth clean then started casually making his way over to you like he had all the time in the world (the bastard). as he crawled into your shared bed, you felt the mattress dip under his heavy weight and you stared intently at him as he made himself comfortable in bed. as soon as he seems to have gotten himself at ease, you climb over and latch onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around him and burying your face into his neck. 

“jesus you are cold.” he hissed, shrinking back from your icy fingertips minutely, but quickly adjusting to your familiar touch. he slips his toasty hands underneath your shirt after tucking the blankets over the two of you, and squeezes you gently, digging his fingertips into your skin slightly.

“and you’re unfairly warm.” you mutter into his skin, soaking in his balmy heat. 

“what would you do without me?” he nuzzles his face into your hair and you could feel him smile as he spoke.

“freeze to death apparently.” 

he exhaled through his nose in a gentle laugh, and began to rub your back slowly. you’re frozen body melted under his touch, all the rigid muscles releasing their tension and finally unwinding. you diverted your attention from the biting cold to the way his calloused hands pressed against your skin, and feeling the beat of his heart against your own. after so long, your eyelids began to weigh heavy, and you drowsily glide your lips over his neck lightly as a sort of kiss before adjusting yourself into the sweetheart’s cradle. 

“g’night sweets.” katsuki mumbles in a heavy breath. you settle with a simple hum in reply, and as you succumb to the velvety welcome of sleep, you weren’t so cold anymore.

a/n: ok i still am on a writing hiatus BUT this i was looking thru my old drafts n found this and i rlly liked it so here <3 BUT DONT EXPECT ANYTHING MORE

#spirithub #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugo katsuki fluff #bakugo fluff #mha x reader #mha fluff

[love-and-monsters]

MerMay: Mermaid Girlfriend

F mermaid X GN reader, 11,800 words

IT’S STILL MAY I GOT IT IN ON TIME. In all seriousness, this was way longer than I wanted it to be. I gotta learn to be more concise. Apologies if the ending’s a bit rushed and there are mistakes- I was kind of speeding to get it out in time. hopefully you still like it!

Content Warning: Mentioned/discussed non-consensual human experimentation, description of injury

You had been returning to the seaside every full moon for a year just to see her. It was only an hour by train from your shitty little apartment, and the summer meant you had plenty of time to get home and change into something beach-appropriate before it got dark.

The beach didn’t close until ten, and you were there just as the sun set, so there was enough time to wander around. The boardwalk was nice, if a bit crowded. Loops of fairy lights hung along the edge of the boardwalk, adding some illumination between the larger spotlights of streetlamps and vendors. You purchased a churro and settled down on a bench to watch the shore.

The sea was dark, but light reflected off the crests of the waves so you could track the undulation of its surface. The foamy surf that surged up the beach was pale enough to be readily visible, and you watched its ebb and flow as it crawled further and further inland. Sometimes its back and forth was disturbed by a person walking through it, but the night was growing chilly without the sun and people stopped venturing into the ocean as it got later.

The moon rose, hanging heavy and low over the ocean. Its glow created a spot of reflection in the ocean, one paler and more consistent than that of the twinkling boardwalk lights. And, as it got later, the boardwalk lights switched off one by one, leaving less competition for the moon’s glow. The streetlights were still on, but the gaps between them were now more starkly shadowed, the fairy lights unplugged for the night. You stayed in the shadows as you crept to the edge of the boardwalk, the portion that was slightly elevated above the beach, and hopped down.

It was distinctly cool, with the breeze rolling in off the sea all around you and in the shadows of the boardwalk. You retreated to a particularly gloomy spot and waited.

Security staff did sweep the public beach areas, but they were never thorough or seemed to care if they actually found someone or not. A couple of people in uniform wandered onto the beach, swung their lights around to spot stragglers, then left. The beach wasn’t what they were usually concerned about, anyway- if rowdy teens were hanging around, they would be more interested in the boardwalk itself, and the security guards patrolled accordingly. They would do a couple more checks throughout the night, but they were mostly just making sure people didn’t sneak onto the beach, get drunk, and leave a bunch of trash everywhere. They could be easily avoided.

Once the security guards were gone and you were certain there were no other people trying to use the beach after dark (it had happened before, forcing you to stay hidden for more than an hour before you gave up and went home), you crept out from your hiding spot and toward the edge of the sea. It was cold enough that you didn’t stick your toes in the surf. You just approached the very border of the sea and waited.

It wasn’t hard to wait. You had been doing it for a very long time.

You had only seen her once. It had been around the same time the year prior- early summer, when the sea had just started to consistently get warm. Your visiting the beach had been sheer coincidence- it was a good day trip and you’d been cagey after a winter spent almost entirely alone. Walking around the boardwalk had been just the pick-me-up you needed to get your mind back in gear.

It had been such a good pick-me-up, in fact, that you had been reluctant to return home. Even once the sun had completely set and the beach had been closed to guests, you remained. You just needed one more minute free of your apartment, one more minute to be free of your work, one more minute of peace.

And then she had broken the surf.

At first, you thought you were just looking at another human tourist. The head and shoulders that emerged from the waves had been, from a distance, in the perfect silhouette of a human. You watched, a bit concerned. Yes, you’d snuck onto the beach after hours, but you weren’t stupid enough to go swimming in the ocean without a lifeguard present. And wasn’t it cold? The water hadn’t warmed up that much.

And then she had broken the waves and you’d seen that, from waist down, she had a tail.

It was a dolphin tail, at least in shape. Sleek enough to smoothly reflect the moonlight from above, it had only been visible for a moment before she’d slipped back beneath the waves.

Naturally, you had immediately sprinted for the beach as fast as you could, skirting the very edges of the foam to stare out into the ocean. Your brain was seized by the utterly fantastic, utterly crazy notion that you had just seen a real-life mermaid.

Of course, within the few minutes it took for your heart rate to slow, you realized how utterly stupid that idea was. It was, in all likelihood, a person wearing one of those fake mermaid tails that you sometimes saw online. They were often skillfully crafted, good enough to be mistaken for the real thing in the light of day, never mind the dim half-light provided by the moon.

Still, you waited by the shore, scanning the coastline. She may not have actually been a mermaid, but she was still a person, and it wasn’t safe to be swimming at night. Even less safe to be swimming in a tail like that, which could get caught on something or restrict movement if she got caught in a rip current. The least you could do was wait for her to poke her head back up again and see if you could convince her to get out of the water.

You waited. And waited. Your concern grew heavier, like a weight on your chest the longer you stayed. She was gone.

For a few moments, you scanned the beach up and down, squinting at the waterline. Maybe she’d let the current sweep her further down the beach and surfaced there. But there was no sign of her in the ocean or on the beach. You fidgeted anxiously. Where was she? The longer you waited, the more likely it became that she was trapped under the water.

What were you supposed to do? Run for help was the most likely answer. But you were reluctant to leave, and what were the odds you’d be able to make it back with help before she drowned? The only other option was to wade in yourself.

The water was an ice cold shock against your skin- it was still early in the summer, so the sea hadn’t had a chance to warm up yet, and the chill of the night air didn’t help. It wasn’t severe enough to lock your muscles up, but it was enough to make your feet and hand go numb. The sand slipped under your feet and it was hard to find your balance again. Still, you shoved yourself forward, wading into the water until it was up to your waist, then your chest. Then your feet slipped away from the sand completely.

Waves bobbed and splashed at your face, and you sputtered out mouthfuls of salty water. Still, you spun valiantly around in the water, swinging your limbs in the hopes of hitting something. This, you were pretty sure, was where she had gone down, and the current wasn’t particularly strong. The sea floor was also only a few inches from your feet- if you strained, you could brush your toes against it without going underwater- so it was unlikely that she had sunk beneath you.

The longer you stayed in the water, the colder everything became. It was stretching up from your numb hands and feet into your legs and chest. You dove under the water for a moment, searching frantically with your hands. There was no sign of her. Even continuing in the direction you’d seen her moving, you couldn’t find her body.

It was at that point that the complete stupidity of your decision sank in. This was why people said not to jump in and try to save people. Because now you were out in the water, half frozen, and probably not able to even drag her body back to the shore if you did find it. If she was still alive.

A wave splashed over your head and you sputtered. You twisted, trying to head back to shore, but your numb hands and arms made it hard to move. You could barely feel anything below your calves. The shore looked much further away than it once had, or maybe it was just that you were moving toward it so slowly. It felt like you were fighting the water itself, like it was trying to grab you and drag you back toward the open sea. The waves wrapped around you, pressing against your limbs with inexorable force.

And then you were yanked forward by a sudden and powerful force. You gasped, then regretted it when a flood of salty water entered your mouth. Choking and coughing, you tried to kick against whatever was dragging you- some kind of current? Then you registered that the force was not the full-body tug of a current, but a pull that was centered at your waist. Like someone had grabbed you and was pulling you with them as they swam.

One of your wildly kicking legs struck the seafloor. The force at your waist vanished, and you managed to scramble to your feet, choking up water and swiping sand and salt from your eyes.

Something brushed against your leg and, with the instinctive terror of anyone whose leg had just been touched underwater, you scrambled away. Your eyes flew open, still stinging, but clear enough to see, and you froze.

What had touched your leg was her. The woman you’d seen in the water. Her features weren’t all that clear, thanks to the darkness, but the moonlight was enough for you to see that she was still wearing the mermaid tail.

Except. That now you were up close to her. She was bobbing in the water, most of her back clearly visible, and there was no seam line. No mark to show where the tail ended and skin began.

It was a trick of the light, of course. It had to be. Except. When she shifted in the water, lifting her head and shoulders out, you could see her neck. And the gills that were striped on either side of it.

As you stared, the gills flexed. The little flaps that partially covered the slits moved. It was just a tiny little motion. But it made the world turn beneath you.

She was real. A mermaid. Merperson. There was no way to fake those gills. If this had been a video, you would have assumed it was CGI- very good CGI, to be clear, but you never would have actually believed it. But this was not a video. She was right in front of you. She was touching you. And those gills were intimately real.

You lifted your hand up, acting automatically, and touched the gill slits. You weren’t really thinking about it- you were just fascinated. For one amazing moment, you could feel how real they were under your fingertips, slightly warm and damp. And then she made a strange, high pitched keening noise and slid away from you.

“Wait!” You scrambled to your feet as she pushed away from you, gliding into the sea. Fuck, of course poking at her gills would make her leave. Her tail brushed against your legs one more time and you felt the strength in it as she pushed against the water and sailed out to sea. You stood, waist-deep in water, watching her vanish into the darkness. Her tail broke the surface once final time, several feet away, and then she was gone.

Weak from nearly drowning and shaken by seeing something you had previously thought to be a myth, you crawled out of the water and sat on the beach. Being soaked through made the night almost intolerably cold, but you sat out on the beach anyway, watching the moon cross the sky.

By the time the sun and sea were turning pinkish-red with morning, you had made a decision: you would see her again.

Your plan was, admittedly, neither complicated nor good. In your defense, you didn’t have a lot of information- all you knew was that she’d come to the beach once. Maybe she would come again.

Going to the beach every single night wasn’t possible for you, so you narrowed the time frame. Once per month was doable. And the first night you’d seen her, it had been a full moon. Maybe she’d been close to the beach on the full moon for a reason. Not to mention that it was just easier to see the ocean when there was more light in the sky. So, every full moon, you returned to the beach and waited for hours, hoping for a glimpse of her again.

After almost a year, you’d seen neither hide nor hair of her. You kept going to the beach, though- perhaps she hadn’t been active during the winter, perhaps she was just being cautious and staying away for not. But there was a worry that you had disturbed her, that she was never going to come back, and that you were never going to be able to really get to meet a mermaid.

You wanted to thank her. She’d dragged you out of the water and you’d done nothing but stare and prod at her. Even if you never got to see her clearly again, you wanted to get the opportunity to thank her.

And so, you were sitting on the beach. Waiting. Hoping. Trying to catch just one more glimpse of her. But the knot sitting in your stomach said that you were possibly wasting your time.

You sit for hours, watching and waiting. Your eyes try to drift shut and you pry them back open. The moon reaches its peak and starts to dip back down. The water starts to pull back down the beach. You check your phone. It’s getting quite late. If you don’t get ready to leave soon, there will be no more trains back to your apartment, and you’ll either have to walk or wait. You watch for a few more moments, watching the currents of the ocean.

Just as you’re turning your gaze away, something changes.

You freeze, staring intently at the spot of motion. It looked like something moved, breaking the even pattern of the waves. But it was only for a moment. You wait. Please. Let it be her.

And then you see it. The slim, glistening form of a large tail breaking the waves, just barely illuminated by the moon.

You scramble toward the ocean, stopping once you’re close enough for the waves to break over your feet. Her head breaks above the waves for a moment, a barely-visible motion that you certainly wouldn’t have seen if you weren’t looking for her.

Now what? You’ve been searching for so long that the actual finding has left you paralyzed. You don’t want to splash into the water unprepared again- nearly drowning once was enough for you. Sure, you could yell for her, but that has the likely side effect of drawing other humans to you, and that would probably drive her away. Instead, you fumble for your phone. Careful not to let it drop into the waves, you unlock it and switch on the flashlight app.

It takes a moment for you to locate the mermaid again- her tail breaks quite a few feet to the left of where you last saw her. She keeps moving. That’s going to make this more difficult. But you’re determined to try regardless.

You lift your phone above your head and point it toward the mermaid. It’s not all that strong, but you have a small mirror. You lift that up and tilt the mirror until the light intensifies. Perfect. Over and over in a steady motion, you shift the mirror. The light dances over the sea in a pattern. One, two, three, stop. One, two, three, stop. One, two, three, stop.

Animals from the sea sometimes use reflections of light from the shore to direct them toward the beach. You’re hoping that your mermaid will have a similar instinct. At the very least, maybe she’ll get curious and come closer.

The mermaid’s head breaks the surface again. She doesn’t appear to be moving anymore. Just looking around. You raise the mirror again to start your pattern. One, two, three, stop. One, two, three, stop.

Her head vanishes back under the water. You freeze. Is she leaving? Coming closer? It’s impossible to track her. You just keep scanning the sea, your heart sinking more and more the longer she stays underneath.

And then her head resurfaces. This time, she’s closer to the beach. Much closer.

Your breath stutters. Fingers shaking, you lift the phone and mirror again. One, two, three, stop. One, two, three, stop. Her head vanishes. You hold your breath. She’s coming closer. Just a little further.

Her head breaks the surface once more and your breath catches even more sharply. She’s close. Close enough that you can see her in detail. And she can see you as well, because her gaze locks onto you. She pauses, still half-submerged, and stares.

You stare back. Does she recognize you? Does she remember you? You remember her because she’s the only mermaid you’ve ever seen, but she might drag humans out of the ocean every other day. She isn’t showing any recognition. She’s just watching cautiously.

“H-hi,” you say. Your voice wobbles a little. “Can I come closer?”

She doesn’t move. You take a single step down the beach. She doesn’t react. You try a couple more steps. Her eyes shift at that, following your motion. There’s tension in the set of her shoulders, but she still doesn’t flee. Once you’re about a foot and a half from her, you stop walking and drop to your knees.

You’re close enough that you can actually make out details. Her hair is lank and wet around her face, but quite long. Her hands, when the waves pull back enough for you to see them, are webbed. She’s slender, but it’s the sort of slender that shows off the ribs and spine in a disconcerting way. The kind of slender that speaks to rarely getting enough to eat. Her eyes are as black as a shark’s eyes and when they catch the moonlight, they turn nearly pure white with the reflection. Her tail reminds you of a dolphin’s tail, with what seems to be rubbery skin rather than scales, though the fins at the end are larger and bulkier than any dolphin’s you’ve seen. Not that you’ve seen many dolphins.

“Can you talk?” you ask, because mermaids in stories can often talk. Then again, if she was born and raised under the sea, where would she have learned to speak? Heck, even if she does know a human language, who’s to say it’s English?

She replies by opening her mouth, which shows off rows of sharp teeth, and all that comes out is a grating hiss. There’s a sound there that might be words, but it’s sort of lost in the rest of the noise, which sounds a little like a snake combined with a steam pipe. Her mouth clicks shut again. It’s hard to read her face (apparently she doesn’t emote much) but her tail comes down on the water with a heavy ‘splat!’ and you can only interpret that as irritation.

Before you can try to comfort her or tell her it’s okay, she’s dragging herself up onto the beach. You scramble back, startled, but she continues doggedly forward. At first, it’s easy going, since she can just half-float or coast on the waves. Then her tail starts dragging on the sand and she abandons the smooth glide to half-hop, half-drag herself onto the beach, seal style.

Once she’s mostly out of the water, she sags onto the sand. She’s making a weird sort of wheezing noise and her gills keep flexing at her neck. Is she drowning? Or, well, the opposite of drowning. Suffocating? You’re just about to haul her back into the water when the wheezing fades. She picks her head back up and looks at you, alert and focused.

She lifts one of her webbed hands and used the tip of her pointer finger to scratch something into the sand. You’re convinced it’s going to be mermaid language for a moment before you recognize the lines she’s putting together.

“You’re writing ‘hello,’” you realize. “You can write in English.” She nods vigorously. “How did you even learn how to write?”

She hesitates for only a moment before scrubbing out her previous word and writing again. Learned as a child.

“Mermaids learn to write in English?” you wonder out loud. How did that work? How do they even get enough material to learn English underwater? Books would dissolve.

She frowns and makes another unhappy hissing noise. Her tail flexes, slapping against the sand. No. Not mermaid.

You pause, flicking your gaze to her tail. Her soft hissing grows sharper. It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere deep in her throat and chest, a more constant sound than a human could create. Her gills flare. The hissing reaches a peak, then she seems to run out of energy. She collapses fully on the sand.

“Do you need to go back in the water?” you ask. She’s far enough up the beach that it would take considerable energy to shove herself back into the waves. But it wouldn’t be too hard for you to drag her back, if she needs it.

She shakes her head rapidly, dragging her chin back and forth through the sand. She remains collapsed for a few moments longer, gills flaring as she pants, then she stretches out a hard to write again.

Outside water tiring but fine. Is hard. No humans for long time.

“You’ve had contact with other humans?” you ask. She nods once before writing again.

Was human. She draws back after finishing the sentence, looking at you to assess your reaction. Your mouth opens and closes a couple times before words come.

“You were a human?” She nods. “But then… how? What happened?”

That seems to give her pause. She swings her tail back and forth. Eventually, she starts writing. She keeps having to scrub it out to make more room, writing through the same area over and over.

Yes. Was human. Lived nearby. But was poor and homeless. Needed help. Enrolled in medical trial. Got safe lodging. Food. Safety. Was good. Then trial went bad. Pain. Sickness. Was asleep for a long time. Was like this after that. Others were there. I left. Do not know about them. Tried to hide long time. Hard to be awake during day. Hard to talk to people. Scared. Lonely.

She stops writing after that, sagging on the beach once more. You sit in silence, processing it. “I’m- I’m sorry.” The words don’t feel helpful at all, but you’re not sure what else you can say. She snorts and makes another hissing sound. “You, uh. You can write, but you can’t talk, I guess?”

No. Throat not work right. Does not make sounds right.

“Have you spoken to anyone else since you… left?” She shakes her head and starts writing again.

No. Scared. Uncertain. Do not want to be captured. Do not want to be studied. Scary here, but free. Her tail swings back and forth, kicking up clumps of wet sand.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “I’m not going to tell anyone, I promise.” She nods and slumps on the ground, panting once more. Her breath seems to be getting more labored the longer she stays on land. “Do you need to go back in the water? How long can you stay on land?”

Not know limits. Cannot stay on land too long though. Breathe easier in water. Chest gets heavy if on land too much. She pants for a little longer before heaving herself mostly upright again. You are first human to see me since I’ve been here. I have been more careless. Lonely.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “That sounds awful.” You fall into silence for a moment. The mermaid slumps onto the beach, eyes closed. She makes a wailing noise in her throat, a sound that it almost too high for me to hear. But I can tell what it is. She’s crying. There are no tears from her eyes, but the wail goes on and on with no pauses for breath. It’s a long, mourning wail.

When she quiets, you reach out a hand and place a hand on her shoulder. She’s cool to the touch and quite slick- you’ve never felt a dolphin before, but you have felt the rays in an aquarium touch tank. It feels quite a lot like that, the same slightly slimy but also quite smooth and pleasant texture.

When she recovers herself a little, she sits up and begins writing again. Thank you for speaking with me. It has been long time. I like seeing people again.

“Do you need to go now?” you ask.

Tired. Want to rest.

“Then can I see you again?” you ask. She looks startled, eyes going wide and tail flapping against the surf. “Please? I- you saved my life last year and I don’t want to leave you alone out here.”

She thinks, eyes darting around. Then, hesitant, she nods. Will return tomorrow when moon is high. Come then.

With that, she pushes herself backwards. It takes a couple awkward, flopping movements, but then she’s most of the way in the waves. One catches her, lifting her off the sand, and she turns her body in a sinuous motion. There’s a second where you can still see her swimming amongst the surf, and then she’s gone beneath the waves once more.

You stand on the beach for a while. Once she’s gone, meeting her feels like a dream. You’re half expecting the memory to get hazy, like dreams do when you wake up. But even as the moon sinks lower, the memories don’t go away.

You turn and hurry off the beach. There’s only another thirty minutes until the final train departs for the night, and you want plenty of time to rest.

After all, you’re coming back tomorrow.

When you reach your apartment, you collapse into bed and sleep. It’s past midday and you’re both groggy and starving when you wake. Grabbing a bowl of cold cereal, you plop yourself down in front of your laptop and start searching.

You search loosely for mermaid sightings, but quickly find that it isn’t leading anywhere. Most of the sightings that pop up are from popular areas, and more than half the articles are about debunking mermaid sightings. Even narrowing the search to look for mermaid sightings specifically in your area doesn’t help- it brings up a bunch of posts with the word ‘mermaid’ in them, but nothing about seeing a mermaid. If anyone else has seen your mermaid, they haven’t posted it online. Or, at least, the post wasn’t popular enough to get into the first few pages of a google search.

Since this search is getting you nowhere, you change topics. She’d said she’d been captured for some kind of medical trial. Again, that’s too broad of a topic to just go searching for willy nilly, but she’d said she’d been local, which narrowed the scope. You’re not sure how long ago she was captured, so you search for any local medical trials in the past ten years.

You don’t find any specific medical trials, but what you do find is the name ‘Wellterra.’ It’s a medical company, one that specializes in research and development of medications. They treat everything from cancer to genetic conditions and chronic illnesses, and the local branch is only one of a few hundred locations all over the world. And the location nearest to you is specifically located right on the ocean, and has research and development facilities with a focus on aquatic creatures.

It’s enough to get your suspicions going.

You hit up the library, print off several sheets of information, and head back to the beach.

You wait impatiently for the moon to rise high into the sky. It’s slightly less than full now, but there’s still plenty of light for you to see your mermaid drifting in toward the shore.

She crawls up onto the beach and drop to your knees in front of her, swinging the backpack off your shoulders. “I’ve been doing some research,” you say. “Take a look at these.”

You tug out the cheap laminated binder you purchased to protect the pages and shove it toward her. She barely looks at it before scratching words out in the sand. Cannot read it. Eyes not work well above water. Print too small.

“Oh,” you say, a little embarrassed that you didn’t think of that. Your mermaid looks uncomfortable as well, perhaps hurt by the reminder of how much she’s lost. “That’s fine, I can read out the important stuff anyway.”

You pick out the bits of the document you highlighted and read them out loud to her. She crawls closer, fin-like ears twitching every now and then. By the time you’re done, she’s practically leaning against you and hanging off your every word.

Yes, she writes as soon as you’re done. I remember that name. Not know about any other experiments. Kept in pen in the ocean. Separate from everything else. Few people saw us. Only remember four individuals.

“But this is good!” you say. “We know they’re the ones who did this to you, and we know there are others. We just need to get some people in law enforcement to see you and hear from you and then we can-”

She’s already shaking her head. No.

“I know you’re afraid of other people, but maybe we can work out some kind of deal and I can advocate for you-”

She’s shaking her head again, even more aggressively this time. NO. She taps the word several times for emphasis. When I stay silent, she continues writing. Will not work. Police brought them people.

Sharp chills shake their way down your spine. “Th- what?”

She taps that sentence again. Police brought them people. Your stomach turns. “You’re sure?”

Yes. Police suggested study to me. Heard scientists talking about police bringing in criminals. Gave them a good pool of people. She lowers her hand, frowning at the sentence.

“So, what,” you say, trying not to sound as frightened as you feel, “there’s just a conspiracy to hand over people to a business that does experiments on them to turn them into merpeople?”

She considers this for a moment. Yes. Police probably do not know about mermaids. Probably just think medical experimentation. But they are probably paid to bring in people and less homeless means police look better. It works for both groups.

“God, that’s…” you trail off. There aren’t words that you can use to describe what you’re feeling. Hopeless is maybe the best way to say it. If you can’t contact the police, then what are you supposed to do? Break in yourself?

You actually entertain the idea for a few seconds before realizing how asinine that is. Maybe in a movie an untrained nobody could sneak into a massive medical facility and release the trapped mermaids they were keeping secret and reveal their shady dealings with the police, but somehow, you figure that’s only going to end in disaster. You’re just some goddamn office worker. You can’t even do five push ups without being winded, never mind sneaking into a secure facility.

“Have you ever tried to break back in?” you ask. Maybe you can’t get in, but if she got out somehow, there must be a way. She grimaces and shakes her head.

Yes. I got out because of temporary power outage combined with technology fault. I was being tested in ocean pool and the electrical lock keeping me inside failed. There was a storm- I assume power outage and generator fault created a window of opportunity. Only went back once, and was nearly recaptured. They don’t seem interested in hunting me down as long as I don’t go there. But I can’t get close enough to do anything. Her tail slaps the sand hard, sending a combination of grit and water spraying at you. She looks chagrined instantly, and tries to wipe you down. Her hand is actually less slick than you thought it would be. It’s still wet, obviously, because she’s been in the ocean, but her palms are actually kind of grippy. It’s a fascinating texture. Before you really think about what you’re doing, you take her hand in both of hers. Not really doing anything with it, just holding and kind of massaging it with your thumbs.

You’ve hardly held her for more than a second when she makes a noise akin to a squeak. You jerk your head up to look at her and she’s staring back at you with eyes the size of saucers.

You drop the hand. “I should have asked before touching, I’m so sorry-”

No! She goes to the trouble of writing the exclamation point and hits the ground a few times to emphasize her point. When she’s sure you’re listening, she writes more. Liked it. No human contact in long time. Was nice.

Oh. Yes, of course. She’s been at sea and you’re the first person she’s talked to, much less had physical contact with. And even before that… you’re not sure how long she was held captive, but surely the scientists there weren’t handing out hugs and kisses with their experimentation.

As she gazes up at you with her sea-deep, dark eyes, your chest tightens. She must be so lonely. How has she survived out here all this time? Humans need to be with other people, you know that much. Isolation is torture. But she’s been out here all this time, with no one to talk to or even just hold her hand to comfort her.

It’s a bit awkward to hug someone who’s mostly lying down in the sand, but you’re determined and she’s not that heavy. It ends with her half-slung over your shoulder with your arms holding her firmly in place.

“It’s okay,” you say. Your tone isn’t quite steady enough to be reassuring, but you hope the emotion in it conveys how important this is to you. “I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

Her arms wrap around your shoulder. They’re clumsy, like she can’t quite remember how to hug anymore, but she gets it after a few moments. She clings to you as fiercely as you’re clinging to her.

The visits come as often as you can manage, after that. If you had it your way, they would probably be every day, but you need to work and you just don’t function very well without sleep. You do manage a forty-eight hour stretch once, but practically falling asleep at the beach can be dangerous, and your mermaid gives you a vicious tirade that only gets worse when you pass out again while she’s still writing it.

So. As often as you can. More or less, that’s about three times a week. Most nights you spend chatting, talking about your lives. She was a custodian at a department store, until a bought of illness left her unable to work and ate up her savings. By the time she had mostly recovered, she was homeless and still struggling to do her old job. She’d been recommended to the medical trial by police who had found her sleeping on the street, and had thought it was a wonderful opportunity. And the first week had been good, with her getting regular meals and staying in a room attached to the lab so she could be in a ‘controlled environment.’ There were other people there, too, and she’d spent most of her time making friends.

And then they had finally been ready to administer the first drug. They had told her it would make her sleepy. And it had. She had fallen asleep, more deeply asleep than she’d ever been in her life. Sometimes, she would become conscious again, if only dimly. The only thing she could remember from those periods was a pain so intense that she had fought to fall back into sleep.

Her memory from that period was foggy, she told you. But she knew, even on the few occasions she woke up confused from pain and drugs, that there was something wrong with her body. It wasn’t until she was finally set free of the drugs and the pain had faded to an ache that she realized exactly what had happened. Trapped in a tank only just big enough for her to stretch out in, with a mask over her face to force air through her system, she realized she had been changed into something not human. A mermaid.

Three people died. Or, she assumed they did. She’d met twenty-nine people before the drugs had been given, and only twenty-six merpeople. The experimentation hadn’t stopped after that- they constantly prodded and poked at the merpeople, but it was never as awful as it had been in the beginning.

Six months. That was how long she was trapped. Or, close to it, anyway- she didn’t have a calendar. Her escaping had been a fluke- one quick moment of chance that she took advantage of.

It is better, she said, to be out here. Scary. But better.

They had never hunted her down or tried to recapture her, beyond the new security measures at the lab. Neither of you were sure why. Maybe they thought it would draw more attention to her, or maybe they fully expected her to be unable to survive on her own and were just waiting for someone to find her corpse. Regardless, she was relieved. It meant she was able to stick around the area. Even if she couldn’t actually visit her home anymore, she was loathe to leave.

After learning the whole story, you do as much digging as you can manage, which isn’t much. No amount of searching brings up anything specific enough to be of much help. There are hundreds of mermaid sightings all over the world, and only three of them are local enough to possibly be her. Looking at Wellterra is no more useful- just pages and pages of bland corporate speak about the medicine they’re developing. The most suspicious thing you can find is a page on their website claiming they ‘desire for humans to live in harmony with the planet, and strive to create medicines that work with nature,’ which could honestly also just be corporate posturing. No pages of conspiracy theories. No secretive posts on old forums from disgraced ex-employees. Nothing.

It’s possible there’s more information you can find off the usual search engines, but you’re not sure how to access it. Technology has never been your strong suit. It’s frustrating that you can’t find anything more, though your mermaid comforts you when you apologize to her.

Is fine. Good that you are here. It helps. She pats your arm, leaning forward so she’s almost in your lap. She’s been getting cozier with you, not that you mind. You pat her head, running your fingers through her hair. When you catch a knot, you pause and delicately untangle it. She makes a low humming noise in her throat, eyes closing in relaxation.

“I’m glad I can do something,” you say, trying not to sound bitter. You nudge the container of chicken wings toward her. You’ve been bringing food for her through the past few visits.

Early on in your visits, you asked her what she ate. She shrugged. Anything. Have to catch it. Tastes better than I thought it would. After that, you started picking up food for the two of you to eat together. She has a strong preference for seafood, but she’ll sometimes ask you to being food she remembers from her human life. You oblige as often as you can. You’re still trying to save up to get her a proper steak, though.

Your mermaid drags the container of chicken wings toward her. She picks one up and bits down on it, severing cleanly through the bone. You wince a little at the crunching noise. After a few moments of chewing, she picks up the top of the container, which is soaked in sauce, and licks it once before ripping out a chunk of it with her teeth.

That was the weirdest thing about her. The bones thing is weird, but understandable. But the fact that she eats Styrofoam is quite a bit stranger. In fact, the limit on what she will eat seems to be nonexistent.

Can eat anything, she tells you when you ask about it. Fed us many things in lab. Plastic. Styrofoam. One got sick from it, had to get it cut out. But rest of us could eat it fine. Does not taste as good as other things. But easier to find. Do not know how it works.

It’s certainly strange, but you suppose it saves a little money on food, since she’s just as willing to eat the packaging. She’s even enthusiastic about it, noting that the flavor from fresh food packaging is much better than the stuff in the ocean. The only things she wont eat are glass and metal, but plastic, wax, and paper are fair game.

“I wish there was a better signal here,” you say as she chews through another chunk of Styrofoam. “I could show you some of my favorite shows.”

I would like that. She stretches out on the beach. Little to do in ocean.

“Swimming around has to get old eventually,” you say.

Yes. Is beautiful. But can become tedious. She leans against you, practically falling into your lap. You stroke her head. It’s getting toward the end of summer and the nights are a little cooler now. She seems to appreciate the touch more when it gets cold. She’s not quite cool to the touch, but she’s a bit colder than a human would be. You don’t mind, not when she seems so completely delighted by your presence.

You shift your legs under her and she makes a strange noise, like a choked-off whimper. You freeze. “What’s the matter?”

She shakes her head, but when you move again, you feel something against her skin. A little change in texture, one that makes her groan when you touch it. “Let me see,” you insist, slipping out from under her and trying to flip her over. She squirms away from you, too strong for you to move her without her help, but a smear in the sand tells you what you need to know- she’s got a cut and it’s bleeding.

“I can tell that you’re injured,” you say insistently. She makes a move like she’s going to try and slip back into the waves, so you grab her arm. If she really wanted to, she could probably break free. But she allows you to hold on. After a moment of halfhearted struggling, she goes limp, then flops over onto her back.

The wound isn’t as bad as you initially worried. In fact, most of it looks rather old. The two ends of the wound are already healed over with scar tissue, but the middle part of the wound is still covered in half-formed scabs. It’s hard to tell how deep it is, but it doesn’t exactly look shallow. There’s blood leaking from the middle part of the wound in a steady trickle, but it looks more like some of the scabs got ripped off than like she’s bleeding profusely.

“You should have said something,” you fuss. You poke the wound and she snaps her teeth at you nonthreateningly. “Don’t be like that. I should have thought to bring bandages or a first aid kit or something here, god I’m so stupid.”

She shakes her head furiously, wet hair slapping back and forth. After a moment of struggle, she twists her arm around enough to write. Not fault. Would not help. Bandage not stay on in water.

“I could still have gotten you some antibiotics or something,” you say, anxious. “How did you even get that?”

She shrugs. Ocean dangerous. Not many predators. But strong currents. Sharp objects. Can get injured.

“Fuck,” you mutter. All you can think about are the myriad of diseases someone can get from a cut like this. She’s almost certainly not up to date on her tetanus shot. “How long ago?”

She shrugs. 1 week. Healed quickly.

You grimace. It does look pretty well-healed for only a week, and there don’t seem to be any signs of infection. But that doesn’t mean you’re not nervous. “I’ll come back tomorrow with a first-aid kit. I want to at least try to patch some parts of it up.”

Your mermaid seems unconcerned, but she doesn’t protest. Once she polishes off both the chicken wings and the container, you take your leave. She turns and vanishes back into the water, and you watch until her tail slips beneath the waves and doesn’t come back up.

The train ride home is quiet, and usually, you’re half-asleep for it. This time, thought, you can’t get your mind to settle down. You’ve just been taking it for granted that she would come back to you every day, like you’re meeting a friend for coffee. But the ocean is dangerous, and she can get hurt. There’s always a possibility that one day, you’ll come back to the ocean and she won’t appear again.

You leave work early to put together the best, most waterproof first-aid kit you can. At least if she can stash it somewhere in the water, she’ll have something she can use to help herself even if you’re not there.

You end up at the beach earlier than usual, and pace the sand for a while. That nervous energy in your body makes the time drag on and on, like the sun is deliberately crawling through the sky.

Finally, the beach closes and it gets dark. The moon, a sliver of a crescent, rises into the sky. You wait by the shore, sitting so that the waves just barely roll in over your toes. And wait. And wait.

The moon reaches three-quarters of the way across the sky before you really start to panic. Was she sick? Did the reopening of the wound trigger some sort of infection? Or was she caught in a current again, the wound on her side making her too weak to fight against it?

You don’t know. You can’t know. And that yawning chasm of knowledge fills your stomach with a deep and terrible pit.

Panic is starting to choke you when there’s a splash, a tail appearing above the water. Your chest releases and you half run to the water to meet her as she comes into shore.

As soon as she’s above the water enough for your to see her, you realize why she’s been late. She’s covered in netting. It’s tangled around her right arm and the fin of her tail, pulling both into an awkward position. She can move forward, but it’s clearly a strain to do so, and she collapses on the beach as soon as she’s up on the sand.

“What the fu-” You cut yourself off to suck in a gulp of air and bolt toward her. She reaches for you as soon as you’re close and you haul her a short ways up the beach before taking a look at the rope wrapped around her.

It’s definitely some kind of netting, though you’re not sure if it’s the sort used to block human swimmers from entering dangerous areas, the sort used to catch fish, or something else entirely. But it’s wrapped around her tail fin and her arm enough to restrict movement, and even tight enough to almost cut off circulation at her wrist. You fumble for your first aid kit and tear through it- there’s a small set of scissors there to cut bandages. It’s only just big enough to get around the rope, so you start sawing away.

The rope is made of some kind of plastic fibers, and after a few minutes of sawing, it just feels like you’re destroying your scissors. Cutting each of the individual fibers instead of going after the whole thing at once works better, but it’s still slow. Eventually, you manage to whittle the rope connecting her arm and her tail down to only a few fibers. She flexes and the remaining fibers snap. Immediately, she lifts her wrist to her mouth and uses her teeth to saw through the rest of the ropes. There’s a purple-red mark where the rope was.

You and her work together to saw the rest of the ropes off her body. With her movements much less restricted, she’s able to stretch around and chew off some of the rope while you tug away areas that are less reachable. Finally, the beach is littered with pieces of shredded rope and she is free.

“Are you okay?” you ask, poking and prodding to check her for injuries. She makes a short, affectionate noise and nudges you away so she can write.

Yes. Ran into net caught in current. Tangled. Struggling made it tighter. Could not escape. Came here. She nuzzles close to you. Saved me.

You pet her head. “If that rope had been any tighter, you could have lost your hand. You could barely move!” Panic is making it hard for you to breathe. You practically clutch her against your chest. She snuggles close to you. “What if that happens again and you can’t get out? I’ll never know what happened to you!”

She shrugs, twisting in your grip to write again. Ocean dangerous.

“No shit it’s dangerous!” you say. “The ocean’s a goddamn hellhole.”            She makes a wheezing-screeching noise that you’ve come to realize is her natural laugh. Ha ha ha. Her expression grows somber. Nowhere else to go. Must stay here.

She’s right, of course. She can do nothing else but stay in the ocean and wait until something kills her. The thought makes your stomach ache.

“There has to be something,” you say. “I can’t let you stay here.”

She gives another shrug, even more halfhearted this time. You pat her head absently as you think. There has to be something you can do.

Eventually, something comes to mind. It’s not a good idea, necessarily, but it’s something. You nudge her, because she’s falling asleep against your shoulder. “Hey. How salty does the water you’re in need to be?”

Thank god, salinity level was something the scientists tested. It’s not comfortable for her to go from one salinity to the other, but it is possible, and it’s easier for her to go from high salinity to low salinity than the other way around. Her body is apparently able to adjust after a little bit. That’s a relief. It means your option is at least tenable.

She seems hesitant when you tell her about it. Concerned. Have not left sea.

“I know it’s an adjustment, but you’ll be safer. No one ever comes by and it’s not the cleanest area ever, but I can help you clean it up. Getting there is going to take some doing, but it’s not going to be impossible.” She hesitates. “Think about it. I’ll give you a couple days. I need to figure out the logistics anyway.” She nods and you help her back into the water. She swims away slowly, and a knot ties itself into your stomach as she vanishes.

You have to work the next day, but you spend every spare minute you have looking for something to make the whole plan work. The biggest issue with the whole thing is the concern about transportation- she’s bigger than you are, because her tail is longer than human legs, and there aren’t a lot of good options for hauling around someone who can’t walk. You toy with the idea of a wheelchair- you can rent one and it’s relatively inexpensive, but you’re not sure how well it’ll actually work. She doesn’t have hips the same way humans do, so she can’t sit up, and her tailfin would probably dangle off the end and get caught in the wheels. You also consider a wheelbarrow, which would actually be easier to get, but there’s still the problem of her fitting in it. It’s not going to be a comfortable fit by any stretch of the imagination.

The solution you settle upon is more expensive than you’d like, but probably the safest and most workable. You can rent one of the smaller u-haul trucks and set up a rented kiddie pool in it. You’ll be able to drive her a good chunk of the distance, even if you won’t be able to get all the way there. Then, hopefully, you can use a wheelbarrow to get her the rest of the way.

It’s not an easy solution (in fact, you’re already feeling sore just thinking about it) but it seems the safest and likeliest to work. The next day, you travel back down to the seashore to tell her your plan.

She is less than enthusiastic, but willing enough. You rent the truck, a small swimming pool, and spend the next couple of days sorting everything out. Luckily, you don’t call out sick all that often, so your faked illness doesn’t get a lot of scrutiny. Once it’s reasonably dark on the second day, you set up the pool in the truck, fill it halfway with water, and get in the driver’s seat.

Driving to the beach is faster than taking the train, so you end up there earlier than you anticipated. You buy an extra-large serving of fried cod and head down to the beach to wait. There are only a few people around, and none of them pay much attention to you. If you squint down the shoreline, you can see, off in the distance, a building set into the coast. It glints under the moonlight. It looks tiny, but menacing. You shrug off a shudder. If they haven’t come for her before, they won’t now. Everything is fine.

Finally, the last few people clear off the beach. As soon as you’re certain they’re gone, you head down to the edge of the water. Your mermaid emerges only moments later, tail swinging through the surf. She heaves herself up onto shore.

“The truck’s that way,” you say, pointing off beyond the boardwalk. It’s the closest available parking lot, but you still can’t see it from the beach. She grimaces. “We just need to make it there, and then you can rest. We’ll take breaks if we need to.” You show her the fried cod. “And I have your favorite for when we’re done.”            Her grimace softens and she makes a noise of agreement. Slowly, bit by bit, you start to make your way up the beach.

The way she moves on land looks like a combination between a seal and someone doing the worm very enthusiastically. She braces herself with her hands on the ground, tenses, then uses the powerful muscles of her tail against the ground to heave herself forward. Sometimes, she tries to pull herself forward with just her arms, but that seems to be a more exhausting endeavor. Not to mention, it pulls her across the sand, which can’t feel comfortable on her bare skin.

You make it almost to the edge of the boardwalk before she stops moving outright and collapses in the sand. Her gills and sides heave with her desperate gasps for air. You crouch next to her. “Just a little further, okay? We can take a break. Do you need water?” You offer her the enormous water bottle you have, one of two. She sips from it, then splashes water over her face and gills. It doesn’t help her breathe, apparently, but her gills can easily get irritated from being in open air too long.

“We can just sit here until-” A flashlight beam swings through the air, roving across the beach. It misses you by inches. We freeze. “Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap.”

She makes a high-pitched, frantic squeal before remembering you’re supposed to be stealthy and shuts up. Her tail flops against the sand as she struggles forward, but she’s tired enough that it’s not much motion. You grimace. The light is coming closer, and it’s between you and the sea and you really don’t want to get caught. Security guards will turn you over to the police and if the police are in on it, you don’t want to alert them.

Okay. Plan B. You drop into a crouch in front of her. “Get on!” you hiss. She claws her way up onto your back, nails digging into your shoulders. It hurts, but you don’t have time to get her into a better position. Instead, you reach back to grab ahold of her tail, make sure she’s not at risk of falling off, and push yourself to your feet.

Your knees protest and tremble as you get up, and the sliding sand doesn’t make things any easier. Maybe mermaids are lighter than humans, because she’s well over six feet long and you’re pretty sure you couldn’t lift a human her size. But maybe it’s also the adrenaline running through your veins that gives you the boost. You haul her, on your back, to the boardwalk, clear the steps, and full-on sprint to your truck.

It feels like you’re going to collapse before you get there, but you make it. You crouch in front of the truck while the mermaid unlocks the back door (your hands are still occupied holding her) and once it’s unlatched, you swing her inside. You don’t stop to see if she makes it in the pool. You just slam the door shut, relatch it, and throw yourself in the driver’s seat.

Really, you’re not actually sure you’re being followed. You might not be. The security guards don’t tend to chase people who have left the beach- it’s not their job. But you’re adrenaline-high and panicked, so you just tear ass through the streets until your racing heart has slowed enough that you feel safe stopping.

You pull over and hurry around to check the back of the truck. Your mermaid is sprawled across the back of the truck, only halfway into the pool, and looking disgruntled and carsick. Water is splashed all over the back of the truck, leaving a relatively small amount in the pool. “S-sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I, uh. Didn’t mean for that to happen.”

She waves a hand nonchalantly at you. “You good to keep going?” you ask. She grimaces, but nods. “You’re sure?” She gives you a look you’re pretty sure translates as ‘let’s just get this over with.’

You lock up the doors and head out on the road again. This time, you’re gentler on the brake and the turns, and there isn’t a lot of thumping or complaining from the back, which seems like a good sign.

It’s about an hour and a half of driving before you arrive at the end of the road. You’re not at your destination, you’re just as far as you can get in a car. You unlock the back of the truck and peek inside.

“How are you doing?” you ask. She’s fully inside the pool now, though a lot of the water has sloshed out. She shrugs, grimacing. “We’re almost there. Just a bit further, okay?”

She grunts, heaves herself out of the pool, and crawls her way over to you. “Give me a sec,” you say, and instead of helping her out, you crawl in next to her. With some fumbling, you tug at the straps securing a heavy wheelbarrow to the wall.

“I know it’s a tight fit,” you say as you push the wheelbarrow out. It lands on the edge of the road with a heavy thunk. “But it’s the easiest way to transport you.”

She looks annoyed, but she is able to at least mostly squeeze herself into it. The positioning requires her to pull her tail fin up to her chest, but she seems… well, not comfortable, but able to hold the position.

You heft up the wheelbarrow and start walking. It’s easier than just straight up carrying her, but the journey is mostly uphill, so it’s not exactly comfortable. There’s also not a path, so shoving the wheelbarrow over the uneven ground is not easy. The walk’s fifteen minutes on your own, but dragging along the wheelbarrow extends it to over a half an hour. But finally, you make it to the expansive lake.

The lake is large, several miles wide at least, and twice as deep as she is long in the deepest areas. People swim here in the midst of summer, but no one is supposed to, and they only ever stick toward the outermost edges. But the part that reassures you the most is that the area is strictly forbidden for boats, and fishing, and it’s a relatively peaceful area. At the very least, it’s far away from the dangers of the ocean.

“What do you think?” you ask. She perks up, gazing out over the lake. Her posture is completely still. Then she twists her body in one huge motion and launches herself over the edge of the wheelbarrow and into the lake. Water splashes over you and you shriek.

There’s a ripple in the water and she’s gone. For a moment, there’s no sign of her. Then her head emerges several feet away. She swims back to you and perches on the shore, shaking water out of her hair.

“What do you think?” you ask. She glances around, but there’s no sand here to write in. “Oh, right!” You fumble around and finally grab your final gift for her. “Here. I thought this might be a problem. So, uh. Housewarming gift?”

She rips into the packaging with her teeth and reveals an erasable whiteboard with a small container of markers. Her expression brightens and she hurries to uncap one of the markers and write. Thank you.

“Sure, sure!” You crouch next to her. “So, uh. How is it? You think you’re going to be okay here?”

She glances around for a bit, taking it in. Water colder. Slimier also. Garbage in some areas.

“Oh,” you say, shoulders drooping. “Sorry, I thought-”

She waves a hand in front of your face to cut you off and keeps writing. But is calmer than ocean. Peaceful. Appreciate. Not need to hide so much. Currents easier. She ducks underwater for a moment and surfaces with a smile. Like it.

You relax. You hadn’t even realized how tense you were about her potentially not liking this place. “Good.” You offer her the box of fried fish and she rips into it eagerly. “I’ll come up here over the next few days, to make sure you’re settled in and get you things, but I’m not going to be able to be here as often after that. It takes a lot longer to get here.”

Her face falls so quickly it’s heartbreaking. She doesn’t even bother to write anything. She makes a frantic wailing noise in her throat and snatches at your shirt. “Woah, hey, hey!” You slip from the unexpected grabbing, and she releases you before you can tumble into the water. She whines apologetically, but she’s still giving you the fishy equivalent of puppy dog eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could visit more often too. But I can’t miss more work and it takes a long time to get here unless I’m renting a car, and I can’t afford to do that every week.” She ducks partially under the water, sulking. “I’m sorry. Really.” She stares at you. “I’ll try to visit every weekend. As often as I can. I’m not going to abandon you, I promise-”

She surges out of the water, grabs the front of your shirt, and before you can really process what she’s doing, she’s pressed her mouth to yours.

She feels cooler than a human kiss, and wetter as well. Her mouth is salty and you can feel her sharp teeth behind her lips. Her nose brushes against yours as she tilts her head sideways and tingles shoot down your spine.

Mermaids must not need as much air as humans, because when you break the kiss, you’re practically seeing spots from oxygen deprivation. She clings to you anyway, still making sad whining noises. You hook your arms around her and squeeze her to your chest.

“I- I know. It sucks. I don’t like it either,” you say. “I’ll figure something out. So that we don’t have to be apart for too long. I promise.”

She clings to you tighter. You press a kiss to her forehead and give her one final squeeze. When she slips slowly into the water again, her hand stays in yours, fingertips touching, for as long as she can possibly manage.

It takes some fussing, but you come up with a short-term solution- cell phones. There’s reception near the lake, though it’s sometimes spotty, and simpler cell phones are pretty cheap. You get the best rated waterproof version and present it to her the next time you’re up there. Her excited shrilling is music to your ears.

You text back and forth every day. She sends you videos of her swimming around, of interesting creatures that come by during the day. You send her videos back of mundane things, like your breakfast or your trip to work. You’ve spent a small fortune on power banks, so she can keep her phone charged at all times, but it’s worth it when you can get on a call with her and listen to a podcast together.

Every week, you head up to the lake to visit her. Even in the winter, when it was chilly and a thin sheet of ice formed over the top of the pond, you visited. She was more sluggish then, rather sleepy, but she would still force herself awake every time you visited, slotting her body against yours and humming happily at your warmth.

When spring rolls around again, she perks back up. The lake is more beautiful than you ever remember it being- maybe it’s because she ate a good deal of the trash off the banks during the winter, but the water looks clear and beautiful, and the animals are more plentiful than ever. Sometimes you get a creeping sensation on the way up to the lake, like you’re being watched. But nothing ever happens, so you chalk it up to paranoia. You’ve seen neither hide nor hair from the Wellterra people, and no one ever comes investigating about the beach incident. After a year of waiting, you’re finally ready to accept that the immediate danger is over.

It takes another couple of years of saving and scrimping and visits to the lake before you’re ready to take the next step. It would have taken longer if not for your mermaid. Apparently, you can find all kinds of strange things in the lakebed, and some of them are old pieces of jewelry that can be sold for decent prices. She presses them into your hands with glee, eager to help you.

After so long of waiting, you rent a house only a couple miles from the lake. It’s sort of dilapidated, but you’ve got some experience trying to fix stuff in your apartment, and it’s got more space and, most importantly, it’s close to her. You can walk to her with relatively little difficulty.

The day of your moving in, you head to the lake. “Aliyah!” you call, dropping down next to the lake’s edge. She emerges from the water, laughing in delight. “Hi, hon,” you say as she pulls herself onto the shore and into your lap. She’s dripping wet, but you’ve gotten used to it by now. She kisses at your lips impatiently. “Hi, yes, I’m happy to see you! I know it’s been a while.” Prepping for the move had conked you out for a while, but you were thrilled to be back. Apparently, she was too, because she was swaying her tail back and forth in the water, sending little splashes onto shore. “I have something for you,” you say, reaching back to get something out of your bag. She stills, attention focused on your hands.

You lift the box from your bag and hesitate. Nerves crawl through the pit of your stomach. “Uh. Close your eyes.” It’ll be easier to do it if she’s not looking at you. She huffs, but obliges. “Okay. Um.” You carefully shuffle so you’re in a kneeling position and flip the lid of the box up. “You can open.”            She blinks her eyes open and freezes. Resting in the box is a long, silver chain. And attached to the chain is a simple diamond ring.

“I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to keep a ring on underwater,” you say, “so I attached it to a necklace. But it still means the same thing.” You lift the necklace from the box and hold it out for her inspection. “I know we can’t really get married, but… I thought maybe the ring could mean something anyway. I’ve got one too, so other people will know that I have someone and that I’m committed to you.”

You are knocked over by her enthusiastic surge out of the water. She soaks you as she tackles you to the ground, kisses spilling all over your face with enthusiasm. You giggle helplessly, overwhelmed and adored.

It’s a strange relationship. But it’s the one you want. It’s the one you love.

#exophilia #monster girlfriend #mermaid girlfriend #mermay #mermaid #monster romance #female monster #monster x reader

[nikethestatue]

Do That to Her

A Nessian fanfic:

Nesta, sits quietly with a book in her hands and a fluffy throw on her lap. The fire in the fireplace is crackling but it doesn't bother her anymore. It's December 1. The snow is swirling behind the windows.

Cassian sits across from her, looking at military plans, while sneaking glances at his gorgeous woman. Azriel is here too, outlining something on the map. They are supposed to be 'strategising'.

"if you are not going to concentrate," Azriel snaps at Cassian through gritted teeth, "I am going home!"

"I am concentrating! I am concentrating!" Cassian protests feebly.

He understands. Azriel is a newlywed. He wants to be with his woman just as much as Cassian wants to be with Nesta. Cassian understands, but he can't help himself.

Being a professional though, he forces his attention to return to the papers and reports in front of him.

"I think if we position the battalion here," Azriel raps his knuckle on the map, "it would give us a good vantage point...."

Somehow, the shadowsinger's dark, gritty voice washes over Cassian, and he loses himself in all sorts of erotic fantasies.

Suddenly, Azriel's scarred fingers snap quietly, which leads to Cassian's attention snapping back at his brother. Azriel was going to have his hide.

Ehhh. Worth it.

"Watch. Her."

It's an order. From Azriel. Cassian cocks a confused brow at him and glances at Nesta. He isn't going to question the command. Yes, sir. If he is ordered to look at Nesta, he was going to look at Nesta.

Azriel's voice is barely audible, but Cassian knows how to listen and how to understand his brother even with minimal conversation.

"Watch her," Azriel repeats. "See how quiet she's gone?"

Indeed, Nesta seemed to still in the cushions of the sofa. Her back is ramrod straight, as she peers into the book. A small smile plays on her lips.

"Yeah, what of it?" Cassian wonders.

"Watch and learn, my innocent brother," Azriel squeezes his shoulder, smirking. "When she goes all silent like that, quieter than a Library's mouse, eyes wide...That's when you find out what page she is on,"

"Oh...And?" Cassian's brow creases.

"You go back to that page. You read it. Carefully," Azriel instructs, his midnight voice hypnotising in its velvety softness.

"And?" Cassian insisted.

"And you do that to her."

"Oh."

"Oh."

4 hours later...

Cassian climbs into his large, roomy bathtub. The water is so hot, it is steaming above the surface of the tub. Just like he likes it.

His hair is tied in pigtails on the sides of his head--not a look that he would necessarily show off to anyone. He reaches for a glass of wine and takes a generous sip. Very nice.

He adds a dab of Nesta's soaps and foamy bubbles into the water, and sinks in deeper into the tub.

Glancing around sneakily, he then picks up a book. The book. And thanks Azriel's crafty shadows, because one managed to float around and report back to the master--page 237.

So, on to page 237 Cassian thumbed the pages.

"My breasts tightened as he positioned himself at the apex of my thighs. My core. The very centre of me needed his considerable length inside. I craved his seed."

Whoa.

"And then, he slammed home in one powerful thrust. He was enormous. I wasn't sure he would fit, but his massive manhood felt like velvet wrapped steel inside of me, especially once he sheathed to the hilt.

My toes curled and I saw stars as he filled me to the brim. As he touched my bundle of nerves with his calloused, scar-flecked fingers, it was my undoing. I shattered. He roared as he climaxed, destroying buildings and shaking mountains, while setting palm trees on fire on a faraway beach."

Do. That. To. Her.

And Cassian did.

#nessian #cassian and nesta #nessian fanfic #just for fun #my writing #do that to her #one shot #Azriel #makes an appearance #yes #he is married to Elain #don't worry #cassian #acosf fanfiction #nesta #nesta archeron