#i want to bite my chest and sink my teeth into my heart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dxckgrxsonx · 2 years

Note

hello, random Jason thot i feel like i need to share:

he is the type to ask for sexual related stuff very casually in the most unexpected moments — “hey do you have a second for me to bend you over and use your holes?” “c’mere so i can hit you from the back real quick” “babe, do you like how my cum tastes?” “you mind if i fuck you in your sleep tonight?” “you want me to go raw next time we do doggie?” while you are making toast in the middle of the day or doing the dishes like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

that's it, that's my thot. thanks.

Pairing - Jason Todd x (F) Reader Words - 1.2k Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Porn no Plot - Unprotected Sex -Shower Sex - Kitchen Sex - Dirty Talk - Jason 'no verbal filter' Todd - Swearing - Fluff. Notes - i think you should share more thots with me 😉 i will listen to whatever you have to say. also, the idea of Jason fucking you in your sleep???? hOT. I’ll be writing that at some point.

MASTERLIST

He asks you questions at the most random times.

You think his brain doesn’t have an off switch. Thoughts constantly whirling around on a washing machine spin cycle. Each one thunking against the sides until he tugs open the door and spits out the first thing to fall at his feet.

Last week, he asked you through a mouthful of food what word you would use to describe The Red Hood.

Apparently, ‘hot’, was entirely the correct answer and he’d spent the rest of the meal insufferably pleased with himself until you’d laughed and kicked him under the table.

The week before that, he woke you up in the middle of the night and asked you, half asleep, if you would still love him if he was a worm. In response, you’d rolled over to hug him close and mumbled, “Mmm-hm. I’d love you no matter what.”

And when you woke up that next morning, it was with Jason smudging kisses across your chest. Right over your heart. You didn’t recall the conversation but he did and it must have meant something to him because he didn’t leave your side for hours.

But this time, he pokes his head out of the shower whilst you’re brushing your teeth and casually asks, “You mind joining me in here? It’s been a while since we’ve had shower sex and i’m real fuckin’ hard.”

Surprise sparks like a blown electric fuse and your toothbrush clatters into the sink whilst you choke on a mouthful of toothpaste, “Jason!” You sputter, staring at him through the mirror and feeling heat scathe up your neck. “What the hell?”

Grabbing your arm, he says nothing and tugs you into the shower cubicle, places you directly under the almost scalding spray of water and cracks a smile when you swat at his chest. Instantly, your pyjamas turn see through and Jason whistles appreciatively, mouth hooking up in a devilish smirk.

“Now there’s a pretty sight.” He says, giving you a heated once over.

Your nipples poke against your shirt and Jason wastes no time in rubbing his thumbs over the sensitive peaks until you sigh softly. He dips his fingers under the hem of your pyjama top and smooths his warm palms up over your breasts to remove it.

Shuffling you backwards until you press against the cold tile wall you hiss through your teeth, “You’re a bastard, Todd.”

Ducking his head to kiss and bite at your neck Jason chuckles, voice lowering to a challenging drawl, “Call me Todd again, sweetheart. I dare you.”

Dragging your open palm over his cock you turn your head and kiss him slowly, deeply. You lick into Jason’s mouth and feel him throb in your hand. Sinking your teeth into his bottom lip you tug until he growls.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Todd. Did that hurt?”

Jason grabs at your thighs, yanks your shorts down your legs with the efficiency of someone not leaking precum all over your fingers. Slotting his hands under your thighs he picks you up, forces your legs around his thick waist. His cock presses hot and heavy against your pussy and you feel yourself drool over the fat, flushed head.

“You’re really in for it now, baby.” He says, eyes alight. “You thought I was a bastard before. Things are about to get a hell of a lot worse for you now.”

You smile, thoroughly amused, “Promises. Promises.”

Slotting two slices of bread into the toaster you reach for your phone sitting on the kitchen counter.

Jason approaches you silently and you wonder, not for the first time, how someone with so much mass can move so quietly. You don’t catch his presence until he’s within arms reach and you think that if you were a criminal, you’d be as good as unconscious.

Slipping his arms around your waist he nuzzles into your back, moves to rest his chin on your shoulder, “Whatcha watchin’?”

Turning the screen so he can see the video, you feel him laugh when you say, “Cat fail videos.”

Reaching silently for your phone he locks the screen and places it facedown on the counter. Turning in the strong cage of his arms you walk your fingers over his chest and up to his shoulders. Humming quietly in the back of your throat you sweep a flyaway strand of hair from his eyes.

“Can I help you?” You ask.

“Do you have a second for me to bend you over the kitchen counter? Wanna fill you up.”

“Wow.” You snigger, half amused, half aroused. “You’re not one for subtlety, huh?”

Spinning you around, Jason presses your hips into the counter and quickly unbuttons your jeans to slide them down to your ankles with your underwear. He shuffles around behind you and you hear him drag the zipper down on his pants.

“Jus’ like the thought of you dripping with my come.” He answers, and you feel your clit swell. A touch of his Gotham accent colours his words. “You’re not going to deny me that, are you?”

Kicking one foot free of your jeans you hook your knee over the lip of the counter, spread your puffy pussy open for Jason to see how wet you are. Your arousal leaks from your entrance and Jason drags his fingers through the wetness before wiping it over the head of his cock.

“If I end up burning my toast I’m not going to be happy.” You say.

Pressing the fat head of his cock to your clenching hole Jason pushes forwards, groans deeply when your walls yield around him and squeeze at his thick girth. Bracing one hand on your waist, Jason rocks his hips, stuffs himself into your pussy inch by inch until he bottoms out.

“You were made for taking my cock, sweetheart.” Jason moans, snapping his hips up. Hooking his thumbs under the swell of your ass he spreads you open so he can watch his cock sink into you. “Fuckin’ Christ, can feel you squeezin’ at me, baby. S’almost like I didn’t fuck you yesterday.”

Whimpering out his name you try to reach for the toaster, worried that it’s going to burn.

“I don’t give a fuck about your toast.” Jason growls, grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back. “I’ll make you breakfast myself when I’m finished.”

Sat on the sofa you tug your fingers through Jason’s hair.

His head rests in your lap, legs thrown over the arm of your sofa so you can both fit somewhat comfortably. The TV drones in the background, a movie playing that you’ve quickly lost interest in. You’ve found that your attention settles on Jason, on the stubborn knots in his hair and the warmth of him resting on your thighs.

“Comfy?” You ask, just to make sure.

Humming softly he glances up at you, and when your eyes meet he smiles, “You’re beautiful.”

Emotion drags itself up your throat and you stroke his cheek tenderly, lovingly. You open your mouth to speak but there’s a lump in your throat and you quickly realise that you don’t even know what to say. Vaguely, you recognise that Jason hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

Opening your mouth to try again Jason beats you to it, “I know, baby. Y’don’t have to say it. I know.”

Rubbing the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip, Jason presses a soft kiss there.

“Hey, you mind if I fuck you in your sleep tonight?”

Flicking his forehead you snigger, “Do you not have a verbal filter?”

Giving you an unimpressed look, his eyes glitter, “What do you think?”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x you smut #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader smut #red hood x you smut #red hood smut #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #asks #answered #anonymous #ella writes

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princessbrunette · 2 months

Text

after a long and traumatic week, seeing and experiencing dreadful things — puppy!reader gets into the habit of needing john b to rock her to sleep. every night.

if he doesn’t, there’s tears — and bless your heart he understands. before these few weeks, he’d managed to protect you from it all. being shot at, stumbling on skeletons and dead bodies all for the sake of finding the next clue for the treasure that seemed so far away. at the time, and for your safety he had to bring you along — but as he watches your lip curl over, clinging to his chest back at the chateau — he regrets not finding a way around it.

“well sleep is important, bubba. you need rest.” he stresses, trying to ease you into relaxing as you argue against him. “c’mon. i know you’re tired. i can tell.”

“but i know i’m going to have a nightmare again! ugh.” in a moment of stress, you softly bury yourself into his arm, sinking teeth gently into his tanned bicep.

“noooo you won’t.” he croons in that comforting deep voice of his, slotting his hand between your face and his arm so that he can stroke your cheek with his thumb until you ease up on your bite. you huff, flopping back into his arms dramatically like you’d died mid conversation and he smiles, softly manhandling you until you’re lying directly on his chest. “i’ll tell you why you’re not gonna have any nightmares, pup. it’s because i’m gonna be riiight here. all night. you’re gonna get all hot and bothered and wish that you had your own bed, seriously.” he keeps his tone lighthearted as you get comfortable, but his face falls when he hears you sniffle. “hey, i know.” he acknowledges solemnly, kissing the top of your head.

“jus’ nervous.” you slur, muffled into the fabric of his shirt and he nods in understanding. without thinking much of it, john b starts to sway your body left to right, gently rocking you to attempt to halt your tears. after a moment, you seem to quieten down. “keep doing that.” you rasp after a few minutes, barely awake.

“mhm.” he hums, trying not to disturb you as much as possible with his response, continuing to rock you in his arms. for the first time in a while, you sleep soundly — with no bad dreams.

because of the success in john b’s new technique — you started to require it every night. as soon as you feel the tiredness creep up on you, you’re crawling into his lap, making a rocking motion with your body to communicate what you want. doing this every night might become tiresome to some, but your boyfriend was filled with guilt — accidentally putting you in such dangerous scenarios lately that your body was now riddled with anxiety, needing the gentle motion in order to have a stress free sleep. whatever he could do to help you, to rid himself of the guilt — he would comply.

occasionally, you had required this treatment during a nap in the middle of the day too — straddling him on the couch with the shy request.

“get on in here.” he opens his arms to wrap around you, letting you burrow down into him. as soon as he begins to rock you side to side, your brain starts to power down, even able to partially ignore jj when he loudly strolls in, aware of your habits.

“damn, it’s rockin’ time already? a little early.” the blonde converses casually making the brunette frown and wave one arm at him.

“shh, but yes. yes it is.”

unable to control his behaviour, maybank begins to dance, moonwalking across the wooden panels of the chateau floor. “i wanna rock with you, alllll night.” he sings, making you groggily lift your head to blink an eye at him.

“are you done?” john b deadpans.

“oh hey there sleepy-pooch. my bad, go ‘head and take that nap.” jj busies himself with a beer bottle, grabbing it to settle down with on the couch, eyes latching onto the tv.

you’re fast asleep in a matter of minutes, the gentle humming of the tv mixing with the sounds of your soft snores. “damn, she’s out like that already? guess they found the cure to insomnia. hey, can i try next?” jj teases, lifting the bottle to his lips making the brunette shake his head, not even bothering to glance away from the tv.

“would you shut-up? maybe?” he mumbles in careless retaliation, just happy his sweet pup was getting the rest she deserves.

#john b prompt #puppy!reader

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pedrostylez · 2 months

Text

I’m Here When You Need Me

Joel Miller x f!reader One Shot

Warnings: Angst, feelings, longing, cheating on the readers part, Joel just wants you to be happy, high key hating reader’s husband, age gap mentioned (Joel is in his 50’s, no reader age), insecurities, mentions of body and working out, insecurities, nipple and breast play, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected piv sex ( wrap it people), oral f recieving, I think that’s it

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: this has had minimal edits and I’m posting from my phone so don’t be judging me!!!! Heed the warnings. I hope you guys enjoy 😊

He’s at it again, dreaming of you wrapped around him. Soft to the touch, warm and needy, just how he likes you.

The telltale sound of his phone wakes him from the comfort of his dreams, vibrating through the pillow to his ear. When he squints his eyes to see your name on the screen, his heart freezes for a moment. You don’t typically call, so it must be important. “Hello?” He sounds groggy, and he hears your pause before a deep sigh. He knows you feel bad for calling him, even though you knew he would be asleep. “What is it, baby?”

“Don’t call me that.” You hiss, breath coming quickly through the receiver, the sound of your teeth biting at your nail.

“Are you alone?” He asks, now sitting up in bed. He’s used to a rogue text here and there, asking if he’s home so that you can slip out while your husband is asleep, or at work. He’s never texted you first, never been the initiator except for the once when he first spotted you in the bar. But a phone call in the middle of the night? Unheard of.

“Yeah.” You sigh, frustration clear in your voice.

He frowns, rubbing at his chin and shuffling out of bed. “Door’s open, baby.” It slips out, and he winces, figuring you’ll correct him again. He can’t help it.

You don’t say anything about the nickname, just give him a quiet goodbye and an ETA.

He doesn’t bother to remake the bed, doesn’t bother to clean up anything. He used to; used to make sure all the dishes were done and that the floor was swept for you. He was embarrassed, a 50 something year old man still living alone and had somehow gotten your attention. He wanted to leave a good impression.

But after enough times of you storming in, how you would grab around the collar of his shirt and thrust yourself at him to feel something, to distract you from whatever issues you were having with him, he stopped worrying.

A habit he shouldn’t get into, but he knew you would come around again and again.

Joel flicks on the outside light, looking out the curtain briefly before sitting on the couch and turning on the TV. He keeps the sound low, listening for the sound of your truck to pull up next to his. His pants are low, riding just below the elastic band of his underwear, loose and warm under the flannel.

He sighs, switching the channel and scratching at his incoming beard. He doesn’t know what mood you’ll be in, what you’ll want, but trying to wake himself up after a long day on the job is all he can do to prepare for you.

The sound of your door slamming has him turning his head, listening to your sneakers shuffle on his brick pathway. The pause at his door, where he swears he can hear you take a deep breath before twisting the knob and letting yourself in.

Your hair, swept to one side and down, loose, wild, has his mouth upturned out of habit. He loves you wild. “Hey.”

“What’s going on?” He asks quietly, letting you shut his front door and slip your sneakers off. He doesn’t dare move, afraid that he might scare you off by being too concerned. You’re in your own set of pajamas, loose shirt and flannel pants with a sweatshirt zipped in the front.

When you sit beside him, you lean into him with your head on his chest. One, two, three big breaths leave your mouth as he wraps an arm around you. It gives you the courage to say what you came here for. “I don’t think he loves me.”

Joel’s heart sinks, the sound of your voice defeated. His arm squeezes around you, looking down to the crown of your head. “No, baby that’s not true.” It slips out again, and he closes his eyes to try and recenter himself. Stop calling her baby.

“He won’t even look at me anymore.” You say again, tilting your head to look Joel in the eye. You’ve accepted it, eyes not shimmering with sadness. “He says he wants me but…never initiates. It’s like I’m begging just for an ounce of attention.”

Joel holds his face neutral, his blood boiling. He wants you, he would give you the attention you deserve. He knows that’s why you’re here, that’s why you called–

“I don’t think he finds me attractive anymore.” You whisper, an uncommitted shrug before you bury your head back against his chest.

Joel rubs his hand up and down your back, looking up toward the TV for a moment. Reruns of Seinfeld, laugh tracks and a bright screen fill his senses. He keeps quiet, keeping his hand moving to reassure you before he says, “I think the world of you.”

You shake under his arm with a brief chuckle, resting your hand on his stomach and swirling, swirling, swirling your finger around his belly button.

He resists sucking his stomach in, knowing you’ll chastise him like you have before. He wants to hold you, body against body to prove to you how much he wants you. “Do you want to go lay down with me?” He asks quietly, feeling your hair slide away from his arm as you pull away from him.

“Sure.” You reach for the remote, clicking off the screen and unzipping your sweatshirt. You turn to him, smirking as you step in the direction of his bedroom. “Just to sleep?”

“If that’s what you want.” Is his immediate answer. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve come to his door just wanting to fall asleep on his chest; he wouldn’t mind it in the least, just to have you next to him.

But the way you smile, the way your eyes shimmer with want, he knows that isn’t what will be happening.

No, not when he turns off all the lights and heads to the bedroom and finds you already under the covers. Your quiet voice asking him to turn off the lights is new, but he obliges.

He fumbles to the bed, getting under the covers and hearing your giggle when you reach for his hand and place it on your breast. He laughs as well, swiping his thumb back and forth over your nipple until it is taunt, peaked against the pads of his fingers. He presses his mouth to your jaw, lightly pinching to hear your whimper against his ear.

He sighs happily, groaning when your fingers wrap around his cock through his pajamas. Your hands are warm, pressing heat into him in ways he misses when you’re gone. He lets his fingers drift down your side, counting your ribs quietly to himself. “Let me see you, baby?” He inquires, letting his lips run down the column of your throat, pressing deeply into the curve of your collarbone.

He feels your tension, the way you freeze for only an instant before going back to your loosened and easy going movements. “What? Don’t like surprises?” You question, squeezing your hand around the head of him briefly before pushing down his pants.

He springs free, your fingers lightly dancing down his shaft making him groan. He wants to tell you that it’s not that he doesn’t like surprises, but he wants to watch you. He looks down, blankets haphazardly in the way, only giving him a peek at what your hand is doing around him.

It feels like heaven, your hand with small calluses at the base of each finger. The smoothness of the rest, silky and enticing pumping up and down, your thumb swiping at the weeping hole to spread some of the wetness around.

He moves the sheet out of the way, letting his eyes trail to your chest before looking up at you as his tongue pokes out, circling the same nipple from before. Your mouth opens in awe, eyes fluttering shut and head thrown back. “J-Joel–”

“Let me see you.” He’s muffled against your skin, flicking his tongue against you and letting his fingers drift further and further down. Joel’s fingers brush over the hem of your underwear, and he can’t help the smile that grows on his face as you giggle. He knows it’s ticklish there, just as he dips his fingers into the humid skin beneath.

Your breath hitches, eyes opening more fully as he moves the blankets with his arm. He notices how you watch it, suddenly self conscious as your legs start to spread for him. “I’m cold, Joel.”

He pauses, letting only the knuckle of his first two fingers continue their movement under the strain of your underwear. You’re slick, his fingers easily moving over your clit with a laziness that he knows you like. You don’t want to be rushed-ever; it’s why you go to his place to begin with. “I’ll warm you up.”

“N-no.” You close your eyes, shaking your head as if falling out of this fantasy. “I want the blankets up here.”

Joel’s fingers pause now, head tilting up to you and frowning. He can see you more clearly now, his eyes having adjusted to the street lamps that filter through his curtains. You’re almost naked below him, frowning with your eyes downturned, looking toward his hand instead of his face. He brings his other hand up, tilting your chin to look directly at him. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You attempt at a scoff, but he’s not buying it. “I’m cold, I told you–”

“You know I think you’re beautiful, right?” He gruffs, frown going deeper as he sees you shake your head. “You know I like to see how you react, touch you, look at you. Why do you want to be covered?”

“I’ll just put my shirt back on.” You snarl, teeth coming out to bite as you lean over the side of the bed, reaching for the shirt you had tossed off before he followed you into the bedroom.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your arm back and holding you to the bed. Unable to roll, you wiggle under him, pulling your hand free to reach again. When he catches you again, you groan unhappily, getting into a pulling and pushing match with him.

He’s stronger than you, the creases in his forehead deepening as he let’s you get away enough times to tire you out, but not letting you escape his question. “Quit fightin’ me, and tell me what is going on.”

Your hands are secured to the pillows below you, breasts bouncing from the intensity of it and your deep breaths. He can’t help how his eyes trail down, wanting to look at you, but seeing you squirm uncomfortably.

You stay silent, glaring at him and then looking to the ceiling as if you’re just going to ignore the question. Joel sighs, annoyance bubbling up in him and trying to tamp it down. It clicks suddenly in his head, that something must have been said to you. “Why do you want to be covered?”

Your eyes trail back to his, your furrowed brow slowly relaxing, the tension in your arms reducing to where Joel releases his grip and lets his fingers trail down to hold your torso. His hands wrap around you, his thumbs stroking at the soft skin under each breast. He’s not sure if your eyes are shimmering with tears, or if it is just a trick in the light when you say, “He…he asked if I had been working out lately.” You swallow, shaking your head. “A-and when I said no, he…he said ‘that’s obvious.’”

Joel’s breath comes quickly, his fingers subconsciously digging into your skin to hold himself steady. He said what? He can’t help but stare at you, waiting for more to come, but you just stare back with a slow buildup of tears in your lash line.

Another moment of silence before you’re sniffling, bringing a hand up to cover your eyes as if embarrassed. Joel releases you as he feels your body shutter, pulling the blankets up around you both and moving his fingers to cradle your head. He lets his dull nails scratch at your scalp, shushing and cooing at you until you’re pressed against him, naked skin on skin in a humid cloud under his blankets.

He lets you cry; it’s the first he’s really ever seen you do so since meeting you. You’ve always been strong, secure and confident in how you present yourself. He found it off putting, in some ways-he had never been with a woman that didn't need him. He was used to being the provider. But you’d always taken care of yourself, came and went as you pleased, and didn’t ask for anything else.

His heart swells with want. “You’re alright baby, I’ve got you.” He husks, moving his fingers to the back of your neck and massaging at the tense muscles there. “He’s a fucking moron, you know that don’t you? You’re beautiful, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

You shake your head, tears having stopped and a small smile making its way across your face. “No I don't, Miller.”

“You do.” He relents, tilting his head down to look at you again. Red eyes and wet lashes, but otherwise okay. His thumb runs under your eyes, absorbing tears from your face almost instantly. “He shouldn’t be speaking to you that way.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a big deal. He’s right, it’s probably why our marriage isn’t going great.”

“That’s not true.” He says immediately, letting his thumb drift to your lower lip and pull it down briefly. “You think your marriage isn’t going well because he doesn’t find you attractive?”

“Among other things.” You sigh, now back to your previous demeanor. Your fingers are dancing over his chest, swirling his chest hair around. “Joel, it’s fine.”

“It’s not.” He argues. “You’re someone any decent man would want. How can he just–”

“Please just, let’s move on.” You cut him off, pressing a flat palm firmly into his chest.

He closes his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose to calm himself down from giving a full lecture. He wants you to understand, to hear him fully. You deserve better than what you have.

You both lay there silently for a moment, just breathing together and not moving. He keeps his eyes on yours, watching yours flick down to his mouth and feeling the way you minutely move towards him. He doesn’t dare move, wanting you to be the one that initiates.

Your hand is gentle against his lower stomach, gliding down again to his now softened cock. It stirs, easy to respond to you. Joel stops your hand, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” You’re breathy, pupils having gone wide as he lets go of your wrist. It doesn’t take him long to get hard again with how you move your hand, his mind both empty and racing with thoughts.

When you roll on to your back, offering a silent invitation for him to get on top, he’s eager to let his legs tangle with yours and settle between your thighs. He presses his mouth to your collarbone, trailing down below the blanket as you wished for before, his tongue peeking out when he gets to your core.

You sigh happily when his tongue meets your clit in slow, agonizing circles. He prefers to watch you when he does this, eyes up on your face as his tongue swoops back and forth, over and over the hood of your clit until you’re squirming and reaching down to fist at his hair. He likes watching your neck shine with a thin layer of sweat, the way your hair begins to stick to your face and your eyes closing tightly to just feel him.

But right now he’s below the covers, holding one leg down and open to better feast on his meal, the other reaching up and intertwining his fingers with yours. The hand not in his must be bracing yourself against his headboard, your moans muffled by the sheets and blankets surrounding him.

He lets his tongue dip into you, squeezed briefly by your walls and the yelp you let out makes him chuckle. You never expect the first intrusion, spreading your legs wider to let his shoulders be flat against you, his laugh vibrating against your skin.

He continues this pattern, dipping into you with his tongue, circling your clit, and back again. He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, over and over to the point that he’s closed his eyes to feel you instead of watching you. His cock is hard between his legs, pressing against the end of his mattress and begging to be touched by your hand.

There’s a gust of cool air as you lift the sheet away from him, tossing it to the cold side of the bed and reaching down to his hair. He groans again, missing the feeling of your hand on any part of him, and he winces at the tug you give.

You’re pulling him up, wanting his lips on yours and for him to cover you. He obliges, pressing his lips to yours and grabbing at your thighs to lift around his middle. It would be embarrassing, how hard he is for you right now, pressed to your center and grinding against the slick that he left there, but he can’t care right now.

You want him, and that’s his priority; keeping you wanting him.

“Taste so sweet, baby. You want a little?” He says gently against your lips, pressing into your again and letting his tongue sweep into your mouth. You moan, a high and breathy sound that he loves. “That’s right, you like that, don’t you?”

He waits for your nod of approval, how you lunge for his mouth again and happily kiss his lips and jaw as he adjusts his hips to better line himself up with your center. “Joel, please, get inside me already.”

“Impatient.” He mumbles, smirking at you and tilting his head to bite at your ear. He knows you’re ticklish there, wanting to hear your laugh another time before he fills you and loses all sense of himself inside you.

He feels you tilt your hips for him, letting your half-lidded eyes meet his. The head of his cock weeps, aching to be inside you. Joel moves himself to let his head rest against your waiting entrance, beginning the slow slide in.

He can’t stop the thoughts in his mind, racing around in circle. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Once fully seated inside, you both groan in unison, his arms strained to pull away just enough to look down to where you both are connected. “Fuck.” He bites out, looking back up to your face and letting one hand rest on your jaw. “You’re so fucking perfect around me.”

“Joel, move honey.” You whine, reaching out to his shoulders and pulling him back to you. Your nails dig into the taunt muscle, the feeling soothing him.

Honey.

You don’t call him that unless you’re in a different headspace–where you forget the circumstances of why you’re here. It was difficult early on for Joel to get you to relax, even though the act itself made you like putty in his hands. No, he focused on you mentally relaxing, truly forgetting your worries. When you were like this, he could say what he meant. “You’re so perfect baby.” He strains, thrusting into you at a slow and methodical pace. His hips press into the backs of your thighs, his fingers holding around your jaw tighter. “So fucking wet, you wanted this, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this?”

You nod as he speeds up, the sound of your skin slapping against his now more prominent, the frame of the bed creaking quietly behind it. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He has to stop himself from saying it. The first time he had, he thought it would be the end of whatever the two of you had going. It had slipped out over six months ago, on your way out the door after riding him on the couch.

“I love you.” He had said quietly, watching you redress after climbing off of him.

You turned to him, a half smile on your face. “No, you don’t.” You said simply, waving at him and going on your way. He didn’t expect you to call him after that, and was shocked when just the next night you were on his doorstep waiting for him after work.

And now you’re below him, and just as every time before after that first admission, he wants to say it again. You’re crying out, asking him to come instead of announcing you’re going to, and he speeds up his movements. “You wanna finish around my cock?” He asks, his voice unrecognizable. “I’ll let you, go ahead baby. Let me see it.”

You nod, tears brimming your eyes again for a different reason than before. He feels you tighten in waves around him, sucking him in further as he tries to hold himself back. Joel continues to pump his hips, his lower back tingling with his own release ready.

“J-Joel–” you moan, digging your nails deeper into his shoulder. “Come inside me, pl-please.”

He grunts, forgetting himself and pushing forward with a whine he’s never heard leave his mouth. His eyes close as his come coats your walls, warm and welcoming of it. Joel rests his forehead against yours, sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin, smiling down at you and breathing heavily. “Fuck baby–”

“Don’t call me that, honey.” You tease, eyes fluttering shut and an award winning smile spreading across your face.

He pulls out, wincing at how tight you are around him still, resting on his side and letting his arm wrap around your middle. “Stay?” He asks quietly, watching you turn your head and opening your eyes to look at him.

You think for a moment. “I need to clean up, and then I’ll decide.”

He grunts in disapproval, letting you slip out of his grasp and step into the ensuite bathroom. The light blinds him briefly, your ass the only thing he can see as you lean over the sink to get a closer look in the mirror. Joel props his head up, watching as you push up on the balls of your feet to get closer, your arms coming out to the door frame and leaning over to look at him. “Do you have wipes?”

He had bought some after the first few times of you being there, asking every time if he had any. He had got you to say what brand they were, and he kept them stocked now. “First drawer on the right.”

You hum happily, pulling out a face wipe and turning back to him, watching him as you scrub at your forehead and cheeks. “Did you want to clean up?”

He shakes his head. “Want to keep you on me, if you don’t mind?”

You smirk, rolling your eyes as if you don’t care. When you finish, you flick the light off and walk toward the bed, Joel blinded briefly from the change in light. “Where’d you go, baby?”

“I’m here.” You whisper, shifting the bed as you climb in and pull the covers from the other side to cover you both. You’re still naked, now cooled skin against him. “I’ll stay, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” He whispers back, smiling to himself and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, enjoying how you snuggle into his body and neck, fitting perfectly with him. “I’d let you stay as long as you want. You know that.”

You sigh, circling your fingers against his chest hair. “What if…” you trail off, fear taking hold of your voice in a way that makes Joel uncomfortable. He squeezes an arm around you, waiting. “What if I’m too scared to have things change?” You whisper, tensing in his arms.

Joel remains relaxed, his mind swimming with I love you, I love you, let me love you. He sighs, pressing another kiss to your head. “I’m here for when you need me, if you want me.” He says quietly, feeling you relax in his arms again.

Your eyelashes flutter against his skin, your breath slowing down and becoming deeper. As you fall asleep, Joel swallows harshly. He’s here when you need him, and it was never going to change.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou

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ushiwhacka · 2 years

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time skip! ushijima wakatoshi + fem! reader | mdni | 1,127 words | established relationship, rough sex, creampie, cockwarming, ushi with a clingy girlfriend <3

“you’re just gonna leave like that?”

hand hovering over the doorknob, wakatoshi stops dead in his tracks at the sound of your voice, surprised to find you standing behind him with your arms folded across your chest and an expression that can only be described as petulant.

“you didn’t even say goodbye!” you whine.

ah. he takes a step towards you, and before you have a chance to complain further his hand settles in the crook of your neck. thumb gently rubbing circles into your delicate skin. “my love,” he’s so apologetic, so sincere even though he knows “i’m just going to the store.” you both know you’re just being a brat. but he can’t help it. you look too cute with your eyes closed and lips dramatically puckered, impatiently stomping your feet. his hand slides to cradle your neck as he pulls you towards him and slots his lips gently against yours. and though your attitude might be a bit sour, there’s nothing sweeter than the taste of you on his tongue.

“kiss me again.” this time it’s just a quick peck, barely touching as he tries to escape your grip. but you’re basically hanging off his neck, still pouting, still not satisfied. “again.”

“what is this one for?” the way his eyes soften melts your heart a little.

“damages.” you quip. “because you forgot.”

and you’re gasping as his body crashes against yours, large hands catching you by the waist, guiding your legs around him. “i’m sorry,” close enough to share the air that you breathe before he pays his damages. firm and claiming, “i won’t do it again.” now you’re the one dumbfounded. limbs trembling and limp like jelly as he leaves your home with a soft smile and a promise to be back right away.

wakatoshi has learned that you’re clingy, and he doesn’t really understand. he has never asked anyone to share much with him. and he’s never given much of himself to anyone. and, well, no one has ever asked. until you asked, no, demanded. like the first night you spent together when you shoved your finger in his shoulder just moments after he had turned his back to you and demanded to be held. your hands wrapped around him and face nuzzling into his neck. mumbling something about how he’s so mean to just leave you like that. peppering little kisses down his throat until your breathing deepened. and the realisation that you’ve found comfort in him, his body going rigid at the very thought of disturbing your sleep. the months of back pain before he finally understood that you’d just wanted to be close, feel his skin on your skin, the warmth of his body, that was all the comfort you ever needed.

this unfamiliar feeling of being wanted and desired so greedily. after his morning run, salty with sweat and strands of hair sticking to his forehead. and, still, you make grabby hands from your shared bed, asking for a kiss to start your day, your due. sitting next to the sink, a coy smile on your pretty face, watching him shave because he looks so so handsome when he sticks his jaw out like that.

perched on top of him, your paws on his chest, pinning him down on the bed as if he’s prey. and the way you’re looking at him with darkened eyes, he just might be. insisting he lets you bite him. “i could just eat you alive.” fingers dig into muscles, squeezing around his pecs.

“then i would be dead and you would be sad about it.”

you scoff, “not if i just have a tiny little bite.” and your gaze turns calculating. “hmm, your thigh.”

“no, i need my thighs.”

“your butt?”

“no.”

ugh. “your cheek then.” wiggling your hips, preening and purring into his ear, mouth grazing over his cheekbone. so determined to get what you want. then sinking your teeth into the plane of his cheek when he doesn’t say no. not deep enough to leave a mark, but long enough so that his skin is slightly red and shiny with your drool.

you can feel his cock twitch against your clothed pussy as you lick over the bite mark, slowly and with intent. “ah!” you’re gasping and giddy at the thought of flustering him. “you liked that!”

“that’s not-”

“but you did!” there’s nothing to deny as your hand wraps around his cock. sitting so heavy and pretty against his abs. “are you hard?” he is, and you’re giggling.

acting so innocent as you move your panties to the side and rub his tip through your soaking folds. then slowly, too slowly, sink down his length, taking as much of him as you can. the flush spreads from his chest, to his face, to the tip of his ears. and he just looks so adorable underneath you. as you make him feel every inch of your pussy, hand still firm around the base.

gasping every time you go down a bit further. the way your lips part and eyes glaze over makes his balls ache. he lets you toy with him until he’s heard one too many “baby, i can feel you here,” as you drag his hand up to your belly button, “in my tummy.” and he loses all manners, ruthless in the way his hips are rutting up into you. fast enough to make you grab onto his shoulders, and brutal enough to have you drooling on his chest. words long replaced by tiny sobs and some incoherent form of oh my god, ’s too much repeated over and over and over again. helpless against the strength of his grip.

your little pussy spilling with his cock and cum that it’s all dripping from the sides. and even as you lay on top of him, motionless and sticky and sloppy, you won’t let him pull out, walls tightening around his sensitive length at every attempt. because you need to feel him go soft inside you, to feel so close and so full of him until you doze off in his arms.

then he finds himself being away from you for the first time. and the silence that should feel peaceful is suffocating. and shaving his face feels pointless when you’re not there to ogle him. the spacious bed feels a little cold and very empty. and he decides to ask. phone in hand, a strange anxious feeling swirling in his stomach, hoping that you’re awake. the relief that washes over him when he hears your voice. his shirt on you and his pillow in your arms, whispering about your day like it’s some great secret. and he learns something about himself that night. maybe he’s also clingy.

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x you #ushijima wakatoshi x y/n #ushijima smut #ushijima fluff #ushijima wakatoshi fluff #ushijima wakatoshi smut #hq smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you

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fuzybby · 3 months

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Jealousy

Gale x F! Reader

Synopsis: Gale's jealousy gets the better of him, for lack of better words.

CW: possessive language. creampie and talk of creampie. rough sex. mage hand.

It was a harmless compliment.

A nice, “You look ravishing today” thrown towards the cold blooded vampire that set your love's jealousy aflame.

So now, here you are, trapped underneath Gale as your hands are held high above your head with a mage hand, sinking further into the lush bed as he ruts into you like an animal.

He had put his hair up in a half bun, only the small pieces of hair right at the bottom spilled out from behind his shoulders, cascading down towards you. You watched as a single bead of sweat trickled down his neck, wishing that you could lick it and taste him.

Turning his head up to the ceiling, his eyes scrunched shut and his mouth came open in a silent moan. You watched his Adam's apple bob and wished you could move even just slightly so you could drag your teeth against it.

But with his hands holding your waist down, and the mage hand on your own hands, you were secured to the bed. The hot bed with slick sheets. You try to arch your back to get it to cool down, the bed underneath you only providing more heat than you can handle.

“Gale,” You sighed, your voice high pitched as a certain thrust left you breathless.

“Hm?” He answered, tilting his head back down to watch your expression.

Your face continued to twist into pleasure as you tried to find the words you were looking for. “It’s hot.” Was all you could come up with.

Gale smirked, slowing down his pace slightly. “I know I am, baby.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, one that was quickly replaced by a whine. “No, no no, the bed, the bed is hot.”

Gale hummed, almost too quiet for you to hear. He took his cock out of you slowly before flipping you over, bringing your hips up so only your chest and head were on the bed. “Better?” He asked sincerely.

You nodded your head, holding onto the sheets above your head as your body got used to this new position, your back was now finally hit with some cool air.

You whine, feeling your lover re enter you from behind. He doesn't start slow, he continues the fast pace he was at originally.

“Slow down,” You huff, wanting to move your arms and grab at him. Wishing to touch your handsome wizard. He's never been this rough with you before, always wanting to keep it slow and sensual.

“Don't tell me what to do.” He responds sternly, grabbing a fistfull of your hair to hold. “I am doing this because you are mine, you belong to me and me only.”

“Yours.” You whisper, splitting into a fucked out grin as you are reminded that you are his, and he is yours.

Gale groans from behind you, letting go of your hair to hold back onto your waist. “I am the only one who shall fill your heart, and fill your pretty cunt with cum.”

His thrusts are merciless, and you can feel his balls smack against your clit every time he pushes back in. Concentrating hard enough, your thighs begin to shake as an orgasm starts to climb its way through you.

“I'm gonna cum,” You moan, gripping the sheets tightly as your whole body tenses. Your orgasm rips through you, coursing your veins as you scream into the sheets below you. Your body writhes and shakes, your toes curl as pleasure takes over your entire being.

Your wizard groans, clearly happy with the show you've put on for him.

“Should I cum inside you my dear? Have you earned it?” He taunts, digging his nails into your flesh.

“Yes! Yes please! I'm yours and only yours!” You cry, throwing your hips back to meet his never ending thrusts. Overstimulation keeps your body tense.

Gale smirks, and gives your ass a small and gentle pat, “Good girl.” He says.

Letting out his own moans of pleasure, his own orgasm approaches quickly. Emptying his thick load inside of you as he doubles over, biting your shoulder to try and muffle some of his own noises.

Finally coming to, he lets go. Letting you fall limp to the bed as his soft cock falls out of you.

Gale chuckles, “Sorry.” He sighs. His eyes lingering on all of the lovebites he has given you.

“That was probably the best orgasm I've ever had.” You laugh, closing your eyes with a smile.

“Glad to be of service.” The wizard smiles.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #baldurs gate gale #gale of waterdeep #gale x reader #gale smut #bg3 gale #gale x tav #gale #gale x reader smut #bg3 smut #gale x tav smut

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emjiroki · 6 months

Text

☆Part 2☆

Original Post Part 1

Warnings: biting/marking, breeding mentions, CNC, yuuji fluff at the end

"I- Y-Yuuji" you stammered, shivering against the hard body behind you as he dragged his pointed nails along your side, moving up to grope your breast over your shirt.

"No no no little bunny, you're in my hands now," he purred, gathering your hands behind your back, "address me correctly".

"S-Sukuna" you whimpered, a tremor running up your spine as he sucked up a dark bruise against your throat.

"That's right" he said with a chuckle, "and it's the only name you'll know once I'm done with you".

You gasped as he turned you to press face first into the couch, your cheek against the cushion as he mounted up behind you, sliding his thickness in deep with a fluid thrust of his hips. You squealed as he bottomed out, the crown of his cock kissing your cervix. The couch creaked and groaned with every savage movement, your moans muffled into the cushions.

"This couch is too fucking small" Sukuna growled, swiftly pulling out and gathering you up in his arms to carry you to your bedroom, throwing you down onto the mattress before shouldering between your legs.

Your face burned as his deep wine colored eyes gazed between your thighs, his face lowering to bump his nose against your clit and drag his tongue along your slit, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest.

"Now I see why you're in this kids every thought" he said with a wicked grin, "this fat pussy is too sweet not to think about".

Your face burned deeper at his roundabout compliment, a soft gasping whine breaking from your lips as he suckled around your clit for only a moment before he grasped your thighs and lifted until your ankles were by your ears.

The hunger in his eyes had your heart pounding, looking more like he was going to devour you whole. He tapped his cock down against your clit, his mouth moving down to your calf and sinking in his teeth. When he didn't get the reaction, he wanted he slapped his hand against your ass, leaving a red mark in his wake.

"Please," you cried out, your pleading tone seemingly pleasing him.

"That's right, beg for me,Feed me your desire," he growled, "I want to relish in every sound you make, every squeal and every moan."

Without another word, he was sinking in deep, your breath catching as he pummeled in past the soft spot Yuuji usually hits. You watched him bite back a deep sound, his fangs tugging at his bottom lip as your walls convulsed around him. You could feel every ridge and vein along his shaft as fucked into you slow, seeming to savor the pleasure scorching through him. Your brain felt fuzzy at the sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking him in, mewls and moans spilling from your drooling lips nearly overshadowing the creaking of the headboard as Sukuna wrapped a strong hand around it.

The splintering of the wood had your eyes snapping open, Sukuna's hips never stilling as he threw the piece of the headboard he had torn off onto the floor with a growl.

"Cheap mortal crap, my bed was made from stone and furs" he said, replacing his hands on your thighs to keep you spread, "a much better place to breed you full of my spawn, but I suppose this will make do".

"Sukuna fuck" you whined, right on the edge of orgasm as your legs clamped down against his shoulders.

"If you're going to cum, to do it, I won't give permission twice".

Your eyes rolled back as your walls squeezed him, a debauched high-pitched moan flooding the room as you creamed around him. A shiver ran up your spine as you felt his warmness fill your belly, a savage bite to the plush of your thighs and a stifled groan being the only indicator that he reached his peak. You breathed a soft sigh, relief rushing through you at the thought of Yuuji coming back.

"Oh, missing your boy toy already?" Sukuna crooned, condescension dripping from his dark tone as he let your legs down only to flip you over onto your stomach, caging you in with his muscular thighs as he rutted his still throbbing cock against your ass, "the first pussy I've had in a thousand years isn't getting away so easily little bunny".

He threaded his fingers through your hair and tugged as he leaned in close, "we're done when I say we're done".

Exhaustion was over taking you, your eyelids have as your pussy throbbed and your legs cramped, Sukuna's cum leaking out onto the sheets between your legs when you suddenly felt Yuuji's warm hands touching you.

"You okay?" He asked quietly as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder.

"Yeah" you croaked, your voice hoarse.

"Want me to start the shower?" He asked, tracing the bite mark on your shoulder. You nodded, giving him a kiss before he left the bed.

The warm spray of the shower seemed to bring you back to life, along with Yuuji kissing and sucking against your skin tenderly.

"I really don't know what happened, I guess I just lost control of him for a minute" Yuuji said, his eyes wracked with guilt.

"Really love, it's fine," you promised for the tenth time, even though you flinched when he touched the bruises. It had been seven pm when the switch happened and now it was four am, to say you were tired was an understatement.

"The way she was screaming for me I think she enjoyed herself" Sukuna's voice spoke from Yuuji's hand, "get used to it, this won't be the last time".

Yuuji leaned over and pumped a squirt of body wash into the curses open mouth, Sukuna splattering for a moment until he disappeared.

"Pain in my ass" Yuuji muttered, helping you wash your hair. You laugh together for a moment, until an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. You really hoped you wouldn't have to give Yuuji a positive pregnancy test in a few months.

#sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #yuuji itadori #yuuji itadori smut #em writes ✍#em talks 👄#enjoy part 2

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Text

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

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

WORDCOUNT: 7.1k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, violence, swords & firearms, abductions, hurt/comfort, torture references, nakedness, needles, gore, etc.

A/N: Alright, and that's a wrap on this mini-series. Biker/mechanic!Ghost is next on the list.

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

You hit the water and immediately push back to the surface, ignoring the burning of your open wounds.

“John!” Your high and panicked call can’t be heard above the yells to arms and the distressed wails. “What are you doing?!” Bodies get chucked from the side of the ship and all you can do is watch as they meet the water around you—skin cut open and eyes dead.

While the sea was numbing your pains, your heart was hurting enough for all of them; hands flailing to try and help keep you above the waves. But everything was so dark, only the light far above giving you a sliver of perception.

“John!” You scream again, eyes snapping back and forth along the ship. Your arms burned with heat.

“Go!” The words ring out and make you cringe, graveled and ragged—an order. But how could you? Vile grunts and skin meeting skin sound out, no more shirking blade edges or the boom of pistols. Fists meeting ribs, bared teeth.

“The Mermaid was wearing tags! He’s part of the King’s forces!” The leader. “If we can’t have the beast, we’ll have the coin from a turncoat!”

“Deserter!”

“Traitor!”

“Tie him to the post!”

Your ears twitch and pull at the horrible words, lungs near hyperventilating and black waves going red. If you weren’t able to ingest water, the way your head was slowly sinking would have left you sputtering and choking.

What will they do to him? Why can’t I help? It was the only part in your life where you regret having a tail, because now you can’t save John in the same way he saved you. Your eyes lock helplessly to the upper deck, far, far above. You can’t drag yourself up or even find the energy to stay above water.

Your strength was waning quickly—you needed to be tended to; healed. But it felt worse than a betrayal to see not even a glimpse of John’s brown hair or his large arms. To not feel the hold he kept on you. You wanted his lips and his flesh to be pressed into you, to venerate your image as he always did.

A Hierei that worships at the shrine that is you.

“Curse you,” you say aloud to the men above. The ones that tie your raging love to a post; you hear his low growls and biting expletives like blades in their own fashioned way, the sea garbling your words. “Curse your greed and your violence!”

But no one listens, and with a heavy and weighed heart, you have to let your dead muscles rest as they give out completely against your will. Sunking under the battling waves, you feel like dead weight; no different than the various bodies around you that John had dispatched.

You felt useless.

Above you was John, being tied up and taken—taken to a King that wants your species dead. You don’t want to leave, but the current is snatching you away like seaweed, limp and broken. Whatever John had done to your wounds, the fabric of his shirt was holding fast to your shredded flesh, but it didn’t stop the agony or the inner conflict.

He was right above you…why aren’t you strong enough to help?

Your eyes flutter, hair and arms floating.

Everything grows dark, but John never once leaves your mind. Perhaps the Fisherman was worshiping you, but you did the same unto him.

The eyepatched leader’s words loop in your brain, paired with storm-blue eyes. Gentle praises.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Your body sinks with the rest.

—

The sand under you is coarse and dry as your eyes barely open, chest rising and falling but shakily, stuttering in its course. Small noises groan in the back of your throat, fingers like stones beside your face.

Everything hurts, but something has woken you up. Noises. Muttered speaking.

“Now why would she have these?” There was a moment of clinking metal and a low huff.

You groan louder and curl into yourself more, only to stop when the tears in your flesh pull. Your lungs inhale sharply.

“Oh, Christ,” the accented voice is smooth as it gets closer. “Easy, then, Ma’am. Shite, I was hoping you’d stay under a bit longer, I’m not bloody done yet.”

Forcing your eyes open, you hiss at the burn of morning light, laying on your stomach with…your brows tighten…were you wearing a tunic? A hand meets the back of your shoulder and you cry out, jerking.

“Woah!” More force is applied to keep you down but it only makes you struggle more. “Please, I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”

You stall at this revelation like a bird, panting. Muscles tight, you cautiously look over your shoulder to weakly stare at whoever this man was.

Brown eyes meet your own, and a dark-skinned complexion over an oval face. They blink at you with concern and hesitation, sparing only a nervous smirk and a chuckle. You stare widely, saying nothing.

“I…I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. Whoever got you,” this man trails off, glancing down at your tail. “Well, they did some proper damage.”

“Who are you?” Your voice is damaged from all the screaming you’d done, cracking and frail. You stifle a cough and survey the land with frantic snaps of your orbs. This wasn’t your cove.

Where were you? What had happened to the ship? To John? Your hand travels to your neck but lands on nothing. It’s like the world stops turning.

The necklace.

“My name’s Kyle, Miss, but I’m just as well off being called Gaz—” Your hand snaps to his shoulder, wrenching him down in a violent slam to the sand; with a shove of your ailing body, you cross an arm over his chest to pin him.

Brown eyes widen, and one hand easily raises in a placating manner. You don’t bother to look at the other, your head broken into bits of instances and images of horror.

“Where is it?” Your lips hiss out. You didn’t know you could make a sound like that.

Kyle, dressed in a fine outfit of a Bookkeeper, furrowed his brows at you. He didn’t look off-put by your brashness, or by the fact that you were of the Merfolk.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am…I’m not following. Where’s what, exactly?” There was a glinting at his throat, and you snatched at it with a glare and snarl of ‘thief’ on your tongue.

A blade presses into your side and you freeze. Kyle stares up at you with a frown on his face, body tight. “I think you should let that go, Miss, yeah?”

The metal discs are the same as John's, but they hold a different name entirely.

“Kyle Garrick, Sergeant, 141st company under the King.”

“One Hundred and Forty-First?” You whisper in a hushed voice and the blade loosens from you. Mouth opening and closing, you forget for a moment what Kyle is. Your eyes go glossy with hope. “You know John?”

Eyelids blink at you in astonishment and all at once the knife is sheathed at his hip once more. Gaz gapes, his slight stubble shifting on his face as he talks slowly.

“Yes, I do…how do you know the Captain? No offense, but I didn’t peg him for the type to run off with…well…” he trails, chuckling. “Not run exactly, then, is it?”

You glower and push back, flinching at your aches but waste no time in speaking frantically to the man as your tail flaps. If he was on the same ship as John was, they certainly knew each other well; Kyle had to assist you.

“Please, you need to help me,” The man’s face goes serious and he pushes himself up, “—there’s been a terrible event. John has been taken, don’t you understand?” Your hands grasp at his collar, forgetting to ask about the missing necklace in your mounting hysteria. “They took him. They’re bringing him back to the King and it’s all my fault!”

You don’t know if it’s the pain or the fatigue, but your emotions spill from you in droves, silver tears falling like drips from a blacksmith's smelter to the beach of this foreign place. Your body feels unable to hold itself up—so much blood lost.

Gaz gains a sheen of panic at your state, gripping your shoulders lightly above the given tunic.

“Now, now, Ma’am, steady. You’ve lost a lot of blood, eh? We need to get you sorted.” But internally your words disturbed him. John had been taken? His Captain? And he had known a mermaid?

“I don’t need to be sorted,” you mock, shaking him, “I need my John back! And you’re going to help me.”

Kyle gazes around awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to comfort you as his upper half gets forced back and forth.

“First,” he stops you with a firm squeeze on your shoulders, “we’re getting you stitched and wrapped, Ma’am. If what you’re telling me is real,” Gaz pauses, glancing at the sea lapping at your tail, “then I need to get in contact with the others.”

Your body slightly sags, panting and shaking. While you should have asked who the others were, your adrenaline was too great to allow you to think above the fact that Kyle was going to help you. He had known John—that was enough for you to know he was a good person.

“Easy,” the man mutters, face pulled in concern. There’s a moment of tense silence before Gaz shifts a hand to the pocket inside of his tweed frock coat, slipping to the side of his green notch vest. He blinks his brown eyes at you before he lightly takes John’s necklace from the depths of his clothes. Kyle presents them as your shoulders loosen with a small sliver of comfort. “I believe you were looking for this, yeah?”

He spares a friendly, boyish, smile.

Your fingers brush his as you delicately take the metal up, fingertips weeping with torn flesh. Staring at them, you bring the item to your lips and kiss it gently after a moment of agony, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, “you fool, what have you done?”

“I’ll be needing to move you, Ma’am,” Gaz clears his throat and looks back to the grass-coated road. The beach where you had washed up was near the bottom of a slight hill, and along with sand, there were a lot of pebbles. The wind was chilled. “I was just finishing up with a temporary binding when you woke. We can speak more when I get the larger wounds stitched.”

You see his gaze fall down you once more.

“I’d think there’s a lot to catch up on.” Shuffling John’s necklace over your head, you allow Kyle to take bandages from his Gladstone bag which he had brought down from the road with him. He says he found you on the beach unconscious not five minutes before you woke back up as he takes out John’s tunic strips before packing the wounds with fresh material.

“You stopped?” You ask quietly, body shaking. “Why?”

“Well, I left the same time that the Captain did,” he explains, looping fabric around your tail as you shudder and clench your teeth at the long cuts over your scales. Kyle spares you a glance before continuing. “Same reason too. The minute innocent beings were being hunted, everyone in the One Hundred and Forty-First deserted. They weren’t too happy with us, I’d imagine. I do what I can to help anyone, regardless of species.”

Gaz pulls back and finishes up, brushing his hands on his folded legs and sighing.

“We all separated and led our lives the best we could—got jobs, hid ourselves, the like.” While the story was fascinating, as John was rare to talk about the King or his service beyond a clenched jaw, you truly were suffering from blood loss.

Every moment it became harder to keep your upper-half vertical and your eyes open. Gaz’s words slurred in your eardrums as the sand under your hands got pushed back by pressure like a rock being dragged. Your head must have swayed, because the next moment you’re being lifted with a grunt and a steadying of feet.

“Can’t say I’ve ever carried a mermaid,” Kyle grumbles to himself, blinking down at your form as our head rests limply on his chest. “Certainly not one that knows Price of all people.”

You focus on your breathing as he ascends the hill, going slowly and holding your form tight so as not to drop you. While not John’s size by any means, the man was still strong in a more lean and lithe way where your Fisherman’s was upfront and bare with it.

You’re carried down the trodden path to a lone house on the upper hill above the water, small and quaint, it’s only a single square room.

Truly this event speaks to your luck—how on earth had you found perhaps one of the only men on the planet that knew John and sympathized with magical creatures?

Kyle sets you back on his bed softly, pillows pressed into indents of your head and cheek.

“Alright then,” he sighs, “let's get this figured out, yeah?”

You’re offered food and water, but all you care about is sleep. Your tail hangs off the end of the bed and your fins ache with torn skin. Without even looking at your scales, you know they’re damaged immensely. Most will be left with great scars.

Merfolk could be called vain in their lifetime, and the sentiment wasn’t entirely untrue. You were beings of elegance and beauty—ethereal lustfulness hardwired into your DNA. Image was important to you, and this loss was great.

But the loss of John hurt more than any torture someone could inflict on you; any wounds. You needed him back.

As Gaz prompted you to tell your story, which you did with failing consciousness, your hand traveled to your necklace to grasp it tightly. Lips quivering. When the first push of the man’s needle entered your hard flesh, you never even felt it.

—

You awoke for the second time, once more, to the sound of speaking.

“Well, he’s sure gotten up to it while we’ve been away! Fuckin’ bastard.” This accent didn’t belong to Gaz, and thus your eyelids pushed back with slight unease. Had John’s Sergeant sold you out? With a struggle, you blink back to reality only to find a pair of bright blue eyes stuck on you.

For a moment you startle, those shades so similar to John’s that for a moment you had forgotten what had transpired. Then the pain in your tail strikes up and you balk back sharply.

“Soap!” Gaz hisses, grabbing the large and built man away from the bed. “Get the hell away from her, would you? Christ, she’s been through enough without having to look at that face when she wakes up, Mate.”

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap, as he’d been introduced, was the epitome of a blacksmith—ash still on his square jaw and his large black apron tied at a stiff waist. His arms were as bulky as your head and while he was shorter than Gaz he made up for it in sheer muscle.

Blue eyes darken with annoyance before they swivel back to you, but they lighten just the same when they spot your fear-spiked expression.

“Sorry about that, Little Lady. Just curious, is all.” You swallow the saliva in your throat and turn to look at Gaz in question. “Not every day somethin’ like this happens.”

“Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish,” the man offers, rubbing at his neck apologetically. “Served with John and I. You can trust him.”

You blink and turn back to Johnny, and, sure enough, around his neck were the common silver discs that Gaz and John wore over the tunic and apron.

“A…” You try to remember what your Fisherman had told you about human customs. With a frown, you carefully extend a hand and hold it aloft while your tail rests and your other limb keeps you up. “A pleasure, Johnny.”

A wide grin meets your eyes and a hand is clapped into your own; shaking it firmly as yours remains limp.

“Ah, please, the pleasure’s all mine.” When his grip leaves you look down at the various stitches and thick wrappings around your body before thinning your lips and gazing back at Gaz. He stares and tilts his head when you lock eyes with him.

“Thank you, Garrick. I…I owe you a large debt.” He’s already shaking his chin at you.

“Negative, Ma’am,” Kyle denies. “The only thing we need to be focusing on is getting the Captain back. Simon should be along by the evening.”

“Sure the man’ll show?” Johnny raises a brow and stands to his full height, going over to the small table in the middle of the room and sitting down with a huff. He picks up a flagon and takes a sip of ale. “He’s far off cuttin’ stone.”

“I sent a rider out and said it was urgent. He should be getting it about now, yeah?”

“Well, hell, I’d sure hope so else we’re out of our favorite Ghost. Can’t have that.” You watch and stare at the ease these two converse with the other, years seem to bleed from their mouths like waves in water. They had it all figured out, and noticeably, they weren’t at all panicked.

“How are the both of you so calm?” You can’t help but ask. Brown and blue turn to furrow their brows at you.

“They took the bloody Captain. Only person worse than that to steal away would be Simon.” A chuckle. “I’m more worried about the bastards themselves than him.” And it was left at that.

At times throughout the day, Gaz would bring you bread to nibble on to help settle your stomach, water, and ale whenever you needed it. When the dryness of the air and the fireplace got too warm for you, Johnny would be the one to carry you down the hill to the water where you’d soak your wounds in the surf. In those moments you could finally take in the pure silence under the waves and let your anguish take hold.

But you always had to break the surface at some point, shimmy into the dry tunic that Soap offers with respectfully averted eyes, and let him carry you back with his bulky arms.

As it always did, the water let your wounds heal far faster than a man’s, though the aches were still intense.

John’s eyes would not leave you. His crown of stars or the lantern light on his face—the way he whisked you away from danger and put himself dead center into it. Keeping you to his large chest as he held aloft a sword in your honor.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Oh, and you loved right back and you hadn’t told him.

It’s hours upon hours later when the door is shoved open as you sit up in the bed; tail limp and dim on the floor below. You look up in shock at the man whose frame nearly takes up the entire doorway, shoulders wide and thighs vast under work pants and a large tunic, cowl over his head and clasped with a brooch at his left pec. Under shined a deep brown gaze and pale brows, but his entire lower face was covered by cloth.

Intimidating, his visible expression was entirely blank. You wondered if perhaps a vampire had walked into this place without proper entry, but then you remembered the man Johnny and Gaz mentioned.

Simon. Ghost.

Well, he certainly fits the part, stone dust on his clothes and large boots stacked with scrapes. A Stonemason.

“There’s the man!” Johnny exclaims, raising his hand which has another cup of ale in it as he’d downed the other some time ago.

“Where’s Price?” Deep was Simon’s voice, and he spares you a glance but nothing more. Gaze falling down your tail with hidden flickers of intrigue and wafting back up to stop at John’s necklace. His brows pull in as he turns.

“Gone—taken to the King,” Gaz explains from where he leans against the fireplace, face serious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunts, walking in and closing the door behind him. “Where was he last?” It’s mildly amusing to you that he doesn’t seem bothered or even surprised by a mermaid in Gaz’s home.

“Just off Harpies Nest,” Johnny pipes in, itching at shaved sides of his scalp. “Where the old beasts used to fly from.”

“I’m guessing she’s the reason for that, then?” Everyone was anxious to act, even you. These men were close, and while circumstance had forced them away from one another the loyalties still lay.

“Affirmative. Price’s been in good company, seems.” A stale glare is sent his way and he chuckles and puts up his hands.

“Is there anything we can do?” You ask, looking at each in turn. Seeming to still hold that ingrained ranking that all men in the service do, Johnny and Gaz look to Simon. Brown eyes blink slowly, turning to look at you in a narrowed thought.

After a while, he speaks in a monotone.

“They’ll be bringing ‘em to the castle to stand trial. We’ve already lost a day’s time and there’ll be no ship that can sail as fast as we need it to.”

“By land?” Gaz wonders. Johnny’s shaking his head.

“How do you expect we get the Lady through that?” Eyes turn to your lack of legs. Body stiff, you huff and grit your teeth. If they thought you weren’t going along, that was foolish of them.

“I can swim to the docks,” you pause, “but you’ll have to tell me the way, for I do not know it.”

John had talked about docks—places ships went to rest. You’re sure you can make it, even like this. You had to.

Johnny stares before he chuckles twice, sharing a glance with the others and motioning to you. “I like ‘er.”

Gaz and Simon look at one another with a side-eye, before Kyle sighs and shakes his head. Simon hooks his thumbs into his pants and huffs out, “Sure you’re up for that?”

“I’m helping John.” Pushing, you meet those brown eyes head-on and steel yourself. “I need him back.”

There’s no further fight, and Ghost takes everything you say at face value. “Fine.”

And that was that.

—

The plan was so stupid you wondered if these men had gone brain-dead, but inside the castle dungeons, John had no way of knowing that.

He frowned deeply as his pounding skull tipped back to connect with the cobblestone wall, blood dried over the right side of his face. A growl on his lips as the chains keep his hands high above him and hanging as his backside stays seated on the floor. His limbs had long since gone numb, circulation cut out in an uncomfortable state of numbness.

But inside of him, there was a sense of accomplishment despite everything. He’d gotten you away from dirty hands—away from hooks. Away from danger.

John could die happy with that.

On the ship, before he’d been brought to the castle, the crew had tied him to the mainsail mast with a ragged rope that had skinned his flesh in just minutes of the rocking waves. They’d taken his vessel as well, and all of his belongings were confiscated in the docks. From there it had been amused jabs at his stomach with fists and knife-throwing practice.

John had cuts along the sides of his arms and the meat of his thighs—clothes shredded and torn from blades. His forehead had a long gash from the scalp to the temple, dried now but pulling with red aggression.

The fisherman hums under his breath and thinks only of you.

It was a fact that you had brought music into his life; a melody of waves and scales that could not be denied. Songs that sounded like sea-foam and a lapping of a tail across the water. When he’d seen you that day from behind the black rocks, John had lost a piece of himself to your wide eyes and tilted head. That spark of connection.

He had never been so thankful for choosing a new place to cast his nets, because he’d unwittingly caught the greatest creature he ever could have—one people have been running after for years.

You.

John’s lips pull in a tiny smile, eyes going soft. Above him his chains rattle and his arms flinch, wounds burning, but for the life of him, he can’t stop smiling. Wherever you were, he hoped you were safe and that he gave you the best chance of survival. He hoped you could forgive him.

Footsteps echo off the ground, and John looks over to the iron bars of his cell stiffly, mask re-falling to his stern face like a curtain. Two guards in armor clink down the hallway, expressions hidden by hoods and cloth. One produces a rusted key from his belt and slips it into the door, the metal rattling as it gets forced back and forth until the telltale click signifies the opening of the lock.

“Finally letting me out, then?” John speaks dryly, voice holding a rasp.

No one answers, and soon John’s chains are dropped and his arms seized. Yanked up, the fisherman grunts in pain as his legs drag behind him across the cobble—being taken somewhere. Probably, if John had to guess, the noose.

Desertion isn’t something you can get out of shy of a life sentence; to hell or to a cell was entirely up to the King. And the King wasn’t entirely fond of John and his One Hundred and Forty-First.

John was forced out into the open courtyard, a dichotomy of brightly flowering bushes and expensive finery to the platform placed in the very middle. The brunette's lips thinned at the sight of the large and imposing body made of wood and rope belonging to the gallows, a grim reaper of earthly material. There would be no great fight from him, no roar of a death rattle, just a kicking of his feet and tight wheezes, but no more.

He knows his final thoughts will be of you—what you’re doing right now, how you’ll live the rest of your life. John hopes you don’t cry for him.

The two guards shove him forward, and already a crowd has formed below the viewing platform for the monarch himself, who sits in all of his finery. Wyvern leather for his gloves, unicorn horn for a scepter, and…John’s eyes go tight, scales that make up a crown of opal and gold. Vibrant scales.

Unmistakingly Merfolk, anyone who’s met one of the species would know it. It has the same shine as the one John holds in the pouch on his belt; the fisherman clings to the fact that, against all of it, you were still with him in even a small sense. You’d be with him.

So John grits his teeth and glares up to the dias defiantly as the guards hold him under the noose, shoving his head to the side to grab the rope. He feels no fear.

“Fuckin’ watch it, Muppet,” the fisherman hisses, snapping his head to the side to stare into the glinting brown eyes from under the hood. He pauses, brows furrowing. “What…?”

As his hands are forced behind him, they’re not tied as the excited murmuring from the crowd begins, the King’s forward-leaning attention.

They’re given a knife.

John hides his surprise and looks over to the other guard as he fits the noose over his neck. Amused blue, and around his neck the glint of silver discs.

“Oh, bloody hell, you’re takin’ the piss,” the former Captain growls lowly. He knows those damned eyes, just as he knows his former Lieutenant’s.

MacTavish and Simon.

“Chin up, Captain,” Johnny jokes under his breath hidden by cloth. “Show’s about to start. Let’s give ‘em a proper scare, yeah.”

Blue eye glare, but they lack the venom. A barred-teeth smile grows. How had this happened? Johnny steps back and goes to his side, the wood under their feet creaking. The crowd falls silent, looking to the King for the verdict.

The King’s fingers raise and John memorizes his face in that instant…because it’s only then that he sees Gaz.

Gaz, who was on the upper terrace of the courtyard’s walls, holding a musket with the stock trained to his cheek; body still and ready—tutored to a perfectly motionless trance. There aren’t any guards to be seen near him. It’s a moment of pure silence, a ruling energy. The crowd is waiting for the King to verbalize an answer that he’s never able to give.

As the monarch’s lips open there is an eardrum-bursting boom that shatters the call for John’s doom and instead spells his own in his very castle from one of his former men. A poetic ending, John would say, but he’s unable to verbalize it as he’s suddenly falling through the gallows hatch as Simon reems on the handle.

“Knife!” It’s all the Ghost yells in warning.

With a rush of air, there’s a split second to cut the rope before it breaks his neck, and with a snapping motion, John perfects it in an instant—instinct as sharp as any blade that could be put into his hand. He hits the ground with a loud grunt of pain and struggles to sit up until Johnny and Simon jerk at him from where they’d jumped down as well. Not a second too soon, as lead balls from rival guns were already hitting the gallows.

Not all the guards were dead, then, and apparently, the three had known that would be a possibility.

John would have to scold them later.

“What in the hell is going on?!” The fisherman barks, but he’s being dragged before he shoves their hands off of him and follows to where they beeline into the fleeing crowd.

“What?” Johnny belts out laughter. “No ‘thank you?’ We just saved your neck!”

“Left!” Simon shouts, and although John’s body can’t take much more, they all dart into the cover of the castle walkways. “Make for the docks—the Sergeant’s meeting us there.”

“Bloody fucking Christ!” John growls but quickly goes onto the most important topic. “She’s behind this, isn’t she?” Johnny’s smirk only confirms it.

“Proper girl you’ve got there, Gaz found her on the shore. Else we’d never have heard about it all before you were dead and gone.” John blinks at him. “Getting reckless without us, now?”

The former Captain ignores the remark. “Where is she?”

“Oi!” Ghost hisses, looking over his shoulder as the three hurry on as shouting rings from behind them. “Get your head in the game. Focus on not getting shot, yeah?”

Brown meets blue.

“You’ll see ‘er soon.” Simon ends, dead eyes shifting to a form that rampages through the hallway behind them. “Behind!” He calls loudly, and John ducks just as a knife is thrown with pinpoint accuracy. A sound of a body hitting the floor echoes over the distant screaming and calls of alarm.

The King is dead.

All of the men reach their destination by sheer luck and the knowledge of how to use a blade, cobblestone leading to open streets and back alleys. Finally, the wide stretch of sea was visible, and a shadow slinked out of a corner quickly.

“Hell,” Gaz blinks at them, “do you think I’ll ever be let back into the castle?”

Johnny pants a laugh. “You’ll be lucky to get into the province, ya sneaky Bastard. Fine fuckin’ shot.”

Simon looks at them. “Gaz, Johnny, get to it.”

They’re by the open water of the dock, long wooden walkways stretching out with ships shifting in the waves. John wonders if his boat is here in the back of his mind, but his eyes are already combing the waves greedily in search of you.

Were you here? Oh, he hoped you weren’t. You’d be placing yourself in the middle of a very real and present danger.

“Get to what?” John questions, looking at each man in turn. “What ‘ave you planned, eh? Seems I’ve missed the meeting where we decide to assassinate the bloody monarch in broad daylight.”

Gaz places a hand on his shoulder as he shimmies past. “Best to leave the heavy lifting to the ones who can stand fully, Captain.”

“Aye,” Johnny confirms. “You’ll want to be here more than anywhere, bet ya.”

Simon shares a look with the blacksmith and grabs John by one shoulder, leading him to the water as Johnny takes the other. The brunette blinks quickly in confusion and grunts an expletive.

“Get your hands off of me you pair of—!”

“Have fun!” Johnny and Simon both shove him into the water with a final push and dart off like wisps.

Water rushes into his ears, covering his head and soaking his clothes before it drags him under. John’s arms flailed to propel him back to the surface. A jolt later, his head is breaching the water with a venomous glare and a barked order on his lips to a vacant audience. The boys had already sprinted off to who knows where.

“Son of a…” John trials, weak legs kicking to keep him afloat. Something brushes his thigh as water drips from his nose, cleaning away the blood with a reddish tint to the liquid.

The fisherman startles, head snapping down just as your hands grasp at his abdomen, sliding up as you press your lips deeply into his in one swift motion. He gasps, grip instinctually moving to hold onto the small of your back.

You press into him tightly, pushing every emotion into the locking of your mouths with desperation and longing. Sighing deeply into the kiss, John melts into you as your tail brushes his legs, torn fins visible and shimmering stitches pulling at flesh. Scales glint somewhat brighter under the waves, water dripping along your shoulders and wetting your hair.

John brings you closer when he realizes it’s your form around him, eyes fluttering closed and fingers weaving behind the base of your skull. It’s as if the world stills for that quick and reverent second as if everything is right. The both of you break the kiss with soft eyes, and after a moment of staring your chest releases a chuckle; hands coming up to capture your fisherman’s cheeks, weaving through those beard hairs once more.

The brunette stares at you and lays his forehead into yours, not knowing what to say. A smile plays on his lips.

“...It seems my fisherman had more of a reckless side than I anticipated,” you speak for him, whispering into the air. Your eyes flicker over the cuts and bruises visible on his pale flesh and a flash of fear alights in your expression. “Oh, John…What have they done to you?”

“Just scratches,” the man reassures delicately. “It’s alright, Love. I’ll live.”

But you both know this conversation can’t happen here. With a few more pecks of kisses to his lips, you ask in an ethereal voice, “Do you trust me?”

Your hand is locked to his wrist, pulling him along the waters as your head tilts at him and tail sliding along his flesh.

John wastes no time. “Of course.”

Lips flicker to a small, loving, grin and then you drag him under the water.

—

“Do they hurt?” He asks you carefully, running a calloused hand along the tears in your fins you know will never heal fully. You sit on the rocks below Gaz’s home, the water still dripping off of both of your bodies.

Out farther in the water the three other men are sailing back in John’s fishing boat, a few minutes out. You blink down at him and move a hand to shift his jaw upward to you, humming.

“Not when you touch them like that,” confessing, you keep close to him, held tightly under the crook of his arm and breathing in that scent of rope and wood oil. You practically vibrate with comfort, all of your worries able to be put aside at last.

John looks down at you and chuckles, putting a deep kiss on your scalp and taking a deep inhale.

“Cheeky,” he teases. You smile.

“And yours?” Your voice speaks out in question as the water brushes your tail.

The man peels back to look down at you slowly. “Already better…I owe you, Sweetheart.”

Huffing, you shake your head, “You owe me nothing. The only reason you were there was because of me.”

John’s brows furrow, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your head back to him. He stares into your eyes for a long while until your face starts to heat with emotion, blinking up at him innocently. His blues dart over the healing cuts and marks with hidden emotion.

“I’d do it again,” John whispers. “A million times over, you hear? I’d be a bloody fool not to.”

He kisses you as you both wait in the setting twilight for the others, bloody and beaten—more scar tissue than anything else—but still your John.

“Thank you,” he mutters into your lips, and then again when he nips at your flesh. The man plays with his necklace at your collarbone as he traces patterns in your scales and smirks when you shiver.

He wonders how he got so lucky when the others anchor the boat near the shore, hopping off and wading the rest of the way to the beach. John kisses your forehead and says he’d be right back.

You watch him with glinting eyes as he walks over to his men, taking each in a heartfelt handshake and conversing honestly. Your eyes blink at the care they display for one another and raise a hand when they peel off, back up to Gaz’s home to rest.

They reciprocate and disappear atop the hill.

What’s he doing? You ask as you watch John climb aboard his vessel and rummage around his fishing barrels, opening some and tossing the tops to the deck. Hands shifting along the rocks, you can’t hide the amusement or affection in your eyes at the sight of his ramping annoyance. What was he looking for?

Your fingers go up to play with his necklace and watch.

You can’t say you feel much heartache at the loss of your cove—even with the king dead, you were still hunted for your scales—though you had grown to see it in a new light. The place was only a home when John was there, and you knew wherever you went as long as he was there it would be alright.

The both of you wouldn’t let anything happen to one another.

John comes back carrying something tucked in cloth, a small parcel held in one hand and longer than it is wide. Your interest is immediately piqued, curiosity straining your eyes.

He holds it out to you with a mischievous glint and a smirk.

“Go on,” John motions. Blinking at him, your brows furrow as you carefully take the item from his hands, settling it in your lap before you shift the cloth away.

Your fingers go to cover your mouth, small gasp entering the air.

It was a golden box, engraved with movements that resemble lace and waves—shimmering in the low light.

“John,” you stutter, “what is…?”’

“Open it,” the man insists, kneeling down in front of you as if his muscles didn’t ache. “It’s the reason I was late that day.” John grunts, rubbing at the bottom of his beard and watching intently; crinkles beside his eyes.

You stare for a moment with burning tear ducts before you grasp ahold of the lid and open it after running a digit over the make.

Inside sits blue velvet and, strangely, your own scales, but atop that…the blinding gold of a pair of twin cuff bracelets—stones the same shade as your tail. It was perhaps the most elegant piece of jewelry you had ever seen.

For a solid minute you’re rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing as your tail hangs limp in the low tide. Chucking, John takes the pieces out and your ears twitch to the sound of your scales clacking together like glass.

“Why would you…” You can’t make sense of it.

John slips them over your wrists and you gape in wonder. They fit just perfectly.

You look up into your Fisherman’s face and feel tears drip down your chin. A hard hand comes to wipe them away as you laugh through a sniffle.

“Do you like them, then, Love?” He asks lowly, beard pulled back in a smile.

“Yes,” you say immediately, giggling. “How could I not? John, they’re lovely. Far too beautiful for me.”

The former Captain grunts and his brows pull in, frowning. “Now why would you say that?” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Can’t make me change my mind on that, eh?”

Your eyes bore into him, lips parted. After a moment your face feels like it’s on fire and you cover your cheeks.

John laughs loudly, grabbing your arms and lightly squeezing the flesh before taking your grip back down to your lap. You smile so widely you’re afraid your face might crack open.

“No need to hide,” he hums. “Let me see that face.”

“You’re good to me, John.” His face softens, wrinkles fall away, and his chest swells with pride. You kiss his lips and whisper, “I bare my soul to you.”

It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ but something far more precious.

The man’s face deepens with devotion, gruff figure more than easily leaning over yours as you’re carefully laid back to the tiny pebbles behind you—a hand behind your head and at the swell of what would be a hip.

In the darkening night, the sun shines its dying light across the waves just like the extending fingers of John’s firm grip; dragging you into him as sea-currents would. Wrapping you both in kelp and a salty grave. His voice is the grating of sand, the slide of a rope across a wooden deck.

“Then I’ll take care of it for as long as I live.”

Your fisherman damns you to a crypt of land and air, and you couldn’t worship it more. To live and to die beside him is to have existed just as you should have.

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sarahscribbles · 5 months

Note

I would like to present to you a concept called Loki’s Biting Kink. he wants to be bitten so fukn bad oh my god. not like, a skin-ripping chomp, but if his lover sinks their teeth in just enough to bruise him or even draw a bit of blood, he’ll praise them like it’s his job.

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 (?)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖𝟖𝟒

𝐀𝐍: 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You hadn’t fully understood the concept of a safe space until Loki. Often, you had inwardly laughed at friends and colleagues who called their partners their “home” or their “heart.”

It had baffled you how they could view a person, a simple human being, as something so profound.

Now, though, as you straddle Loki’s lap after over a month apart and bury your face in his neck, you finally understand how a person can be home. The scent of him wraps itself around you like a blanket; bergamot and clove and something pleasantly sweet is the perfume of your heart, and the scents you’ll forever associate with being safe and loved.

“You’re so perfect,” you whisper softly, trailing your lips across his collarbone in a haphazard pattern of kisses. “My perfect, beautiful boy,” you continue, punctuating each word with another kiss to his bare chest.

He’s barely been back from Albania for an hour, but you’ve already half stripped him and twisted yourself around him on the sofa. While you had once thought it a ludicrous and sentimental ideal, you now realise that your home has two arms and a heartbeat. It has hands that have never faltered in loving and protecting you, and lips that have kissed away your deepest worries.

Your home is Loki.

His deep laughter vibrates through your chest and you can’t help but smile. “Darling, anyone might think you were in love with me,” he teases and runs his hand along your naked back.

You sit back in his lap to meet those sparkling green eyes. They’re dancing with humour and love and a softness that’s reserved solely for you. Despite the time that’s passed since you and Loki became “official” your heart still flutters in your chest.

“Perish the thought!” you tease him back, cupping his face in your hands and pressing your lips firmly to his. The kiss is slow and deep and makes something deep in your stomach stir to life.

Loki wraps his arms tightly around you, pressing you snugly against his chest so there’s no room to doubt that he adores you.

You let your lips linger against his as you break apart and bask happily in the gentle afterglow. Loki’s eyes are soft and dewy as they hold yours, conveying a million things that words never will. He curls his fingers around your wrists as your thumbs stroke his cheeks, gently moving one to his lips to press a soft kiss to the heel of your hand.

It’s love that burns fiercely through your blood. Love so deep that you know you would give your life for him if the need ever arose. You would do anything, anything, to keep this man safe.

With a contented hum, you dip back below Loki’s jaw, pressing the same trail of kisses along his shoulder. He so rarely lets you worship him, but tonight, he seems only too happy to submit to your affections. He sighs happily and rolls his head to the side to grant you better access, and, as you inch along his skin, the familiar scent of him invades you once again.

It’s heady and wonderfully intoxicating and it stirs something possessive to life in the deepest recesses of your mind. It feels almost primal and, before you can fully comprehend what you’re doing, you sink your teeth into Loki’s shoulder. It’s hard, but not so much so to be uncomfortably painful, just enough that you know a bruise will blossom there in the morning.

Your claim on him.

He tenses beneath you and you hear his breath catch in his throat. You feel him go completely still, until the only sign he’s alive is the steady thump of his heart.

You panic.

You pull back frantically to look at him. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I should have asked. I should -,” you try to apologise, but Loki pulls you in for a kiss so deep you feel it all the way in your toes.

His soft breath of laughter tickles your nose when he pulls away, and you’re surprised to see the faint dusting of pink that’s now painting his cheeks. “I’m…I’m a little embarrassed to admit that…that…” He trails off and looks at you.

This perpetually composed god, this man who has looked his tormenter right in the eyes, is speechless beneath you and it only takes half a second for the pieces to slot into place.

“My love, you don’t need to be embarrassed by the things that arouse you,” you say softly, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek and smiling when he leans into the palm of your hand. “And, as far as kinks go, this one is pretty tame.”

You feel him relax beneath you and his arms snake to encircle your hips. “I adore you, do you know that?”

You lean in to nudge your nose against his. “I do,” you say, giving him another brief kiss. “How about we go somewhere a little more comfortable? Maybe I can awaken something else in you.”

“My little minx,” Loki teases, but then stands up so suddenly that your arms and legs are quickly locking around him for purchase. “But I’ll grant your wish, dove. Tonight, I am completely at your mercy.”

#loki #loki x reader #loki smut #loki fluff

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sexlapis · 1 month

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ᡣ𐭩 nanami x gn!reader

nsfw drabble. no sex - just spanking, soft dom!nanami, gentle “brat” taming, d/s dynamics, praise, petnames, reader is stressed & anxious, crying (not sad)

-> synopsis: sometimes you just need a good ol’ spanking!

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i rushed this a lot, i was tired and wanted to post. this is filth and sweetness <3

masterlists

a gargled groan crawls up your throat as you fiddle with the top button of your crisp, white shirt, biting the inside of your cheek and throwing your head back.

nanami, sitting right beside you, gives you a look.

the first warning.

“now, what’s that for?”

you huff, purulent, sagging into the plastic seat and crossing your arms tightly over your chest. you pout.

in the back of your mind, you know you are being irritable, but you cannot help it. the white lights in the room are far too loud, the whirling of the air conditioner rings in your poor ears and the shirt that graces your body is too tight too tight too tight.

“my shirt is too tight.”

nanami sighs.

he looks good today. not that he doesn’t usually, but this was something else. his three-piece suit is a dark navy that’s snug on him, fitting him almost too well. your eyes trail down to his slacks - tight over his thighs and the bump of his bulge does not go unnoticed. one single strand of blond hair hangs over his forehead. it makes you dig your toes into the soles of your shoes.

the meaning of this meeting you and nanami are attending? you have forgotten. in fact, you don’t think you even knew in the first place. probably just some bullshit complaints about your teaching methods or your blunt nature. or both. when you learned that just nanami was going to be there with you, thinking was a foreign concept. because you know he would handle it all for you.

he glances at his phone, reading a notification. “i thought you said you wanted to-”

“‘wear the green one’, yeah, well that just didn’t happen, did it?”

nanami glances at you again, squinting slightly.

a second warning.

“what have we said?” nanami asks, moving closer to you. “what do we do when we’re stressed?”

“…we take three deep breaths and stay grounded in our surroundings…”

he speaks the last part in unison with you, nodding with just a small smile on his lips. “that’s right. how about we try that, see how you feel? hm?”

“ugh!” your upper body quite literally collapses onto the table. knots thaw in your chest, your hands are clammy and your heart bangs in your ear. “I don’t wanna do that crap anymore! i’d-”

the sentence barely even leaves your mouth.

hands are on your biceps in a second, essentially dragging you up out of your own seat, a gasp just leaving your mouth as you’re dragged out of the meeting room and into the nearby restroom.

the ordeal is so fast, so quick you feel winded. before you know it, you face the mirror, heavy breathes leaving your soft lips. your hips are pressed up against the ceramic sink, your fingers clutching onto the rim to stabilise yourself. nanami larger stature stands behind you, looming over, his arm wrapped around your waist keeping you still. if he’s worried or cautious about anyone walking in, he does not show it on his face or in his actions. he leans down, lips to your ear.

“what did i say? you know what the rules are.”

you whine, teeth gnawing on your poor bottom lip, looking down at your own fingers. your body is winded up, tight and tense like a spring, unable to get it to relax and give in.

your leg shakes.

nanami’s big hand slithers down your arm, cupping over yours, “the rules are there for a reason. to help you, to keep you safe. you know that. look at me please.”

you look to him immediately despite your previous disobedience. you can’t help it, can’t help but do everything he tells you. nanami is safe, he is comfort, protection and guidance. he’s what you need.

his umber eyes meet your glossy ones, gentle yet stern. soft yet firm. by this point you already know what is happening, feeling your mind and body already sinking into the place where no worries or fears are present.

nanami hums, caressing his thumb over your cheek, almost losing his mind at the dazed look in your eyes. his hands slide down further, to the front of your trousers, fiddling with the button, “i know just what you need, sweetheart,” the button is undone, along with the zip, “…just what you need.”

your knees knock together, trapped by your trousers and underwear as you are bent over the sink slightly. you moan at the position change alone.

“hmm…” nanami looks downwards, biting his lip as he admires the bare flesh of your ass, soft and just waiting to be tainted red by his calloused hands. he shifts, standing adjacent to you now.

he does not bother to warn you before he strikes.

the first one has you crying out into the empty restroom, lurching forward and clawing onto the counter. it is sharp, sudden and hard, the string already prevalent, the control you once held over your mind rippling away and all you want is more.

“that’s one,” nanami states, groping your raw cheek with one hand, “look at you, already so responsive and we’ve barely even started...

he checks your face, eyes closed, mouth open, already gone, head in the clouds from that one hit alone. “tell me your colour, sweetheart.”

“green…’s green.” your voice is breathy, weak like your limbs. being at nanami’s complete mercy, under his guidance and control does that to you.

“good. you’ll tell me if that changes.”

what follows next is a series of swats and slaps, not too hard but with just enough force for you to know that you will feel sore for a couple of hours.

each strike leaves you breathless, frazzled, your grip on the counter the only thing keeping you from going insane as the ache at your core only grows and grows. the swats are loud in the quiet of the bathroom, the sounds making your face warm and arms wobble. your falls forward between your shoulders.

it does not help that nanami keeps on talking, more than he usually does in situations like these. he rambles on about how good you’re being, how well you’re taking it for him, how soft you feel, how pretty you look with your teary eyes, how sweet you sound, how badly he wants to take you right in the restroom where anyone could walk in and see.

it’s clear that nanami is in a talkative mood.

“fuck, look at you…” he momentarily pauses his assault on your welted, reddened ass, gripping one cheek and pulling it to the side. “you’re perfect. so, so perfect.”

you grunt at his praise and your head swells up. the juxtaposition of candy-sweet words and his continuous cracks landed on the crux of your thigh and ass has your kind reeling.

small whines and whimpers escape your mouth, and with the single tear that falls down your face, nanami knows it is time to stop.

the last hit he lands is heavy, stinging, it has you garbling right as it happens.

more tears drip onto the counter as a sob takes hold of you. and then you’re being flipped around and into nanami’s embrace, prodding your face into his shoulder, trying to catch your breath and come down to earth.

nanami caresses the middle of your back, kissing the top of your head while he coos, “shh, sh, sh. you did so well. you’re so good for me, sweetheart…see how good it feels to take the edge off?�� he closes his eyes. “that’s all you needed, hm?”

you shake your head, not yes or no, but nanami understands all the same.

“yeah, i know, i know.”

you both stand like that for a little while, recovering from the scene you have had with him, soothing and shushing you until you’re back to him. it is only slightly awkward for you as your pants and underwear are still at your knees but whatever. you forgot that you are even in a public place.

“we should get back to the meeting.” nanami suggests, then looks at the watch on his wrist. “i think we’re the late ones now.”

you huff, chuckling a little. nanami pecks your lips and croches, pulling up your trousers and securing them around your hips. he fixes up your obvious ruffled, messy appearance, straightening your shirt and smoothing down your hair.

nanami holds your face in his hand, swiping away tears with his thumbs. he admires your wet eyes and bitten lips, thinking that you’re at your most beautiful when you look like this - blissed out and falling back down from your high.

“how do you feel?” he asks you.

it takes you a few seconds to respond, to find the words. “…’m good…yeah, i feel- i’m good.”

“alright.”

“i want to go home now.”

“okay.”

“i also want a lot of unhealthy food for my stomach.”

“you got it.”

nanami is smiling softly at you while you try to think of any more demands you may have. when it seems to be nought, he begins slowly guiding you out of the restroom, holding you close. he is warm.

you speak, “so not meetings today?”

nanami just sighs, shaking his head, half hearted, kissing the top of your head, “no meetings today.”

#nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami smut #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x gender neutral reader #nanami x gn!reader #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami smut #nanami kento fluff

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miseria-fortes-viros · 11 months

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he lets me hit bc i follow him around like a guard dog and i say stupid shit just to see him smile and i drive way over the speed limit bc he wants to so bad but he never will and i stay up with him when he can’t sleep and we share a carton of orange juice and he looks like a prince in the middle of a dollar general at three in the morning and he leans back on the headrest and the dashboard lights turn his throat green and the bite of possibility is so urgently present i can feel the teeth sinking into my throat and i wonder if mine looks green to him too if he’s even looking and the car is so quiet until he says when i’m gone dream me the world something new for every night and it rips my heart out of my chest because i want him to stay or i want to go with him i just want to be by his side and there are a thousand things i want to say but i don’t say anything i just want him to come back please come back i promise i’ll be better i. where was i going with this

#the raven cycle #ronsey #ronan lynch #richard gansey iii #helenaposting #they make me so insane i’m sorry #greatest hits #containment breach #barbi.trc

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knavesflames · 1 month

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Childhood friend Arlecchino and Reader that Arle never truly found her to be a friend, despite the reader saying they are and Arle did kinda ditch em during middle school. Until college rolls around, the newfound (or unrealized) sentiments towards Reader become more clear to her - infatuated.

I feel like I kind of strayed from this because I’m totally into angst rn but if wanted it to be sexual I can indeed make another part OR I can also make an even angstier ending. Anyway!! Here it is.

Contents: just sad reader, Arlecchino is lowkey mean in middle school, one (sexual) slap.

Word count: 1672

Writing (kind of NSFW at the end) under the cut!!

You skipped up to the small girl who sits reading on a bench, holding a small pile of rocks and a wide smile on your face. You don’t have many friends, you’re too quiet, too ‘weird’, so when you befriended Arlecchino, you actually began looking forward to school each day. It was almost too good to be true. She’s been a bit distant with you the last couple of weeks but that’s fine, right? She’s probably stuck into that book of hers, her nose has always been in a book or playing with insects.

“Look!! I found rocks that matched your eyes and I thought they were cool, you can-“

“Stop it.”

“..huh? Stop what?”

“Stop bothering me. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

You pause at that. In a sense, she is busy reading, but can’t she put her book down for two seconds? You haven’t properly spoken in weeks.

“Yeah but I was excited about the rocks. I can never find any that remind me of you and now I have.”

“Okay? I am still busy.”

“But we’re friends.”

A sigh leaves Arlecchino’s lips, and she finally looks up from that book.

“No, we aren’t. When did I ever say we were friends?”

You feel your shoulders sinking, a frown tugging at the corner of your lips. Your hand falls to your side, the rocks held tightly within the constraints of your fist.

“No, I.. you didn’t, but I just assumed that.. I don’t know. I thought we were friends.”

“You assumed wrong. I don’t like you anymore, you’re weird, and you never stop talking. I don’t want to talk.”

Your cheeks puff slightly before you let out a puff of air. Your teeth graze your lip, biting down firmly as you stand there in silence, processing. Weird. There’s that word again, no? You feel a sort of pain rise in your chest, but you swallow it.

“Okay. I’m sorry. You can keep the rocks.”

The rocks are placed onto the table beside her, an assortment of black and white and grey all decorating the rocks. And one, one black one with a red cross on it, clearly drawn. You just wanted to make her feel included, everyone was finding rocks that matched their eyes. You keep staring at her for a while longer, but she doesn’t look back up, so you turn.

“I’ll tell my mom you can’t come for dinner, then.”

Arlecchino finally looks up when she hears that. God, she hears the hurt you’re masking, the tears threatening to spill over your lashes. She shouldn’t have been so crass with you, she knows that, but that’s who she is. Blunt, and she was sick of having to pretend. She watches as your figure shrinks towards the school library, where she first met you. You didn’t have any friends, so you ate there. It was better than sitting at that dreaded buddy bench and waiting for someone to ask you to be their friend. As you walk, you pass said bench, a feeling of slight dread rising. To the library, then.

It’s then that Arlecchino notices the rock you drew on, her face softening for just a second. She brushes the rocks off of the table, pocketing the one you drew on before continuing her book without a word. She moves seats in class after that, and she’s not unaware of your eyes that burn sadly into her as she picks up her books. They’re rimmed red and slightly glassy, and it stabs her heart. You two never talk again after that. She goes back to being the girl at the back of the class that enjoys being alone, that enjoys the misconceptions people make about her. You sit in the middle of the class, staring down at your textbooks, silently yearning to be part of the conversations the kids around you have.

Each year passes and both of you grow older. She kept that rock, it’s in her pocket always. It’s become some sort of lucky charm for her, and god she can’t help but stare at you in class as you become more beautiful with every passing year. By senior year, you’re the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen. She can’t stop thinking about you. She finds herself stalking your social media when she’s at home, her finger always hovering over the like button, her fingers always hovering over the send message button before deleting the entire paragraph. She knows you’re both off to college soon, she’ll most likely never see you again, and yet she still can’t bring herself to admit her feelings. She can still see the hurt in your eyes from that day, the way you dismissed it like it was nothing only to cry in secret after. She dreams of you at night. Dreams of how she regrets what she said and the way she said it, dreams of her holding your hand and looking at rocks together, dreams of your whimpers as she fucks you. She hates that last dream. The dream that gets stuck in her brain constantly, so much so that she nearly failed her biology final. On graduation day, she makes a promise to herself that she’ll never think of you again.

But she does. Fast forward to junior year of college and you’re walking with your headphones on, looking down at your phone until you collide with someone, a harsh “watch it” in your ear.

“Sorry! I’m sor- ah. Sorry.”

You look up into the same red and black eyes you once considered a friend. How stupid. Out of all the colleges she could have possibly chosen, she chose the one you chose too.

“It’s fine. Just.. Watch it. You’re as clumsy as you ever were.”

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t looking.”

Arlecchino swallows the nerves rising in her body and finally makes a conversation with you, her voice blunt, awkward.

“How have you been?”

“Fine, thank you. You?”

She scowls slightly as your dismissive tone reaches her ears. You were never like this before.

“Good. I’m good. What are you majoring in?”

“I’m going into geology.”

Of course it’s geology. She didn’t expect anything less from you, really.

“Fun. I’m going to study insects.”

“Go figure.”

“I’m sorry. For what I said back then. I know I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“You cried.”

She has you there. She saw your eyes when she moved seats in class, it wasn’t exactly easy to hide the redness. You pause, not saying anything for a while.

“We weren’t friends. We aren’t friends. What does it have to do with you?”

“You were lonely and it made me rethink.”

“Weird people are meant to be lonely, don’t you think?”

You’ve carried those words with you ever since. It didn’t really matter when other children called you that, but the one person you considered a friend.. well, it hurt.

“I just.. didn’t appreciate the eccentricity. That’s all. I miss you.”

“Okay.”

“I dream about you.”

“It isn’t like you to be this emotional. Do you feel guilty because I was lonely afterwards or because you want to clear your conscience?”

“Both.”

As honest as ever. You take a deep breath, the music still playing in your headphones that now hang around your neck.

“We can talk in my dorm room.”

You turn on your heel, walking straight to the block of dorms. At least she’s not in the same block, she thinks. She can at least avoid you if this goes bad. The thought of going to your room though.. her dreams of fucking you have only come back, and stronger. Your room is cozy, so very you.

“Is that.. KISS?”

She points to the poster on your desk. She hates that she’s familiar with them, because she hates that she’s more like you than she could ever want to be.

“Yep.”

“I like them too.”

She gingerly sits on your bed, letting her bag drop with a thud. As you walk over to join her, in all your clumsy glory you kick the bag by mistake as you stumble over it, watching as the rock you once painted on tumbles out. Silence.

“You still have that.”

“I never got rid of it.”

Her heart beats faster. So does yours. Your face, so beautiful in the light of your room, the way your hair shines, the way your eyes have a mix of sadness, anger and happiness in them, all of them fighting to take over.

“You’re beautiful.”

Her words cut through your thoughts. You look up at her and you can’t deny the way your heart flutters as you look at her. You suppose you’ve always felt the way you do about her, that it’s why it hurt you so much when she said you weren’t friends. And once again, your mind is brought out of your thoughts by a sudden crash of her lips on yours. A surprised sound comes from your throat, but you don’t fight against it.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’re here now.”

Hands wrap around your waist, tightening and pulling you closer to her as her lips leave yours and pepper kisses on your jaw, trailing down to your neck, and then your shoulder. And you don’t stop her. Your hands entangle themselves in her hair. What the hell has gotten into you? And her, for that matter, as her hand slides under your shirt and you feel the coldness of her skin on your stomach. Your own hands shed her jacket and she whispers against your skin.

“Let me.”

“Hm?”

“Let me do what I do in my dreams.”

“What’s that, then? Dissect insects?”

A gentle, sensual, almost desperate and loving slap of your face as she grips your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes, those ones you avoided for so long. You wonder how she knew exactly what to do to turn you on.

“Let me fuck you and show you how sorry I am. How much I missed you.”

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