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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

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

WORDCOUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, abduction, violence, intense gore, death, swords & firearms, angst, hurt/comfort, nakedness, etc.

A/N: Guys, whatever you do, don't imagine Price in a white tunic holding Mermaid you in one arm and weilding a sword in the other. I'm frothing at the mouth.

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

You sit on your black rocks once more, the darkening sky warning of an oncoming storm that you can feel seeping into your bones. In your loose grip, you fiddle with John’s necklace.

He’d given it to you only recently as a gift, seeing as you enjoyed the shininess of it so much, and you’d taken great pleasure in keeping it around your neck. Out of all of your treasures and trinkets, somehow these measly metal discs had become your favorite. The necklace is smooth under your caress, and you look down at it adoringly, eyes soft and lips curved with delicate affection.

The cove, as always, was quiet above the call of seagulls and the lapping of waves; the whispering ripples from your tail as it sways under the water. You had gotten content with this—the silence. Because you knew it would be filled by the low gravel of an accented voice soon enough; would be swept away by the chuckles you could wring from beard-hidden lips.

John was something to look forward to, and you loved the way he looked at you.

Water hits the top of your head.

Blinking out of your honeyed thoughts you look up to the crying sky as small slaps of droplets slide across your cheeks. Lashes flinch at every motion, and you glance back to the empty cove before lowering the necklace to your scaled lap.

Confusion slithers in like an eel to your heart as your eyes slide over the growing waves. The yawning mouth of the entrance sits abandoned of any small fishing ship.

For three, beautiful, sand-covered, months, John had never missed a day to come and see you. Rain or Sun.

A prick of a sharp fish's spine enters your brain. The rain comes down now in sheets. Lightning and thunder fight, and if you look close enough, the remnants of ancient lightning birds battle overhead with a flurry of black wings and their insatiable need for blood. Yet, still, your eyes stay frozen on the cove entrance as the water rises and rises.

With a thinning of your lips and the violent pushing from the torrent as it swallows your rocks, you clench your hands over John’s necklace and push off your perch with a shove of your palms.

Water encompasses you, scales dull, and fins limp as the general calmness from the encompassing water holds you in a constant sway. Your brows furrow.

Why wasn’t he here? You ask yourself, sinking among the seaweed and the schools of quick fish. Concern mingles with hurt. Do…do you think he’s alright?

Human ways were still confusing to you, even if John had been helping you understand them and giving little clam-shells of information. But they seemed…like violent folk. Angry and selfish, from what John had said about their wars and squabbles. The thought of your fisherman potentially being in danger on land was terrifying to you.

There wouldn’t be anything you could do if that happened.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of his necklace as you stare at the surface, back lightly hitting the bottom of the cove with a puff of sand. Crabs scatter as your tail twitches, your lungs sighing in their own special way.

John can take care of himself, you reason. He’s just a little late is all.

John’s never late. Your face creases, but you stuff the thought down, twisting on your side and bridging the piece of jewelry to your lip—kissing it once as sand digs into your skin. Holding the fisherman's property to your pounding heart, you close your eyes and wait as any lonely and loyal Merwoman would; tail held in close and the reverberations of a rabid downpour above you.

—

You wake up to the darkness of night. Blinking, you sigh to yourself and move a slow hand to rub at your eyes. After a moment of fatigued confusion as to why you weren’t in your cave, you realized why you had been out here in the first place.

John.

Arms pushing you up, your mind fights to wake itself, laced with algae and fatigue. How long have you been asleep? Has the storm stopped? Surely you hadn’t slept the entire day away. You pull the fisherman's necklace over your head as you stare at the sand below you. No fish were slipping past besides one that brushes your tail, which you found odd, but didn’t think much of it.

Shaking your head, you feel sluggish and put the necklace back on with a huff. You worry what John will think of you perhaps missing his late visit and smile slightly in humor.

The fish brushes your tail again.

Scales shimmering, you turn with an annoyed pull to your lips, fins scraping something hard and rough even as it’s saturated by the water of your cove. When you spot it, not only the rope but the shadow of the large hunting ship above you, your body drains of any life that had once lived in your lungs. It wasn’t nighttime.

Eyes widening at the loop that was parading around your tail, you don’t have time to move before it tightens with a force that leaves your mouth opening in a bubbled scream; ruthlessly jerking your body along the seafloor.

Desperately, your hands rip along the rocks and weeds of the bottom of the cove, getting torn and shredded in their soft nature as easily as paper. Your body smacks into every little object with a rattling to your bones that makes you sob. Red saturates the water as you’re manhandled in long and steady intervals back and up.

No amount of rampaging your tail does can break the rope, and with a last-ditch effort as the sandy floor gets farther and farther away, you twist around and tear at the woven cord with sharp nails. Adrenaline pumps, pupils tiny and panicked.

No! No, not like this! You can imagine the pain of it now—the hooks and the ripping of scales from your supple flesh. Even now the tiny ones under the dig of the vice are peeling away in long strings of red to disappear behind you as you’re thrust upward. They’re delicate, don’t these monsters understand? They’re beautiful and treasured and they’re destroying them!

You scream in pain at the pulling of your spine; a large creaking in your muscles.

But as you gain a small sense of feral hope when the rope begins to fray from your grip, the iron net squashes any belief of surviving.

It slams into you as John would cast his own for his prey—but this one is larger and full of cruel, curved, spikes. Is this what your parents endured? What the harpies had meant? The iron sinks far quicker than rope, and it traps you in a dome of hell before you can mutilate yourself out of the maw.

Oh, Gods, it was going to peel your skin away.

True fear pounded in your breast, and with a cry of John’s name from under the water, you watched with horror as the net descended onto you and your bloody wounds.

They drag you above waves and the first thing you do is thrash and wail so loud the seagulls shriek in surprise. There’s crimson staining the waters sloshing at you with combative ease, the violent storm from before now a light slapping at add to your fear. In the wake of open air, the curved spikes dig into your flesh as easily as a unicorn’s horn can penetrate a wyvern’s armor. Skin everywhere is assaulted and peeled to a tautness of bodily torture.

Oh, and your precious tail.

It hurt so badly, like nothing you had ever experienced before.

“John!” You scream as your body strikes the side of the large ship, voice cutting out and leaving a bawling yell behind. Your form was being pulled by steady hoists and barked orders.

All around you can hear laughing—joking. Loud exclamations of approval.

You’re sure they’ve dislocated your tail right at the joint, how could they not have? The ream of their strong arms and ruthless greed. Oh, your tail, your precious, beautiful tail.

Long streams of salty tears fly down your dripping face; arms pushing the spikes away from your neck and face with futile action. The net and rope were your earthly graves.

They slam you to the deck like a fish.

Jerking and slapping around, your arms hit the wood with a bird-paced heart. The iron rattles and keeps you down like a weight.

Brokenly gasping through loud cries, the sudden jeering faces from all around leave your fear all-consuming.

They were ugly—broken teeth and sun-destroyed skin. Eyes that bugged and scars that could be from either a sword or a Strix’s claws. More than likely it was from meager squabbles with crewmates. But you balk back nonetheless, terrified and bleeding profusely.

They were going to rip you to pieces.

Inside your chest, your lungs are rising and falling quickly, and the hands that glide along your form make you want to burn your skin off. They grip at you, yanking you around as your hair gets caught in the gaps between the iron. With nail and tooth your bite and claw, but how many were there? Ten? Twenty?

There’s uproar and more jokes as you fight back; body lifted and spikes torn out of skin as you arch your back and howl in agony. Their hands are not John’s. They don’t caress your smooth skin with reverence or holiness—this is cruelty. This is a sadistic pleasure.

“Isn’t it our lucky day, Lads?!” A high and grating voice bellows out, and finally free of the net, all you can do is cry and flip your tail uselessly along the polished wood as they throw you down. Your vision blacks and slowly comes back—hair matted and skin slick with more than water.

It hurts to breathe too much. Whimpering, your cheek presses itself into the deck as footsteps take someone closer.

“Holy God, would ya look at that down there, eh? A true maiden of the sea,” A thunderous belt of achievement from everyone leaves you flinching, eyes tight shut to try and focus on anything but the excruciating way your skin throbs and gushes blood. “Though we’d have gotten all of them by now!”

Haggard laughs and rotted smiles.

A hand snaps to wrench your face upward, and you yowl and grasp at your head as your delicate strands go tight.

“Now who’s the little beauty we have here?” Whoever this man was, he had no standing on John. On your Fisherman.

Loose skin and an age-rotted tunic, a belt at his waist holding a scabbard with a gold sword and twin pistols. He had only one eye—brown as a pile of mud—with a black eyepatch over the other.

Your fluttering lashes took in a cracked-lipped grin of approval; whether at your battered appearance or the nature of your species, you knew not. But you didn’t like the way he was glancing at your tail as if it was made of gold one bit.

“Lords above, did ya have to be so brash, Lads?” Spittle slaps your face and you fight again with the hands in your locks to get away. The man’s hold jerks your face back and forth until you stop with bile building in your throat. “Wrecked her silky skin, you did!”

Being thrown back, your skull slams the deck before you hurl your guts in a sputtering of air and crimson. Many laugh and kick at your already broken scales. You grit your teeth and refuse to cry out.

“Get ‘er tied up and in the Hold for storage. If the scales are good enough, we’ll peel ‘em tomorrow.”

“Peel?!” Your face whips into a twisted glare, and pain leads to fast anger; wrath, even. The men grow gradually silent at your outburst and the leader comes to a slow stop—his back to you. “How dare you?” You gasp out, hands pushing your body slightly backward until the agony makes you stop with a lip-bitten whine. “How dare you do this to me? What have I done to you and your men? You’re nothing but senseless cowards who shy at something that lives its life differently! Am I only a pile of coin for you?!”

Your blood runs over the deck and seeps into the grain. Staining it with your memory and presence like a ghost that’s not yet dead. Loose scales shimmer and drip red. They were damaged and dull—your flesh was mangled.

The leader turns back and smirks with blackened teeth. “More than a pile, Little Dearie. Far more. And if those hooks had been kinder, the King would have loved a beauty like you in his collection.” A look is slid down your body with a knowing chuckle.

He stalks off and you peel back your lips to say more, but a stained rag is shoved into your mouth instead, shutting up your rageful screeches and any hope of a peep of potent song despite not knowing these devils’ names.

By the time they chuck you in the Hold, body bouncing along the wood, and shut the hatch with a reverberation of wood, you had managed to rip someone’s ear clean off and break another’s arm; but there was only so much you could do. They had bound your hands behind you with a blow to your spine.

Curled up and longing for the sea, for John, you hold the only thing you have left.

Silver discs on a chain, the metal smooth and the only thing now shining. You feel it hit your breastbone and sob as the headache of blood loss begins to set in. Laughter echoes from above your dark prison.

—

John saw the blood in the water before he saw the scales being pushed back and forth on the beach. Caught in that gentle push and pull now that the storm had ceased beyond a light drizzle—bright and reflecting the misty sun; far more vibrant than a fish or a sea serpent. But the blood.

Christ, there was blood in the water.

Blue eyes stare blankly at the sea-foam at the shoreline, red and bubbling, John’s pupils small and the lashes held back even as a salty breeze hits them with a burn. At his sides, his hands slowly close into fists.

Jumping off the side of his ship, the man lands in thigh-deep water, gritting his teeth before he shoves his way to the sand and black rocks of land. He doesn’t know what drives his actions, or why he’s doing this, but with quick hands, he snatches up what scales he can find and keeps them in his palm; mind on fire.

Anyone could see the fury in John’s gaze—a growing hatred for what was just beyond sight. When he has all he’s able to carry, he wades back through the water and gets himself back atop his boat easily with one hand.

Walking quickly and soaked, he pushes aside a small cloth atop a barrel; seeing a gold box hidden under it. He opens it deftly, and while he puts the damaged and torn scales inside, John glances at the expensive and elegant twin cuff bracelets that sit in blue velvet.

When he had been away buying them for you, he should have already been here. Wasted time.

I left her here alone. Knowing what could happen if I did. A growl bounces under his beard, face going red with anger. The two of you had quickly become enraptured with each other—drunk off flesh and touch like non-sentient animals.

And something had taken place while he was away. You were gone, the fisherman knew. The water wasn’t as clear, the fish were terrified, and the blood alone proved this—the scales. This wasn’t an accident.

And it had something to do with that ship he’d seen on the horizon with his narrowed eyes not minutes prior. The Captain was slowly re-taking over the man.

“Fuck!” John curses, teeth bared as he spins and readies his sails. With violent pulls at the ropes, letting the mainsail shift down in a flurry of white sheets, he turns the vessel around in no time at all. It was as if Poseidon himself was pushing the ship forward to that small dot on the ocean line, far, far away.

Deadly purpose bled into his heart, and the early afternoon sun forced him onward with hellfire following at his heels. He re-wraps his gift in the meantime, only taking a single scale from inside and putting it in a small pouch on his belt before walking to another barrel and pausing. This one was older, more sun-bleached.

John deserted the service years ago, but not long enough to forget how the world of men can be. With a grunt on his thinned lips, the brunette rips the top off and grasps inside.

With an experienced hand out came a sheathed Cutlass, the leather of the handle worn and indented to his very grip. It found a place on his belt, and John wasted no time in making the Flintlock pistol follow.

A fisherman he may be, but in his blood John would always be a killer. He knew how to fight dirty and fight well—carve skin and not flinch at the sparks of gunpowder. There was no hesitation as to what he would do to get you back.

In his chest, there was a weight of rage and concern as he glared at the far-off Hunter’s ship.

“What the hell have you done to her?” He growls, beard back and eyes narrowed. His hands clenched and unclenched with loathing.

John’s thoughts go to the horror stories he’d heard about Merfolk and them getting caught in the open ocean, when he’d found you he had been surprised. He felt his heart beat faster when you were around, his blood would spike with love and affection.

It was strange, unheard of, but he can’t stop it now that it’s happened.

No one touched you with their cruel hands and lived.

John didn’t like it, but he hung far enough away from the Hunter’s ship so that the cover of night hid him. Dark stars hung at his head, tunic blowing in the chilled breeze when the waves took him close enough—all was silent. Asleep.

Lantern light slid along the waves, and with deft fingers, John anchored his ship with measured efficiency a small distance away. Looking over the side, the fisherman grunts under his breath and sets his shoulders. Without a single glance in hesitation, he slips silently off the deck into the water.

Immediately, John kicks his legs and resurfaces with a puff from his nostrils, whipping his head to the side to dispel water. Making no sound, the man swims the distance between vessels, hearing the creak of the still and bulky form of the Hunter’s ship ten times his own sitting above him.

“Fuckin’ bastards,” he grumbles to himself and thinks of your condition intensely. His heart hammers even in the clutches of the frigid waters. But beyond the insult, no other words needed to be spoken—the prior Captain was a man of action.

Violent Action.

John wades to the side of the wooden structure, the waves threatening to smash him tight into the hull and skin him against the barnacles, but he braces himself and grabs ahold of the knife at his belt, next to his cutlass. In his stupor to get to you quickly, he’d forgotten that his Flintlock would be completely useless now that it had been submerged in water.

Grunting and trying to remain as quiet as possible, the man sets his blade into the side of the ship into the thin slits available. In his free hand, he takes up his cutlass and does the same. In a feat of impressive upper-body strength that leaves his muscles bunching and tensing—veins visible from the side of his neck—John huffs breaths as he climbs the ship one panel at a time.

He groans and sends the blades back in at opposite intervals, the firm thunk-plunk, thunk-plunk, bouncing off the dark air as the moon shines bright. But no one awakens.

The Fisherman pulls himself up the side of the ship and swiftly ducts behind a pile of large crates on deck to gather himself, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“C’mon Sweetheart,” he mutters, “hold on just a little longer.” Duel wielding both weapons, narrowed eyes look across the open area—the stain of blood all along the wood. Glimmering in the low light catches John’s fiery gaze.

Scales. Your scales. Littering the deck and scattered all over.

If possible, the man becomes even more enraged, knuckles going white over his blades. The man stationed on deck was asleep across the way; leaning back and snoring. John locks eyes on him and hides back a vicious smirk. Quickly sneaking over and staying near the edge of the lantern’s lights, the ragged-looking man awakens to a blade at the base of his throat and a voice in his ear.

“The woman,” John speaks slowly and deeply, accent rolling out. The watchman tenses in his grip, but John grits his teeth and grits out, “Where the fuck is she?”

“W-woman?” Usually, the brunette could paint himself a patient man, like a flag fluttering in a breeze waiting for the next bout of heavy winds without care or concern. But this was different.

By God, if these pathetic fortune-seekers had hurt you even in the slightest bit…

John presses the blade harder to the man’s throat, thighs shifting in agitation, glaring at the far-off water beyond this stranger’s shoulder.

“The woman.” Blood falls down the blade edge, crimson. A tiny whimper. “The one that you stole away like an fucking animal.”

“The fish?” The tone was incredulous but with a snarl the voice continues, whispering pitifully out in fear over the night’s silence. “She’s in the Hold! I swear it, Sir, on God’s green earth I do—”

John slits the man’s throat and takes his leave before the body drops, blood spraying into the air with a garbled cry.

—

You don’t sleep so much as you fall unconscious from the lack of blood. Inside your head, your brain is fuzzy and light—everything swirling like a jewel’s many faces reflected onto a wall. The rocking of the Hunter’s ship, while something you should be used and accustomed to, made you sick at times until only the watery bile that fell from your lips hit the wood.

At some point, you’d given into the call of nothingness at the lack of seawater and the violent shivering of your shoulders. Your tail had gone completely numb.

Everyone knew that Merfolk needed the sea to survive—you couldn’t live without feeling its loose arms around you for long periods, pulling you in and filling your airways.

This was torture.

But whoever was ripping up cloth at your limp side was muttering you back into the darkness of the Hold.

“I’m right ‘ere, c’mon, Love. Open your bloody eyes.” Hands pressed to your face, tilting it and hissing before a thumb slid along the swollen skin of a cut. “I’ll rip them to pieces…mark my word. They’ll not live through this.”

It sounded like…

Gripping at your binds and gag, both items slipped away right before the larger cuts on your body were suddenly packed with strips of rough material. Occasional whispers of words and curses wafted out.

“...J-John?” Your voice is rough, shattered, but at the same time you manage to force open an eye.

Tight blue eyes meet yours immediately, and his voice softens to a painful degree as he addresses you. “That’s it, atta girl. Just keep focusing on my voice, then, yeah? Come back to me, Sweetheart.”

Tears well your ducts, lips quivering.

John was curled over you and had ripped up the bottom of his tunic to make strips of bandages to try and stop the bleeding. He came for you, gruff voice and large frame, all.

“How are you—” Your voice breaks into body-shaking coughs, but that doesn't deter the man. He carefully puts a hand forward and tilts you into his arms; head resting on his chest. Your ears twitch to the sound of his heartbeat, loud and fast. You cling to it like a lifeline as those calluses graze your skin once more.

How was he here?

“What have they fucking done?” John’s voice is dark and volatile, his hand stroking your matted hair. “What did they do?”

He’s not so much asking you as he’s asking himself. You breathe in a wheeze, not noticing the crimson staining John’s clothes—none of it his or yours in the slightest. The other men on the ship weren’t the Fisherman’s priority, only you; always you. But whoever had been in his path had met the unfortunate end of being on the opposite side of his blade.

When he’d found you like this….it was like his entire chest had fallen still. His eyes wide with horror and fear.

John had never felt something that visceral before, except when you hadn’t been in your cove.

“Oh, my Beauty.” Chapped lips press to your forehead, breathing you in as arms curl around you. “Let me bring you home.”

You shake and cry silently into his neck, weak hands coming to grasp at his neck.

“They’re going to take my tail.”

“No,” John’s answer is immediate and firm, pulling you closer until you might slip into his skin. “No, they’re not doing a damn thing to you. I promise, Love, not a single person will ever touch you again, you hear?”

You burrow into his neck, this fisherman’s flesh soft under your force. Hands keep you to him, and with another kiss on your cheek, they tighten and gently move you into the clutch of his arm.

John looks down at you with great distress, eyes flickering over every sign of abuse and hurt. The men whose throats he’d slit in their sleep deserved to be awake and see the blade descending for their neck, he thought.

“I’m going to lift you, Sweetheart, eh?” He grunts to push aside the hatred in his tone, not wanting to scare you. He gazes around the Hold and at the low ceiling—the insistent rocking from the waves just outside.

You suck down greedy breaths and nod slightly, shaking in his arms. John’s eyes crease in sorrow but has no option but to continue; the both of you can’t be here when the remaining men wake or discover the bodies.

Your Fisherman frowns but does what he’s able to both quickly and effectively lift you, your tail hanging limp and dripping blood from the fins. When you tense and whine, John shushes you quietly.

“Hush, now, it’s alright. It’ll all be over soon, I’ve got you. I’m taking you back home if it’s the last thing I damn-well do.” Your teeth grit with held-back pain, every movement was agony and to think made it worse.

Home? Home wasn’t safe anymore. Like taking a knife to the heart, the thought makes the torment all the worse.

John holds you in one arm, head under his ear and rubbing against his beard as his muscles strain to keep you right to him with his torn tunic and blood-freckled skin. In his free hand, he wields his Cutlass and exits the Hold slowly, eyes surveying the scene.

The scores of bodies were only a fraction of the men of this ship—only one side of the crew’s quarters that ascended up to the deck. John knew the anatomy of a ship well, certainly one like this.

His only question was why such an unsavory bunch was living on a King issued hunting vessel in perfect condition. Was the bastard hiring pirates for his extermination game?

“If I ever get my hands on him…” John shuts himself up as someone groans in their sleep from the far wall.

He glares in the general direction and puts his body between yours and the straight direction that he walks—sword parallel to the ground and knife at his belt as a backup. Ready and wound for a fight.

“You..you came for me?” You ask softly as John carries on, your blood leaving a crimson trail behind the two of you; your mind is loose to all except the way your Fisherman’s thumbs run circles in your rent scales, fingers gripping under your tail joint which aches and hurts. His bicep is curled at the small of your back.

John carries you like you weigh nothing.

“‘Course,” the brunette's eyes slide to yours, true honesty and firmness behind his words. You flutter your lashes at the fatigue in your body and his feet speed up, speaking into your scalp and nuzzling his beard into you. “No one messes with my girl.”

“I’m not a…girl, John,” you remind, softly.

The smirk on your head gives you strength, fear steadily draining like contaminated liquid.

“No,” he whispers, “no, not quite. You’re something far more lovely, aren’t you?”

Your heart swells, tears dripping down your cheeks once more before lips slide them away with brushes of a kiss. He carries you up the stairs quickly, sword at the ready.

Lantern light makes you squint, hands tightening around John’s neck.

He hums to you, a small melody that you can latch onto to help focus—it keeps your mind working as everything else falls away. John’s warm flesh and his lungs, the sound of his pulse.

He came for you. No man would do that besides him—no specimen of any species. No one except John.

Your Fisherman.

You’re halfway to freedom, feeling the sea air on your flesh and longing for the depths of untouchable waves. You peek from John’s neck and blink delicately, what little scales still intact shimmering, and fins aching for water.

“John,” he begins to pick up his pace, but still glances in attentive question. “I need to be in the water. I can’t go long without it.” You already felt a bit stronger by just being by the open sea. The man nods and you smile deeply, face twisted. You kiss his cheek deeply. “You have my thanks, Fisherman.”

His tight expression gradually loosens with care and love. “Doubted me, then?”

“Perhaps only a little,” he kisses your lips, cheeky smiles peeling his beard.

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, eh?” The man’s face is lit by lanterns, stars like a crown above his head that illuminate the small scars and the sheen of sweat like a portrait of a good man.

Perhaps humans were truly more magical than you had been taught to believe, for no mortal man would do this for anybody.

In the midst of him carrying you over to the edge of the ship, he’s only three feet from the drop when the familiar sound of a Flintlock hammer being clicked back hits his ears. You feel John lock up, and your eyebrows crease in confusion; not common to the model of metal and wood.

Looking over his shoulder, you strangle down a raspy gasp.

“John—”

“I know, Love.” He whispers, turning slowly with his sword at his hip. The stranger with the eyepatch has his weapon leveled with the brunette’s chest. “Easy, let me handle it. Keep focusing on me.”

“A thief in the night!” The leader calls, and alarm from below deck start to rise in question at the noise. John grits his teeth and his stance widens. “Thought to make off with my prize, did ya? I’ve not seen you before on this ship.”

“Hell,” John grits out, loudly now that he’s caught. You burrow deeper into him and he shields you, voice hot with rage. “Save me the fuckin’ monologue. She isn’t yours—to own or bloody take.”

As he speaks he points his cutlass in the leader’s general direction, holding it aloft with a strong and pale arm. The leader smirks, and soon the pound of rushing feet enter the deck—men holding weapons and clubs. You make a noise of tension and John tries to shift you farther into his grip even more.

Your tail hangs and brushes the deck, gaining some feeling back to it gradually.

The leader laughs. “What that creature is, Mate, is enough gold for a whole moon’s time in rum and pleasure.” His single eye falls on you as the crew gets closer, crowding in and yelling.

John shuffles back and snarls like a boar, pointing his sword’s tip from one chest to another.

“Keep your bastard eye off of ‘er, you prick. Find your score elsewhere. She’s coming with me.” So sure he sounds that you yourself believe it. Your chest swims with pride.

The crew closes in, but jumping at this stage was dangerous. The ones with firearms could aim in the water before you both could get away and John didn’t know if you could swim still. Your fins were torn and tail flinching with damaged nerves.

Eyepatch barks a vile laugh, “...I think he loves the beast!” John’s body winds even farther and your eyes slip to the side of his red face. He grunts stiffly, hair damp. Everyone follows in their amusement, mocking the two of you. “I knew that necklace around her neck meant something.” Your body stills and you glance down at John’s gifted silver. Blue eyes flash to the same, but as if suddenly realizing the nakedness of your top surrounded by such brutes, your Fisherman pushes on the back of your spine to shove your chest into his own with a panicked look. You grunt in surprise, but let him. “No greedy Mermaid would bother with a trinket like that! A piece of rubbish metal. It means something to her—and I’ll bet that something is you, Thief.”

Me, greedy? Your eyes narrowed into slits. If you knew his name, you’d sing his death song in an instant. Your Fisherman’s face goes stiff, knowing the predicament the two of you were in. There was no way he was giving you up.

But himself…

Tiny lids narrow on the arrogant leader.

“Do you trust me?” John whispers to you, suddenly, as all sides were surrounded and the water just as dangerous as the deck.

Face creasing, you say, confused and worried, “Of course.”

“...Then forgive me.”

He throws you from the side of the deck, and whirs to run his blade through the nearest man.

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sad-chaos-goblin · 7 months

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Things i would love to see in S3:

Crowley being a sarcastic lil fucker to Aziraphale. Including calling him "sUpReMe aRchAngEl" in the sassiest manner possible.

They tentatively reconcile and start working together again early on in the season, but neither brings up The Kiss™ and there are plenty of awkward moments when they get flustered because they accidentally touch or end up facing each other too closely or walk right into each other.

Even if they start working together again it should take until at least ep 5 for Crowley to call Aziraphale "angel" again. Ideally in a moment of danger and Azi's face lights up for a second despite the seriousness of the situation.

1941 pt3, hopefully including an almost-kiss.

Aziraphale eventually apologises to Crowley for leaving and gently removes his sunglasses (which the demon has not taken off in front of the angel since that fated day at the bookshop).

They kiss under the rain

HUGS. I need them to hug please. Repeatedly.

#good omens #go3 speculation #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable divorce #anthony j crowley #supreme archangel aziraphale

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volensnolenss · 5 months

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You look pretty cold

—✦ SUMMARY: They won't let you freeze in this weather, so they'll find all the ways to keep you warm;

— CHARACTERS: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna;

— CONTENT: sfw! fluff, soft;

✧˚.𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

The prickly snow crunched pleasantly underfoot, leaving your footprints on itself; its creaking seemed deafening, and the silence of the birds brought an even more intimidating atmosphere. Satoru persuaded you to go with him on his student's mission so that you both could be with them in case something went wrong. Still, being with you is a great time for him, whether it's rain or tornado.

“Beautiful weather, isn't it?” Satoru addressed you with a note of sarcasm as you walked, hugging yourself, trying to keep warm in every way, “The weather would have been fine if I had stayed in the building.”

“Honey, a place needs to be changed.” you looked at him angrily and he didn't let you say a word, Gojo started talking again, “Oh, by the way, your eyelashes are white, just like mine!” He took out his phone and immediately took a picture of you, giggling at your face.

“I'm cold, Satoru!” You snorted, acting like a teen who was forcibly sent outside.

“Mmm, wait, I'm going to...” He got distracted and instantly disappeared, leaving you alone among the trees, wrapped in a cold blanket of snow, so you were with an old building. This time you decided to keep quiet and wait for the students to finish.

Less than a few minutes later, he suddenly returned, “I'm here!” You immediately turned around when you heard his voice coming from behind you.

“This is to keep you warm.” Satoru handed you hot coffee, which warmed you instantly; its aroma and hot steam pleasantly bathed your face.

“Well? Do you like?” He hugged you from behind and stood up so that as few snowflakes as possible fell on you.

“It's very sweet... but it's much warmer for me, thank you, Satoru.” You kissed him on the cheek when he moved his head towards you. Gojo, pleased, looked up, looking at the snow-white sky and at the same time thinking about you, how lucky he was to meet you, “Everything is for my angel.”

✧˚.𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

You and Nanami were walking through the evening snow-covered city, going to solve certain important cases. Yellow lanterns burned brightly, shimmering with falling flakes of fluffy snow, which decorated various signs, roofs of houses and skyscrapers.

“You look great, but aren't you cold?” Make no doubt, he likes what you're wearing: a beautiful long dress and a coat on top, but agree that this is not enough to stay warm, “No, Kento, everything is fine.” You felt like a soldier, trying to keep your teeth from trembling.

“Are you sure?” The temperature seemed to get even lower under the onslaught of his calmly dangerous tone and posed question, “Of course.”

He knows you too well, it's just useless for you to lie to him. Despite all his seriousness in his actions and words, there is always a piece of care and concern for you in them. “Stop it.” You immediately froze and stared at him, “But I...”

“No, darling, now listen to me.” He shook his head and took off his warm wool scarf and wrapped it carefully around your neck, trying not to spoil your curls. The smooth fabric felt good against your skin, which needed it the most, but especially Kento's attention and attentiveness.

You batted your long eyelashes at his deadpan smile, “Are you comfortable? Did I overdo it?” Nanami approached you again, adjusting the scarf, but you touched his gentle hands, “Everything is fine, Ken!” You broke into a smile and, grabbing his forearm, you pressed your head against him.

“What a gallant and wonderful man I live with. You won't mind if I take it from you, will you?” You looked at him with your trademark look, which he always obeys.

“Only if you don't freeze.”

“Your love warms me up.”

✧˚.𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

He'll set fire to everything and everyone to keep you warm

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morelikeravenbore · 4 months

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Good Boy

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC | Needy Sebastian | spicy one shot 🔞

Needy/slightly unhinged/traumatised Sebastian, post-uncle murdering. All sexual acts are consensual, good ol' P in V against a wall.

Warning: SMUT. 18+ CHARACTERS. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Contains sexual content, reader discretion is advised.

On bad days like these, Sebastian simply couldn't believe in love until it held him close and kissed him and told him he wasn't the deplorable monster he believed himself to be. Love had always evaded him, but by some stroke of luck he wasn't deserving of, he'd found it living in the body of the girl currently squashed between him and the wall.

Word count: 1.4k

READ UNDER THE CUT 👇

[WATTPAD] [AO3] [HL fic masterlist]

Sebastian Sallow was whimpering as he pressed his girlfriend against the wall of the empty classroom, pinning her small body between the cold stone and the urgent heat of his much-larger frame.

His day had been bad from the moment he'd woken up, exhausted after a long night of intrusive thoughts and horrific nightmares. Sweat-soaked from thrashing about for eight hours straight (and not in a fun way), he'd disentangled himself from his sheets and dragged himself, grumbling and dishevelled, into a day that had steadily gotten worse and worse.

First, he'd endured the wrath of Ominis Gaunt, who'd been in so foul a mood that even Salazar Slytherin himself would've quaked in his boots to witness it, then sat through all of his least favourite subjects in a row - including a double period of History of Magic - and finally, been forced to spend several hours flying around the Quidditch pitch in the pouring rain while Imelda Reyes shouted at him that he a useless sack of ugly, half-sprouted potatoes.

As if all that wasn't bad enough, he'd trudged into the Great Hall for dinner so late that he'd only gotten scraps to eat, stubbed his toe on the Slytherin table on the way out, and when he'd finally tracked down his girlfriend in the library, he'd been forced to wait, silent and brooding, for her study group to fuck off so he could finally be alone with her.

When finally - finally - she'd bid them goodnight, Sebastian had marched her directly out of the library, pulled her into the nearest empty room by her elbow, and whined, petulant and needy, into her open mouth, barely able to form the word 'please' as his fingers dug into her waist.

There wasn't much Sebastian couldn't handle; he was an orphan, after all, had survived a foray into the Dark Arts (though hardly unscathed), used all three Unforgivables without much moral objection, and - since there's no point beating round the bush about it - had used said Unforgivables to murder someone.

Yet despite all the tragedies he'd endured in his comparatively short life, the insurmountable odds stacked against his own happiness, and the way he seemed to possess a natural proclivity for fucking things up, the only thing that ever truly unraveled him was love. Or, more specifically, the acute sting that came when he felt himself in danger of losing it; a sting which manifested as a singular, all-consuming need to find relief in physical intimacy.

In other words, Sebastian Sallow liked to fuck his pain away.

'Bad day?' asked his girlfriend, her sweet voice muffled against his chest as he caged her against the wall.

Unable to form a coherent reply, he leaned his full weight against her, groaning into her hair as he rolled his hips against her navel, pressing, pressing, pressing into her warm body until all her breath squeezed out in a tiny huff. He backed up a bit, giving her just enough space to breathe without letting the heat between them cool, but he was too far gone the way of desperation to allow more than a few inches of separation.

Wordless, he yanked the hem of her blouse free from her skirt and slid it up to her chest, groaning at the feel of her soft skin beneath his calloused palm.

She felt like fucking flower petals. Wings of a fucking butterfly.

Fuck.

'It's alright, I'm here.' Wiggling some space between them, she stretched up to kiss the underside of his chin; the only part of his face she could reach, even on her tiptoes 'What do you need?'

He whined again, all decorum lost as his lips grazed her temple, his breath hot on her skin. He cradled her face, pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyebrows, her nose, breathed in the scent of her hair, lost his fucking mind - but he couldn't speak. Not with his words, at least.

'Sebastian, look at me.'

With great effort, he peeled his lips from her neck and looked her in the eyes. Love stared back at him, bright and pure and clear.

Love so brilliant it was staggering.

'Have you been good?' asked love.

No, answered the darkness in his head.

Good? Had he ever been good?

He dropped his head to her shoulder.

'No,' he moaned, 'I haven't.' He licked his way up the slender column of her throat - 'I'm not good' - nibbled her jawline, kissed her chin, pressed his aching cock against her stomach - 'I'm sorry.' His voice was small, unfamiliar. 'I want to be good. You know I want to be good, you know it.'

This wasn't entirely true; he did want to be good, but only when he was with her.

'Why haven't you been good?'

'Wanted to... Hex your study group...' he moaned. 'Wanted to destroy everyone... To keep you... For myself.'

He was panting now, his words broken between frantic kisses as he worked off her blouse. He tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, discarding the first barrier that stood between him and love.

'Called Ominis a twat,' he went on, thrusting against her stomach with increasing urgency. 'Purposely let a Bludger knock Imelda off-course... Enjoyed both... Immensely.'

When she made a sound of disapproval into his mouth, he only became more frantic, desperate to find the places where love dwelt in her body and coax it out with his mouth, his fingers; to suck on it, roll it around on his tongue, sink into its warm, wet depths.

Her bra was the next barrier to be eliminated. If love lived in her nipples, his lips would surely draw it out.

'What about - the dreams?' she moaned, arching into him, sweetness in his mouth.

'Yes,' he whimpered, ashamed.

Yes, the dreams. Fucking Merlin, those awful visions of forbidden curses, of Dark Magic flowing like poison through his veins, green and red lights flashing intermittently.

Visions, so like premonitions, of being bad, rotten.

Unlovable.

'Tell me about them.' She tangled her hands through his hair and pulled. He hardly felt it.

'Dream - b-bad.' Speech was hard. 'Dream of being bad.'

He looked her leg around his hip, bunched her skirt up to her waist, rutted mindlessly against the warm, damp spot between her legs.

That's where love lived.

His cock ached for admittance.

'I'm bad.' His voice was strained, hoarse. 'N-not a good boy.'

Then his cock was out, hot and throbbing in his hand.

Fuck, love was so close. Fuck, he needed it.

Her underwear pushed to the side. Slick heat coated his swollen tip.

Crying out against her skin, 'I'm bad, I'm sorry, I'm bad.'

Sinking in slowly.

Love.

Frenzied and stupid with need, Sebastian pounded her against the wall until he was too fuck-drunk to hear the cruel voices in his head, until all he knew was blissful, wonderful, perfect her.

When her first orgasm shattered through her, he watched, entranced, as love shone from her every pore and gushed over his cock and rang like music from her mouth. His knees buckled with the force of it but he couldn't stop, not now - not until he was drenched it in, drowning in her love, soaked through.

He couldn't stop through her second orgasm.

Nor her third.

Not even when she was limp and blissfully spent in his arms, eyes rolling back in her head and mouth agape.

Not even then.

Because even if he was bad, he would always be a good boy for her.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy smut #Sebastian Sallow oneshot #Hogwarts legacy oneshot

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 26 days

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The Farmer's Daughter 15

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Walter sighs as he shuts the hood of the truck. He tuts and faces you, keeping his hand on the metal, his other going to his hip. He looks at you then the sky behind you. The rain has stirred the scent of mud and grass and left a glaze over everything.

“You’re lucky the thing didn’t blow up in your face,” he says. “Maybe the rain saved you.”

“Oh, I... didn’t know,” you utter nervously. “Timothy said it was fine--”

“Yeah, well, shows how much he knows,” Walter stands straight and pushes back his curls, “he’s not ready. He’s too young. I’ll make sure he learns. Be sad if he through away all your dad’s hard work, huh?”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” you swallow. His words remind you of the imbalance. You need him. That’s the reality that brought you all the way up here.

“Right, well, I’ll deal with it later. I got some chains I can use to get it up to the house but we should head into town then go see your mother. Make sure she isn’t worried sick,” he steps towards you and brings his hand up under your chin. You fight not to shy away, “what were you thinking? Putting yourself in danger like that?”

“I... I had to come see you--”

He smiles, “that’s sweet but I’d rather you wait and have you in one piece, sweetheart.”

You nod into his hand and wince as he leans in. His thumb rubs your chin as he tilts your head up and he presses his lips to yours. Your surprised by his gentleness, though his beard grazes your roughly. You let him kiss you as he swoops an arm around to wrap you up.

When he parts, your breathless and dizzy. His eyes gleam down at you, “wife,” he rasps out, “we’re almost there.”

The shift in his mood puts you off. It’s just like back in the kitchen, one moment he’s terse and short, almost disappointed, the next he’s almost delicate and content. He releases you and takes you by the hand. You follow him back up towards the house.

You wait outside as he runs in to get his keys. As he comes back out, you open the door of the truck and brace the interior. You put your foot on the small metal step to pull yourself up and gasp as you’re lifted from behind. Walter helps you into the seat and you wriggle free with a meek ‘thank you’.

He kisses your cheek before he shuts the door. You focus on buckling the belt as he rounds the front of the truck. He climbs into the driver’s side and turns the engine. He sets off, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the corner of your seat.

You sit quietly, watching the hills roll by. This is it. This is your life. You’re going to married and a wife and you’re going to be tied to this man and these lands forever. You never really thought it out, you just expected life to unfold before you.

He pulls up to the bank and turns into the lot. He steers into one of the angled spots and kills the engine. You tap your fingers on your legs before you regain your bearings. As he opens his door, you do the same. You get out, hopping down with a small oof. You catch yourself on the door.

Walt stomps around, “hey, hey, careful. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you smile, “really, I can manage.”

“I just don’t want you twisting your ankle,” he says.

“Um, okay, all good,” you show him your foot, “really.”

He stares at you. His cheek ticks. He takes your hand and shuts the passenger door. He tugs you away towards the front of the building. As you follow the sidewalk down to the entrance, you pass a few other curious pedestrians. You don’t miss there gazes and the low whispers between them.

You go inside and find the bank empty. Walter drags you to the counter and taps the bell on it. You stand on your toes to see over the high desk and see a head pop out of a back office. The woman looks unimpressed as she goes to bang on the door next to hers, “customers.”

She quickly retreats as you wait. The next door opens and another woman emerges. She’s taller than the other one, slimmer too. She struts over as she tugs straight the collar of her blouse. Her pretty pink lipstick clings to one lip as the other is faded to its natural hue.

“Hello, folks, how can I help you today.”

“I’d like to speak with an advisor about a mortgage,” Walter says as he lets go of your hand, instead hovering his large one along your lower back.

“That’s exciting,” she chimes, “you and... I didn’t know you married?”

“Not yet,” Walter exhales, “anyway, do you got someone available? I don’t really have time to sit around.”

“Sure, sure, Pete should be able to help you out. I’ll just take you to an office.”

The woman, Marska, comes around the desk and waves you down the hall. She takes you into an office and leaves you there. You and Walter lower yourself into the stiff chairs. He reaches between to offer his hand. You take it and nervously stare at the empty desk.

There’s a tap on the doorframe and a man enters. Pete. You’ve seen him before when you came to the bank with your mother.

“Morning,” he says as he swaggers around to sit behind the desk, “lovely to see you folks bright and early.” He offers his hand across the desk and Walter reluctantly lets go of yours to shake it. Pete looks at you and you hesitantly shake his hand. The man beside you shifts and huffs. “So, we’re looking into a mortgage, huh?”

The manager smiles as he leans back nonchalantly in his chair. He looks between you and Walter, “gone and snagged yourself a young one, huh, Marshall?”

Walter growls and crosses his arms, “I have a down payment.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Pete rolls his chair closer to the desk, “just making some small chat. Big news, the two of you.”

“Is it?” Walter challenges.

“Marriage is a big deal, isn’t it?” Peter chuckles nervously.

“You would know,” Walter sneers as he sniffs, “you got something on your cheek.”

You only notice at the mention of it. Your eyes retreat from the window to Pete’s face, the smear of pink along his cheek. You look away, embarrassed for him. It must be true what they say about him and Marska.

“Uh, thanks,” Pete wipes his face with his sleeve, “let’s just jump in then.” He puts his hands over the keyboard and clears his throat. You can see a trickle of sweat along his hairline as Walter’s disapproval burns through the small office.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #drabble #au #backwoods #series #the farmer's daughter #night hunter

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osaemu · 8 months

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OSAMU DAZAI: ❛❛ MIDNIGHT RAIN ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ his melancholia is addicting. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. smut –> angst. cunniligus, implied p –> v, alcohol consumption. mentions of alcohol and smoking. established relationship.

author's note: somewhat inspired by cornelia street, easily the best song off of lover imo. fight me.

dazai's a stressed man—that's what years upon years of living in environments as active and tense as the mafia and the agency would do to anyone. so on the somewhat rare occasions that dazai softens around you, it's not a problem for you to oblige him.

ever since the two of you started dating, you haven't had a free night to yourself. nights that were once spent on the couch are now spent following dazai through the scarcely lit parts of yokohama, the only illumination of his figure being the soft rays of twilight bleeding from the sky.

on your little nights out, he never lets go of your hand. whether it's to tug you along cobblestone pathways or comfort you in the alleys you used to avoid, his fingers are always threaded through your own.

the more comfortable he gets with you, the more touchy he gets. dazai's arms seem like they were made to wrap around your waist, and you can't help but feel like a part of you's missing when his fingers aren't tangled with your own.

dazai's good with his words, and even better with his hands. only someone as adroit as dazai could make you see stars on your bedroom ceiling with just his fingers.

on nights when the agency works him like a dog, it's all you can do to keep your heart from melting when you see the way he falls asleep in your arms. for him, your touch is dangerously drug-like—something like a sedative, as he tells you the morning after.

dazai wouldn't have it any other way—he'd rather be addicted to you than to cigarettes or alcohol. and, lucky for him, he finds out after your first night in his sheets that you even taste better too.

one crisp evening after one too many glasses of whiskey, dazai's lips find their way to your collarbone, brushing across your skin in an almost ghost-like manner. the way he's holding himself back is almost painful to watch—the longing in his eyes plus the way he flexes his fingers pulls out a plea for him to just touch you from your lips.

one thing leads to another, and within a couple minutes your clothes are discarded to who-knows-where and all you can think about is how good dazai is to you.

and yet, even an hour later, he's holding himself back. despite being under the influence, dazai retains enough of his mind to resist the growing urge to fuck you to his heart's content. only after your pleas turn into full-on begging does he give in, deftly pushing your legs apart and sliding in effortlessly, mumbling praises on just how well you're taking him.

dazai eats you out like a man starved—when you convince him to fuck you with his tongue, he's ravenous. to him, you taste like heaven, and to someone who's certainly going to hell, he can't help but savor the taste of the paradise he'll never set foot in.

someone with such a tainted past like him doesn't deserve such a good girl like you. you shouldn't have to bear any part of the burden that rests on dazai's shoulders—it's not your fault he's so attracted to you.

that's a lie. the blame can only be put on you for being so accommodating, so comforting, so fucking perfect—at least, that's what dazai tells you from his spot in between your legs.

the pornographic sounds that the two of you make over the course of the night fluctuate every time one of you goes over the edge, mind swamped with nothing but thoughts of the other.

the night goes by too fast, marked by love-drunk kisses and nearly-spilt glasses of whiskey. neither of you has any idea how it started or how it'll end—the rumpled sheets tangled in between your legs is enough.

promises of i'm yours fall from both of your lips as the high starts to fade and your breaths start to slow, sleep tugging at the backs of your minds.

as the view around you fades to black, a last whisper slips through your lips. just before your eyes flutter closed, you relish the look of surprise on your boyfriend's face—it's exceedingly rare to catch dazai off guard, and for you, the person he thinks he understands the most to do so? impossible.

and yet the six words you murmur as your head hits the pillow leave dazai open-mouthed for a moment. he's speechless. the words themselves aren't much, but the meaning behind them is everything.

all good things come to an end—as a member of two of the most perilous organizations in yokohama, dazai knows this all too well. being surrounded by death and danger for half your life tends to destroy one's faith in destiny, and yet, as dazai watches you fall asleep on his chest, he dares to let himself hope against all odds.

all good things come to an end, but hopefully, this won't. he's invested far too much into this for it to crumble—if the worst happened, he'd never love again. it wouldn't be worth the risk, not if someone as perfect as you managed to slip through his fingers. he couldn't lose you, too.

so when he hears his thoughts mirrored on your lips, something in dazai's heart breaks. all his life, he'd been taught that permanence was a false promise. everything ended, good and bad, eventually. dazai had been taught to cut people off before they could hurt him, but for you?

if loving you was pain, then by all means, consider him a masochist.

"i hope i never lose you."

#osaemu #bsd x reader #bsd smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai smut #dazai x you #bsd x you #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x y/n #bungo stray dogs smut #dazai angst #bsd angst #dazai drabbles #bsd drabbles

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novelistrry · 3 months

Text

Wind picked up, swirling around the two as she approached him. There was a leather riding jacket hooked on one of the stable doors, and as she approached him directly, he unhooked it and propped it around her shoulders. Reaching down, he began buttoning it up, until his eyes met her.

The sheepish look she had on her face nearly brought him to his knees. “How were your dreams?”

Her face felt hot. Was it noticeable? “Are you teasing me?”

A smile danced across his lips, bringing his hand to her hair and softly caressing it. “Of course not, Princess.”

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and neither of them know how to feel.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating, tension, etc.

Warning: Mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, praise kink, deception, an awkward sexual encounter (consensual of course), etc! Also, this is not proofread.

Word Count: 4k, sorry it's so short D:

Part One

II. The Rain

Niall had been growing increasingly frustrated with Harry as the days passed. As Harry’s hand, and his best friend, he knew Harry was not as cruel as he made himself out to be. This plan of his, this deceit was one of the cruelest things Harry had ever thought of.

Everyday, Niall asked him if he really felt that this plan was sound, and everyday Harry would show remorse. Every now and again, Niall wanted to roll the words “you’re acting like a frightened child” off his tongue, but never could bring himself to hurt Harry’s feelings like that.

As wrong as it felt, as wrong as it was, his loyalty was not to Harry, it was to Y/N, which made him feel like scum at the bottom of a sea barrel. He could not imagine the guilt that was weighing on Harry’s conscience. He knew his friend. He knew his heart.

___

Y/N was floating on a cloud, the air smelled sweet like the grapes growing on the vineyards just South of the castle, and Harry looked so wonderful walking in front of her. A white linen shirt was loosely tucked into his riding pants, and his riding boots hit just under his knees. She could almost see his back muscles through the shirt. It was mouth watering, really. Y/N chose to walk a few steps behind him to admire what he looked like from the back, how beautiful his silhouette was.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, he turned. “Hello, dear.”

Her stomach coiled, and she nearly kicked herself for it. “Hi.”

The sheepish look she had on her face nearly brought him to his knees. “How were your dreams?”

Her face felt hot. Was it noticeable? “Are you teasing me?”

A smile danced across his lips, bringing his hand to her hair and softly caressing it. “Of course not, Princess.”

For a second, she thought maybe he would kiss her but when Brad came out of nowhere, Harry’s hand immediately dropped, putting a chunk of distance between them. Y/N couldn’t help the way her face contorted with disappointment. The way he immediately put space between them almost seemed like he was embarrassed to be acquainted with her.

She never understood exactly what they were, exactly where the boundaries were. Sometimes it felt like they were utterly obsessed with each other, and other times it felt like they were merely conversing because they needed to. The winds grew harsher as Brad neared them. The sound of the wind was like a murmur in the air, musical and somewhat daunting.

Dark clouds had surrounded the palace, signifying rain, which was not ideal riding weather. It was much too dangerous. The sound of the wind replicating the kind of haunting music you would hear the string section play in a Royal Theatre added to the ominous darkness.

“Still doing it, Princess? I’m proud of you,” Brad clapped his hands together, in support of her showing up for riding lessons.

Harry’s jaw clenched together, and his eyebrow twitched as he licked across his teeth. If Y/N knew any better, she would have thought this is something he does when he’s annoyed, “Right, she does very well.”

Her mind rushed, flooding with everything Harry had said about letting Brad into his bed. Was he upset that Brad had complimented her, when he should be complimenting Harry? The pair were so hot and cold, it was beginning to give her whiplash.

Brad and Harry exchanged a few pleasantries as Y/N brought her fingers to Freya’s coat, getting acquainted with the horse once more. Freya was so lovely, and strikingly beautiful.

As Brad scurried off, Y/N had Harry’s completely undivided attention once more.

“I want to get on Freya today.” Y/N spoke the words before she even fully thought them in her head. Her eyes went wide, but she knew why she said it. She wanted Harry to be astounded, to be completely winded with her.

Harry chuckled, tightening the bridle around Freya’s head. When Y/N didn’t say anything in response, he looked over at her and realized she was serious.

“No,” he spoke in a low voice, dancing around the subject with caution.

Anger swarmed her veins, like all of her blood cells had been replaced. Who was he to tell her no? Her ears felt hot, and Y/N’s nose scrunched. It was a habit she picked up as a young child when something didn’t go her way. Whenever she felt her nose scrunch and her eyebrows furrow, she felt like a small child demanding things go the way she wants.

“What do you mean no?” She grabbed the bridle from Harry’s hand, and he couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his mouth. Y/N was even more endearing when she was angry.

Carefully, he grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around so that their chests were pressed together. Taking a breath as the harsh winds racked through the stables, he smelled the scent of her. Vanilla and cinnamon; mouth watering and sweet.

“It means that you are precious to me,” Harry clicked his tongue, eyes locking with hers as if he were trying to convey everything he felt through his eyes. “And you don’t need to impress me.”

“How do you know that I’m not ready?” Y/N’s jaw clicked again, the scowl still apparent on her face, even with his swoon-worthy words. She would not be swayed by his charm.

Harry glanced over to where her hand was white-knuckling the bridle. When she followed his glance, she realized that her hand shook slightly, a nervous habit she picked up after her bad experience horseback riding.

He realized that he needed to approach this delicately; she was stubborn, hard-headed, and did not like to be told she couldn’t do something. He, at times, was so similar to her that it was like they were different sides of the same coin.

She dropped her hand, a deep shame washing through her. It was like he knew everything she was feeling by the microexpressions fleeting across her face.

He took her hands in his. Freya was starting to become an unwelcome third, because everytime he touched her, even in the most platonic way, she craved more.

“Don’t feel shame,” he said softly.

“I…” She trailed off, eyes glued to the ground. It was hard to look at him, and know that he was the picture-perfect prince, and she was so not. “I am not used to being… not good at something.”

Harry chuckled, and when she looked at him, she had never realized how he looked at her with so much delicacy. “I’m the worst sport you’ll ever meet, Y/N. If I am not good at something, it throws my temper. Just ask Niall. I wish I had an ounce of your poise.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asked quietly.

“Because… Someone must have told you that it’s not okay to feel fear and I don’t like that.” Harry looped his fingers under her chin, forcing Y/N to take her eyes off the ground and look at him. “We start small, like you did when you were first learning as a child.”

He grimaced at the poor choice of words, comparing her skill level to that of a child’s. Y/N was so easy to discourage, and he felt like he couldn’t say anything correctly.

Y/N saw the grimace and let it go. “So what do we do today?”

“How about today you just sit on Freya. I’ll hold onto her bridle, and you sit in the saddle. No walking, no trotting, just sitting.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “For how long?”

“Not too long,” he promised.

And with that said, his hands were all over her, helping her mount Freya. As soon as she was up, her thighs squeezing the horse tightly, he was watching for her micro-expressions that told him he needed to help her off immediately.

But she didn’t have any. If anything, a small smile formed on her lips, like she was proud she got on in the first place. Usually, she chickened out, but with Harry, she felt safe and cared for.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N.” Harry spoke, gripping the bridle closely. His hand rubbed her leg as she looked down at him. Swallowing, he realized he had been gripping the bridle with all his might, white-knuckling it the same way that she was earlier. Harry was feeling more nervous than Y/N was, and a deep sense of pride had him smiling from ear-to-ear as she confidently sat atop Freya.

She muttered an embarrassed-thanks, but by the way her head turned and her smile got bigger, he knew that she was liking the positive attention from her.

“You’re such a good girl, darling,” Harry said softly, his hands now resting on Freya’s sides to ensure she would not move.

“Me or Freya?” Y/N mumbled.

“Both, but I was talking to you, sweet girl.” She was melting.

Freya, feeling sick of their conversation and not being able to go anywhere, shifted her weight from one leg to the other. The sudden movement threw Y/N, causing a yelp to sound from her throat. Immediately, Harry dropped the bridle and reached for her hands, pulling her off of Freya and into his chest.

Whispering in her ear, he tried to soothe her before it led to a panic attack. “You’re okay, you’re fine. Sometimes they get tired of having all their weight on one side, just like us, so they move to get more comfortable. It’s normal,” he hushed her, “You’re okay.”

She shook slightly, but there were no tears or signs of panic in her eyes. As soon as Freya moved and Y/N yelped, Harry was there, pulling her head into his chest and reassuring her.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

He pulled her away, enough to scan her face and make sure that she was actually okay.

“I think that frightened me more than it frightened you, Y/N.” He laughed softly, earning a grin from her. “That’s enough for the day.”

Harry led Freya back to her stable, removing the bit and bridle from around her mouth. Y/N overheard him promise to come out a little later and ride her, or let her run wild in the tall grass behind the stables for some extra exercise. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an apple slice he had stolen from one of the breakfast carts in the hallway and fed it to Freya with an open palm. Harry’s intention was to have Y/N do it, to get over the fear of their massive teeth, but he thought she had enough scare for one day and didn’t trust her to set a boundary she was actually comfortable with.

Using her fingers, Y/N unbuttoned the coat Harry had put on her. She was fixing to put it back on the rack, where Harry had originally had it then head back inside, but he stopped her, letting her know that he wanted to stay out here for a while longer.

Walking together, they found themselves in a large tack shed with a bench for removing riding boots. There were so many tools and instruments for the horses and Y/N didn’t quite understand what they were for, but she had a feeling he didn’t bring her in here for a lesson on tools and riding equipment.

As predicted, the rain began pouring. Pitter patters of rain, hitting the shed pinged off the wooden roof, some of the holes allowing for water droplets to seep in.. It was cold, but she felt cozy nuzzled so closely next to him. Harry was so warm and so safe.

As soon as the door shut behind them, their bodies were pressed together and his lips were merely inches from her own. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?”

She nodded, but then added, “Why won’t you do it in front of anyone?”

He spoke, now his lips pressed against hers, “This isn’t going to be a gentle peck, Y/N. How would they feel seeing my tongue on the inside of their precious princess’ mouth?”

Harry was so vulgar, sometimes the words that came out of his mouth shocked her, and the gasp that slipped past her lips, Harry used to slide his tongue along her bottom lip and pull her lip between his teeth.

Using the wall made from plywood, Harry moved her so that Y/N’s back was pressed against the wall. His thigh was fitted between her legs as his lips moved against her own. They stayed like this for a while, small moans falling from Y/N’s mouth, and each moan went straight to Harry’s core. He liked earning those from her. He liked being with her.

“I wanna feel you,” Y/N said, and even she was shocked by how outright she said it. With each day, she felt more comfortable expressing her needs to Harry, and when those four words tumbled from her lips, their faces still pressed together, he couldn’t help the vulnerable moan that escaped his own.

“You want my fingers or my mouth, doll?” Harry took a step away, so her body wasn’t smushed between the wall and his own. He wanted to see her face as she answered, as her eyes flickered around the room and she begged for either his fingers or his mouth.

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. That small bead of confidence was beginning to wither away. As if he could read her like the back of his hand, he understood that she was growing too bashful to respond.

“You want both my fingers and my mouth? You don’t have to say it, you can just say yes or no.” Harry tacked on the last end to make this experience as comfortable as possible. They hadn’t been together very much, but he always wanted her to feel safe with him.

“No, no.” She responded, looking down.

His brow quirked upward. “I’m not understanding, Y/N.”

Gently, she pressed a kiss to his neck, her tongue darting over the exposed skin as she suckled softly. It was almost like second nature, wanting to taste him everywhere. The moans that caught in the back of his throat were an added bonus to the sweet taste of his skin.

“You want to feel my cock, love?” He was trying to decipher exactly what she needed from him.

Pulling her lips from his neck, a soft string of spit attaching them together, she nodded her head. “I’m ready for it.”

He shook his head, “Not today, darling.”

She frowned, but he laced his fingers in between hers and led her to the bench against the opposite side of the tackshed. There, he sat, urging her to straddle his lap. She did exactly that, putting one leg on either side of him, so they were touching but their clothes acted as a barrier.

Y/N’s breathing caught in her throat as she felt the thickness beneath his trousers. A devilish smile that she had seen him use on countless other people before spread across his face. Using his hand, he softly grabbed her by the throat and guided her lips back to his.

Their lips worked together; their bodies in tandem with one another. Naturally, her hips started to buck, begging for some sort of relief. As she felt him against her center, she tilted her head back, exposing her neck. Harry used this as an opportunity to attach his lips to her neck and taste her, breathing in the scent of her bath soap. She was so beautiful and enticing, it made his head spin.

As they moved together, her hips became sloppier and sloppier with each roll. He tasted so marvelous, notes of mint and lemon as their mouth worked together. Y/N hadn’t realized just how much she yearned for him, in every single aspect. Even when he was being so mean, she had longed for his approval. Now, she wanted him in every single sense of the word. With just his fingers, he stopped her hips from moving against him, a displeasing cry sounding from her at the loss of friction.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” Harry breathed out, slightly out of breath. “I think you need to take your riding pants off, though. You should be as close to me as you can.”

She nodded, and with much enthusiasm, she stood up and quickly unlaced her boots and removed her pants. As she did that, Harry unbuttoned his own, sliding them down to his knees, revealing his white-colored briefs. The sight of him nearly finished her then and there.

“Can I give a small lick?” She asked, not caring how depraved it sounded.

“Christ, Y/N. Yeah,” he breathed.

Y/N sunk to her knees, the cold ground was somewhat uncomfortable but she was too engrossed in Harry to even realize. Darting her tongue out, she licked him over his briefs. Just enough to wet the fabric of them so much that you could see the outline of him.

“Come here,” he whined, but he didn’t have it in him to be mortified with the whiny tone. Typically, he would be.

Like before, she straddled him, her center pressed directly on the hardness of him. Once more, she was moving against him, the pleasure so much more intense now that layers of clothes had been stripped.

He used his hands to guide her, and she mumbled something about how he was a trained professional. This must have stroked his ego in the best way possible, because suddenly he was bucking into her, begging for her to come with him.

Harry often had a tough time feeling comfortable enough to reach his pinnacle with another person, it was something so deeply vulnerable to him that sometimes he couldn’t do it out of sheer embarrassment for them to see him in such an exposed state.

But when he felt her hit her high, he couldn’t stop himself before he was coming too. With no warning, he finished, come spurting in between them and landing on his white linen shirt. Just watching him finish, made her eyes roll back in her head.

Shock washed through him as her hips halted against him. Gently, he removed her from his lap, standing her up. Frantically, he looked around for a rag, anything to wipe the sticky residue off his skin and before it could stain his shirt.

He didn’t watch her as she dressed herself, completely oblivious to the fact that he had no intention of showing her that part of him.

With a hot face, he asked for his jacket to conceal the stains of his come on his shirt as he walked back to the palace, “Is it okay if I have my jacket back?”

She shimmied out of his jacket, handing it to him. He quickly threw it over his shoulders and buttoned it up before muttering out, “That was really good. Thank you.”

Shuffling through some boxes, he found a pancho they used when it was raining but the horses needed tending. He helped her put the cloak on so when she walked back to the palace, she would be assaulted by the rain and grow sickly.

Y/N just smiled at him as he rushed out, letting her know he had somewhere to be. With very much confusion, she watched him as he hurried out the door, rain pelting him.

____

That night, Harry did not find himself going back to the palace immediately.

Instead he wandered around the grass fields, too ashamed to face Niall or anyone else for that matter. Especially Y/N.

But as the sun began to set, and he knew Niall was growing more and more worried as each hour passed, he finally made his way back to the comfortable cottage Niall was staying in during their time at Y/N’s family’s palace. He was completely soaking wet when he returned, shoulders shivering. Niall ushered him to the fireplace, looking around for dry clothes that would fit Harry.

“Where have you been?” Niall asked, a clear tone of worry laced throughout his words.

And with that, Harry dropped himself onto the chair directly next to the warmth of the fireplace and spilled his guts. He told Niall about how Y/N made him feel like he couldn’t control himself, like he was a magnet that only responded to her frequency. He teared up as he told Niall what a terrible person he was for using her like this, and how it was going to feel even worse because his heart was already breaking.

And Niall, like the good friend he was, listened carefully and thoughtfully. Only when Harry concluded did he say, “If you like her so much, why don’t you call off this plan? It sounds to me like the plan is still on.”

“It is,” Harry confirmed. “I’m simply not good enough for her.”

Niall, knowing that he could not argue with Harry when he was in a mood as sour as this, rested his hand on his shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze.

___

That night, Harry found himself sitting outside Y/N’s door, afraid that her scary experience on Freya today might haunt her in her dreams. With his back against the door, and tired eyes threatening to close, he waited to hear her screams.

He wanted to be there, to hold her and tell her it was okay.

Dorothea, hearing the sound of feet shuffling as Harry readjusted himself so that his earshot had a clear line of Y/N’s room, went out to investigate who was lingering in the hallway.

“Prince Harry?” Dorothea asked, wide eyed and confused.

Harry hummed in response, barely flickering his eyes up to meet hers. He was so tired, they were threatening to close.

“It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing here?” She was slightly delirious from just waking up.

“I’m on nightmare watch,” he muttered out and it took a second for Dorothea to comprehend exactly what he said to her.

“Prince, if she has a nightmare and calls out for you, I will come get you again. You do not need to miss sleep to wait outside her door.”

“And what if she doesn’t call out for me?” His tired eyes looked up, “Will you still come get me?”

“Yes,” she promised, reaching her hand out and helping him to his feet. “Go to bed, Prince. You need beauty sleep.”

He nodded his head, rising to his feet with her help and turning to the direction of his own bedchamber. “Can you do me another favor?”

“Hm?” The sound coming from Dorothea was soft.

Harry reached his hand behind his neck, massaging softly. “Please don’t tell her.”

Dorothea only nodded in response, a silent promise between the two of them.

385 notes · View notes

grugruel · 6 months

Text

Bad News 1 |

Parts: 1/2, read part 2 HERE

Parings: dbf!bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Inspired by, Call me by your name

Summary: Your fathers best friend accompanies you and your family to your summer house in the country. Sparks ignite as you grow closer, secretly spending one-on-one time together at night.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: plot with smut, secret-relationship, angst, choking, praise kink, petname (doll), oral sex (f recieving), pinv sex, fingering, creampie, c*ck warming.

AN: Ill make it into a series if yall like it, please enjoy!

Baring Throats

I leaned onto the windowsill, one arm stretched into the cool night air, holding a half smoked ciagrette as I rested my head in the crook of the other. A song filled the empty night, small birds and morning doves serenaded me beautifully, the occasional cranes interuppting with their paired cries.

I took a puff, exhailing slowly as I admired the view overlooking the garden, the vast grass plains surronding the house and the tree line in the distance. It separated us from the forest, obscuring the lake behind it and hiding all things wild. I glanced down the long road leading up to the house, and found a man walking along it.

Bucky, heading back from another venture into town. Perhaps he had visited a lady friend, which he had a good number of, perhaps it wasnt any of my concern. It shouldnt bother me, yet, it did.

I found my mind drifting, painting a picture of him in a bed, sweaty and naked, laying next to another woman and a spark of jealousy flared up inside me. The sound of footsteps on a gravel path approached, bringing me back to the moment, I blinked the images away and rebuked myself.

Looking down to the ground, my eyes met his. Smiling, I greeted him amd leaned over the sill. Nothing on but a thin t-shirt and a pair of panties, goosebumps prickled my skin. He smiled back at me. We looked at eachother in silent understanding, our business remaining our own. Wordlessly we communicated, I took another drag of the cigarette and he gestured for me to give him one, I held my index finger up, indicating for him to wait a second as I grabbed the pack and lighter from my nightstand, in turn tossing them down to him. Graciously he caught them and lit up, I nodded my head inside, asking him to join me. He took a long drag of the cig, considering me carefully, but he shook his head. Smiling increadolously, he pointed at me as if saying, "youre bad news" then snuffed his cigarette and went inside.

I heard him walking up the stairs, toward my room, the footsteps stopping just outside my door. Please knock, I begged, he seemed to be considering it, but a moment passed and then another, and at last he left. Entering his own room instead, opposite mine.

This had been our routine for the past few weeks, both being night owls, we'd sometimes encounter eachother on the premises. Coming from our separete affairs, but never asking the other where they'd been. We'd share a snack, talk in hushed voices, hold in laughs and shush eachother when we inevitably were to loud. It became our little secret, not because we did anything innapropriate, but simply because it were a few moments that belonged to just the two of us. Talking about things we couldnt talk about with anyone else. It had been innocent at first, but at some point had that charming smile of his begun to make me blush, at some point had his touching become more tender and at some point did our night time talks stop being accidental, but rather sought out. Last night, we'd come dangerously close to kissing and I think alarm bells sounded for the both of us, which is why we kept our distance tonight.

Dissapointed I went to bed, falling asleep with unseemly images of my fathers best friend clouding my mind.

I slept late into the next day, the sound of heavy rain battering the roof roused me from my sleep. As I got ready to go about my day, I found a note slid under my door, my lighter was inside, along with a few written words "Smoking is bad, you know. I'd better finish them for you :)" Chuckling, I saved the note, tucking it into my nightstand. Wiseass.

Due to poor weather and lack of outdoor activities, the family + one was gathered in the livingroom. My parents on one sofa, dad holding an arm around my mom as they read from the same book, my brother in the armchair and Bucky on the other sofa, everyone reading a variety of something. They all looked up as I entered the room, feigning surprise that I had finally joined them.

'Good afternoon stranger.' my father chuckled. I kissed my mothers cheek in greeting, she smiled sweetly and squeezed my hand in response as I passed them.

'About time you graced us with your prescence' Bucky teased, making my brother and mother join in with the cheerful joking.

I smirked and shook my head, waving my hands dissmissively, 'Very funny, I blame the weather.' I said and gestured toward the sky, sitting down on the empty seat next to Bucky. I laid my legs in his lap and leaned back against the armrest, propping my head up on a pillow. A conversation was struck up, talking about what I had missed, discussing resent books and making plans for tomorrow, it seemed like we'd go to the beach. Ocasionally, Bucky would grab and squeeze my legs when talking, in the same way some people gestured to get their point across.

As the chill of the evening drew closer, we lit a fire in the hearth and grabbed blankets. But a shortage occured, so I had to move closer to Bucky, he laid an arm across my shoulder as I curled up intill him so one blanket would be enough for the both of us. We grabbed a few bottles of wine, dusted off the old board games and got down to business. A heated game of monopoly ensued, followed by a short dinner break, eventually resulting in very drunk charades. Bucky and I teamed up, two versus three and we won regardless. Were all very competitve people, safe to say that none of us went to bed feeling very sportsmanlike that night. As the evening wound down, so did our energy, the wine was taking its toll. My legs were tucked against Buckys chest as I leaned my head against his shoulder, he circled his arms around my legs and rested his chin on my knees. Lazily the five of us talked for a while longer, enjoying the pleasent atmosphere of the night while we were still contious to do so. Eventually though, as laughs turned into yawns, Bucky and I offered to stay behind and clean up while the other three departed. Tidying went by quickly, we made a good team. As I discarded the last of the dishes in the sink, he put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my forehead, trying to keep his focus on my eyes, 'Go to bed, doll. I got the rest.' He said, smiling sweetly, attempting to act sober and rubbed my shoulders tenderly.

I looked at him with hazy eyes, 'If you say so.' I answered, smiling lazily, then went upstairs. Between our rooms, there was a french balcony. It stood wide open, my parents had presumably opened it in a drunk hot-flash to let air in. I was headed for my room, but my mind drifted to the crisp, sublte wind calling my name. My feet changed direction by themselves, and magically I appeared in the opening.

Leaned against the doorframe, I fell half asleep, the rain had devolved into a drizzle, but the air was damp and pleasantly chilly against my skin. Involuntairy shivers took over my body, but I was to tired to move. I heard distant footsteps behind me, coming and going, and eventually coming back again. The steps approached and strong arms circled around my shoulders, a warm body pressing up against my back. He'd covered himself with a blanket, holding the ends in his hands and gift wrapped me into his embrace. I held onto his forearms, a smile kn my lips as I basked in his warmth.

He rested his head on my shoulder, 'You were gonna freeze.' He explained himself, whispering against my ear and sending a cold shiver through my spine. I leaned my head back against his chest, sighing happily as we stood silently, appreciating eachothers presence. I drunk his scent in as our breaths matched up, the birds singing for us once again.

'I want my cigs back.' I complained, drunkenly disturbing our peaceful moment.

Bucky chuckled, 'I dont want you to get cancer.' He protested, half-joking.

I turned around, alcohol causing the bounderies of a long friendship to blur. I placed my hands on his chest and met his eyes, looking at him through my lashes, making them as big and pretty as a puppys 'Please?' I asked kindly.

He looked at me with adoration in his gaze, removing the blanket from himself and covering my shoulders with it. A smirk curved his lips as he looked at me, shaking his head in defeat. Wordslessly his manmersism spoke for him, 'Youre bad news." they told me, and this it would get the better of him. He grabbed my hand and led me into his room. Once inside he let go of me, opened his window and began rummaging around his dresser. I leaned my back against the windowsill, grabbing the lighter from my pocket and crossed my arms, wrapping the blanket tighter around me as I waited, watching him with a smile on my lips. His arm shot up into the air, displaying the packet proudly as he found them, 'I'll give you, one.' He told me quietly, a stern expression on his face.

My mouth fell open in disbelief, 'I payed for them!' I exclaimed, forgetting myself. Bucky put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and walked up to me. He took a cigarette out of the pack and opened his hand expectantly, I gave him the lighter and he lit his cig, taking a puff and leaving it between his lips. He rested his elbows on the windowsill behind me and leaned forward, leveling his head with mine. Moving past my head, gracing my cheek with his as he blew the smoke out of the window, then leaned back. He had one arm on each side of me, crossed behind my back, he had me pinned between him and the window. Our faces were inches apart, both painfully aware that this wasnt appropriate of a daughter and the family friend, but the wine had pushed out any reason or logic of our minds. I couldnt help but look away, suddenly shy. Luring a smile from him as he observed the way a blush crept its way up my cheeks. I took the cig from him, my fingertips acidentally grazing his lips, and placed it between my own. I took a puff and faced him again, our eyes locked, sharing hidden thoughts through transparent gazes.

Energy sizzled in the air, building onto the tension between us, magnetizing it, pulling at the invisible string that connected us. 'Let me taste.' He whispered, inching closer. I hesitated, before slowly exhaling the smoke as he breathed it in, sharing the toxic cloud between us, poisoning our judgement. I felt myself drawn closer to him, the string pulling taunt on both ends, his lips a mere ghost over mine. Temptation coarsed through our veins, causing heavy breathing as we fought our urges. But we both gave in, in the end.

Our lips met in a soft kiss, he moved his arms from the windowsill and grabbed my waist. I was taken off guard, but welcomingly so. Complicated feelings bounced through my mind, but I couldnt back down now. I hurridly snuffed out the cigarette against the sill and snaked my hands around his neck as I kissed him back, pulling him closer. His hands found their way under my shirt, sliding up my torso until his fingertips touched the plush flesh of my breasts. He inhaled sharply, the oxygen returning to his brain as common sense flooded back to him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, this was his best friends daughter. He tore free from the claws of desire, grabbing my arms and unhooking them from his neck, he backed up. I reached out for him, but he pulled away, sitting down at the end of his bed, he laid his head in his hands, a labored sigh leaving him.

'We cant, you know we cant.' He whispered, voice muffled against his palms. I did know, but I couldnt help it. I sat down next to him, wrapping my arms around his, grabbing his bicep as I rested my head against his shoulder. He sat straighter, letting one of his hands fall to my knee as the other stroked my hair, he kissed the top of my head.

'I just- Why did it turn out this way?' I asked him quietly, my voice quivering 'I know we cant, but. . .' I paused, thinking of the right words. His hand slid from my hair to gently caress my cheek, then tracing his fingers finger along my jaw until they found purchase under my chin and tilted my face to meet his. I searched his gaze for something unknow to me, 'I need you.' I whispered foolishly, my eyes watering, 'This is all your fault you know, your stupid smile and caring words.' I laughed mirthlessly, keeping my eyes locked on his, as a tear threatened to fall.

He cupped my face with boths hands, looking at me with a sorrowful expression as he leaned his forehead against mine.

'Bucky, please.' I whispered, leaning into his touch 'If you cant have me, stop this.' I pulled one of his hands from my face, clasping my own around it and kissed his palm softly before letting it fall to my lap.

'I cant get stuck. . . Wanting your love if you cannot give it to me.' I told him quietly, squeezing his hand as my voice broke, I leaned back, meeting his eyes again, pleading, 'Please say something.'

But he remained quiet as his eyes welled, admiring my blushed, tear streaked face.

My eyebrows furrowed, not understanding how he could be so cruel. A tear finally rolled down my cheek and my chin quivered in disbelief, I was nothing more than a naive girl to him.

I looked away, not wanting him to see the pain he caused me. I took his silence as a rejection and moved to stand, but he grabbed my wrist, stopping me from leaving, 'Let me go.' I cried silently, unwilling to face him as tears streamed down my cheeks. I stood again, pulling, trying to unclasp my hand from his grip but I could not, 'Please Buck, I cant do this.' I croaked, looking up at the ceiling as I tried to blink my tears away.

'Look at me.' He ordered softly, but I refused. 'Doll.' He whispered in warning, but hearing his name for me only made my cry harder, I pulled on his grip again but he was unrelenting. 'Sit, please.' He asked this time, desperation burried in his voice.

'No.' I answered, resolute.

As I was not cooperating, he took matters into his own hands. He pulled me back down and cupped my face as kissed me harshly, I fought him out of anger, but quickly melted into his touch, all was forgiven, it had always been.

He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth, moaning from just the taste of me. My hands found their way to his brown locs, burrying themselves, while his hands felt their way down my body. We fell backwards onto the bed and he cilimbed on top of me, pushing his knee between my legs to separate them. His lips found my neck, trailing kisses from my jaw to collarbone as his hand kneaded its way up my thigh, my skirt catching on his wrist. His lips left my skin as he sat up, scaring me for a moment as I thought he changed his mind. But he climbed down to the foot of the bed, knees on the floor and hooked his hands under my kees, pulling me to the edge of the bed. His hands found my panties and ripped them off, I gasped from the sudden gust of cold air hitting my wet core. He kissed my thighs, licking and nipping as he worked his way inwards, panting inbetween pecks, desperate to taste me. He looked up at me, meeting my eyes as he hovered over my core, his breath fanning over my clit, he looked like a crazed mad man. The anticipation was overflowing, I bit my lip, nodding for him to go ahead and he dove in. Lapping at my clit, tasting me. I almost screamed from the sudden sensation, but covered my mouth at the last second. I rutted my hips against him, hoping for further friction, but his hands grabbed my hips, holding me down so he could please with intention. I whined, grabbing at the sheets, pulling on them for support, It wasnt enough.

'More, more.' I moaned, and he obligingly latched onto my clit, sucking as two of his fingers found their way inside me, thrusting and curling at my pleasure. Breathy moans escaped me as I was getting closer to cumming.

'Close, real close' I managed with a mumbling voice, he squeezed my hip in reassurance, telling me it was alright. I hummed as the knot in my stumache pulled tighter, he pushed another finger inside me and im convinced I saw the light. I came tumbling over the edge, stiffling another scream by shoving my face into the bed. And as I was catching my breath, he kissed his way back up to me, climbing on top once again, he snaked one arm under my back to pull my shirt off, freeing my breasts, then lifted my hips to take my skirt off, followed by his own shirt and sweats. He was huge, no surpise there.

'You okay?' He asked, and I hummed in response, cupping his face and pulling him back up to my lips, kissing him with a burning passion. He pulled back, 'Use your words girl.' He said sternly.

'Need you.' I whispered, kissing him again.

'You sure doll?' he asked against my lips, I nodded enthusiastically.

'Please, Ive never wanted anything more.' I assured him. He hooked my leg onto his knee, raising it to get better access to my opening. I circled my other leg around his hip and he lined himself up with my entrance.

'Look at me.' He ordered again, and I met his eyes, gazes locked deeply as his tip teased my entrance. I admired his beautiful face as I circled my arms around his shoulders, preparing for whatever was to come. Suddenly he slid inside me and we gasped in unisome, he didnt move for a second so I could get used to his size. He stroked a strand of hair behind my ear as he admired my face, 'My beautiful girl.' He whispered, making my heart beat faster.

He pulled out of me and thrusted in again softly, setting a slow but intent pace. Each thrust took my breath away, all the while he was grunting in my ear. His hand found its way to my throat, closing around it and squeezed, putting slight pressure on it and stealing another moannfrom me in the process. He graced his nose against my cheek, kissing my jaw as he thrusted deeper, and I met them with desperate ruts, 'C'mon doll, just like that.' He encouraged me in a breathy voice, that alone couldve been enough to make me cum. He trailed kisses down my chest and latched onto my breast, taking it into his mouth, sucking and nibbling at my nipple as his hand found the other, kneading it intently.

'Getting- closer.' I hummed, but his thrusting slowed, eventually stopping completley. 'Buck?' I questioned, and he let go of my breasts, pulling out of me completley, pleasure and confusion mixed my mind into a strange mess. He backed up, grabbed my legs, raising them and in one solid motion hooked them onto his shoulders and thrust into me again, deeper than ever before. A loud moan tore through me, to blided by the feeling that I completley forgot about being silent. His hand quickly covered my mouth as he began a ruthlessly deep and hard pace, rocking my entire body. His mouth quickly replaced his hand, kissing me deepley, passionateley, in rythm with his thrusts.

'Almost there, doll.' He mumbled between kisses, I nodded, not able to for words, but I was close to. The knot in my stumache terribly close to coming undone once again. His thrustingbecame rougher, harder as he closed in on his orgasm, hitting that sweet spot every time. Our breaths were nothing more than frenzied moans, his pace faltered, giving it all he had for a few last thrusts before we both came undone. Warm liquid spurting into me as he collpased on top of me, resting his head in the crook of my neck and kissing my skin softly as we cought or breath, 'Good girl.' He whispered, 'My good, good girl.' He panted, still inside me as his seed slowly, sippered out of me.

My heart fluttered at his words as I fought to keep my eyes open, the alcohol and exhaustion from the day along with the bliss of our secret activities were catching up to us. He laid an arm around my ribbcage, pulling me closer to him, I hooked my leg over his hip and curled up to him. I gave him a quick peck on the lips as he kissed my forehead, and we fell asleep in eachothers arms.

I woke up later in the night, but in my own room. I wouldve thought I had dreamt it all if it wasnt for the blanket tucked tightly around me, still smelling of him.

Read part two HERE <3

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst

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lainsshop · 3 months

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I’m Your Man ୨ৎ

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: angst(?), established relationship, out of character(?) n probably more..

Song: I’m Your Man - Mitski

A/N: i really don’t know about this one.. give me your thoughts tho!

Alastor is known as a huge narcissist, sure but you were the only one who got to see the “real” him, not only the real murderous side of him but also the soft spot he has for you. You made him feel.. weak?

Ever since you two got together, he view you as you were apart of him like an accessory but also much more than that, his lover. He absolutely adored you, you really accepted his flaw self even if he doesn’t admit he doesn’t have flaws.

He never wanted to admit to so many things cause he believes one second of him showing his weak self will make his enemies aware of that and it will put him and yourself in even more danger.

You were also the only one who got to see him in a vulnerable state, which is rare to be honest. Maybe he doesn’t wanna worry you, he really doesn’t but every time he’s in that state he would always come to you and you will listen to his words.

“You’re an angel, I’m a dog,” He started to slowly say as you two were in the hotels library. The door was locked, the sound of rain and fire cracking could be heard and a sweet slow tune next to you as you play with his hair and ears carefully.

“… or your dog and I’m your man.” There was times were he gets.. poetic in some way. Luckily, you knew what the meaning of his words meant.

He didn’t looked at you in the eyes. “You believe me like a God,” He continued. “I’ll destroy you like I am-” Oh, he could. He could easily hurt you in a second, he doesn’t tho. You being so near to him is like a risk to both of you cause he never hesitates to do anything. Like that night..

“I’m sorry I’m the one you love..” You see, you two met when you were alive, you were a lil bit younger than him by that time and he involved you into his weird habits like killing people, cannibalism, so much more and then your death..

Deep down, he blamed himself for that. That night, he took you into the woods to hide a body, usually it went well but then you guys got mistaken as a deer and the hunter got you first.. he looked at you dead body and then- he woke up in hell.

He couldn’t even process what happened in that exact moment so when he appeared in hell, he wasn’t surprised at all but then he remembered you. He genuinely thought you went to heaven but then again.. you helped him so he looked around.

“No one will ever love me like you again, my dear,” He finally looked at you as he grabbed you hand and gave it a small kiss. “So when you leave me, I should die.. I deserve it, don’t I?”

You froze a bit at that. You looked at him with a surprised, shocked and worried expression. “Al-” “I can feel it gettin’ near like flashlights comin’..” You wanted to tell him how much you meant you him, how even if he’s not the affectionate type or how much of a bad he is, you still loved him ever since the day you met but-

“One day, you’ll figure me out..” There was apart him that you really didn’t knew and he feared that. He feared that one day you’ll know more about him, more deeper about him and leave him. You knew his murderous way, yes but do you actually?

“I’ll meet judgement by the hounds,” A silent scratchy static could be heard as he said the last word. He was still smiling as he spoke.

“You always gave me love, you were never to blame after all, mon ange..” He looked at you with a bit of sad soft eyes as he cups your cheek and his thumb strokes your under eye.

The sudden sound of dogs start to appear outside in the rain. You two looked at each other as you had watery eyes trying not to get emotional or anything. There was silence between you two until-

“You believe me like a God-” A tear fell down your cheek. You suddenly hug him, not too tight, just enough to show him that you cared about him and you didn’t care how he really is.

He started to caress your hair. “I’ll betray you like a man.”

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel

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rainydaydreamsideblog · 1 year

Text

(The Maze Runner) Spending a Rainy Day With Him

(Author’s Note: In my fics/imagines/headcanons, Gladers are aged up, and also movie version...)

Thomas: Heavy rain usually puts most of the Glade jobs on hold. Everyone will find a tree or covered structure to sit under and wait until the rain stops. Wherever you are, Thomas will come find you. He gently takes your hand in his, brown eyes meeting yours in a silent request. You know that look very well. With a smile, you nod. The both of you go back to his hammock and climb in together, tangled up in a somewhat crowded mess of limbs, but it’s cozy. He likes having you close like this. Likes hearing your heartbeat, watching you breathe, and listening to you hum a gentle tune. It helps put him at ease. He’ll lay there with your head on his chest as it rises and falls, his hand running up and down your back soothingly while you both listen to the rain on the roof. Every now and then, he’ll give you a squeeze or bestow a forehead kiss. It’ll be a quiet time, at least for a little while. After sorting through thoughts, he might start a conversation if you haven’t already. It might be about your jobs. It could be about the strange dreams either of you were having. Or it could just remain quiet for a little longer.

Newt: When he feels the first drops fall on his cheek, he glances up with brows furrowed and lips parted to see if any more follow. Upon realizing it’s the beginning of a downpour, he tells the others to pack up the tools and get out of the rain. He’s already wondering if you found shelter already or not. He’ll be keeping an eye out for you as he walks to the nearest structure. It’s not like he thinks you’re in any danger or anything. He just wants to be sure you’re alright. He’ll be glad when you do find him, and a little smirk of amusement will grace his lips when he sees the state you’re in. Your clothes are a little wet from the dash in the rain, body shivering from the chill, and skin glistening. Newt will put an arm around you and draw you to his warm side, remaining like that as you both stand at the edge of the covered structure and gaze out at the rainy Glade. The time will be filled with quiet conversation with your faces inches apart, intent on each other’s pleasant company while the others goof around or chat behind you. He’s not super crazy about kissing in front of others, but he’ll glance over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention before leaning in for a tender kiss.

Minho: He’s just about to head into the Maze when the downpour starts. Shuck. Nothing like a rainy day to dampen a run. If he gets caught in the rain while already in the Maze, it’s one thing. But if it hits before he leaves, then he’ll just take the day off. If he’s entirely honest, he doesn’t mind the break. He heads back, removes his gear, and decides to pay you a surprise visit. Runners are often up before most of the other Gladers, so it’s not surprising that you’re still in your hammock fast asleep. Minho will greet you softly with a playful chirp in his tone, calling you by his own term of endearment. When your eyes flutter open and you say his name in confusion, his heart just about leaps out of his chest. He’ll tell you that it’s raining so he has the day off, and to move over. You sleepily move over as much as you can so he has room to climb in with you, wrapping his arms around you. He’s an early bird, so he probably won’t fall back to sleep right away. He’ll enjoy watching you drift back into dreamland once more with the sound of rain tapping on the roof, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Gally: He is by no means a slacker, but he can’t defy the weather. Being that the conditions aren’t the best for building, he’ll tell the other builders on his team to head inside. He huffs a sigh of annoyance as he badly wants to finish this project. The rain starts to wash away the sweat that glistened over his skin as he takes his time picking up tools and whatnot so they don’t get ruined. Since he’s already soaked, he’ll go out of his way to find you wherever you took shelter. He’ll ask around if any of those shanks taking shelter under the structure have seen where you went. Someone will point, and finally, he’ll spot you making a dash across the Glade. He’ll stand there with hands on his hips watching you approach. You’re out of breath, but there’s a glimmer in your eye as you greet him. His heart pounds and lips turn up in amusement as he wraps an arm around you for a brief hug, not wanting to make a scene in front of the other Gladers. A midday snack is being passed around by Frypan, so the two of you sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a bench. You’re talking with each other and your closest friends around you. It was almost like a bonfire with jokes being made and laughter. Gally cracks up at a silly comeback you made to Winston, and suddenly, the rain doesn’t feel like such an inconvenience to him anymore.

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moonstruckme · 6 months

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Hi lovely! I'd like to request poly!marauders where reader left something out in the rain (like a book or something) and goes to retrieve it but ends up staying out longer to enjoy the rain and when she comes back, it's been a couple of hours and the scold her for being out for so long without even a jacket just like "where have you been?? >:O". Maybe some added cuddles under the blankets at the end? 🫶🏻

Hi sweetheart, thanks for requesting <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 639 words

You decide to go inside when you can no longer keep your teeth from chattering.

“Hey,” you say as you open the door, spotting Sirius and James in the living room, “would one of you grab me a towel? I don’t want to get the floor wet.”

Sirius is lying back, twirling his wand between deft fingers, but it falters when he sees you. “Fuck, baby,” he says, looking from your dripping hair to your soaked shoes. “Where’ve you been? Did you run into a tsunami out there?”

“What?” you laugh. “I’ve been just outside.”

Both your boyfriends’ faces morph into expressions of bemusement, Sirius’ eyebrows coming down while James’ float up.

“Could I have a towel, please?” you ask again, and James hops up, hustling towards the bathroom.

Remus pokes his head out of the kitchen, eyes widening as he takes in your sopping state. “You’ve been outside the whole time?” he asks, incredulous. “Dove, we thought you left.”

You shrug as James comes back with the biggest towel you all have, wrapping it around your shoulders and scrubbing up and down your arms roughly. “I was enjoying the rain. I can do it, Jamie, thanks.”

James ignores you, continuing to towel you off as Sirius sits up on the couch. “You mean to tell me you’ve been outside in the rain for the last hour, and you weren’t even wearing a jacket?”

You’re beginning to get the sense you’re in some kind of trouble.

“Um,” you say hesitantly, “yes, but it wasn’t that bad. I came in when I got too cold.”

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking like one of those little dogs,” James worries, and you laugh, another shiver taking you.

“Merlin.” Sirius rolls his eyes, flicking his wand toward the fireplace to ignite it. “Come here, silly thing. We need to get you warmed up.”

“Good thing I’m making soup,” Remus says, disappearing back into the kitchen. “It’ll be done in just a minute.”

“Thanks, Rem,” you call after him as James shepherds you to the couch. You sit next to Sirius, and James covers the two of you with another blanket on top of your towel.

Sirius gathers you up against him, tensing. “Fuck, you’re freezing,” he complains, but instead of pulling away, he tucks you in closer, arms warm where they wrap around your back and across your chest. “What the hell is wrong with you, staying out in that for so long?”

“I don’t get why you’re so upset,” you hum, resting your head against his collar. “I was just relaxing.”

“It’s so cold out, angel, I don’t know how you could stand it.” James gathers the wet hair off your neck, tying it in a sloppy knot above your head. “You could’ve gotten hypothermia or something.”

You roll your eyes at their fretting. “Well luckily for us all, I didn’t.”

“You could have,” Remus insists, balancing your four bowls like a trained server as he comes into the living room. He passes two to James and Sirius first, then sets down the others to press both his palms to your cheeks. “Merlin, you are cold.” He plants a firm kiss between your brows, setting your bowl in your lap. “Eat that, and I’ll make us some cocoa after.”

“Thanks, Moons,” James says, sidling up to you so that you’re sandwiched between him and Sirius, the both of them sharing their warmth with you beneath the blanket.

“If I say I nearly died from the cold,” you venture, “could I choose what we watch tonight?”

Sirius scoffs. “Yeah, right. There’ll be no rewards for dangerous behavior, babe. You might’ve gotten to choose before, but not now.”

You wonder whether the warm hand he’s stroking up and down your thigh underneath the blanket might be considered a reward, but you decide not to say anything.

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thetriumphantpanda · 20 days

Text

thunderstruck | marcus pike

Summary | You're scared of storms but it's okay, because Marcus always knows how to soothe you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Explicit - descriptions of thunderstorms, softness/fluff, rain, established relationship, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, our boy Marcus just being Marcus. No use of y/n.

Authors Note | This is my contribution to @undercoverpena's April Showers Challenge. It's a blessing that I got anything out because this brief gave me so many ideas, but I've missed my man and knew he would be the one I'd want to comfort me through a rain storm. Enjoy.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Divider by @saradika

Are you busy?

No baby, what’s up?

I don’t like the storm.

They’ve never been your favourite. Something about growing up on the coast, when the rain and wind would bring the waves crashing near your home, and your parents would walk about like nothing was wrong and there wasn’t the immediate danger of your house being washed out to sea. The nights, when the wind would clatter the shutters against the windows and drag tiles from the roof to break onto the ground. It might be Washington D.C. now and you might live in a new apartment building, but it doesn’t make the torrential rain and gale force winds any easier to handle.

You’re sitting on the couch, curtains drawn with all the lights on to try and make it feel less scary, but when the first clap of thunder hits you jump and scream all the same, burying yourself further under the blanket, some childhood wish for that to keep you safe.

There’s a knock at the door a little while later, the only thing that could drag you from the warm cocoon of blankets. Padding gently to the door, you open it, Marcus stood in front of you, dripping wet from the storm outside. He steps across the threshold, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This feels stupid.” You grumble as you shut the door behind him, following close to his heels as he walks through your apartment, so familiar with it now that it feels like home to have to him here.

“It’s not stupid if you’re scared, baby.” He soothes, sitting down on your couch, opening his arm to encourage you to snuggle into his side, which you do without question.

You can feel his thumb tracing soothing circles on your arm as you settle a little, but it’s short-lived, when a crash of thunder bellows through the room from outside, making you jump and bury your head into the side of his neck with a groan.

“I blame the coast,” You speak softly, “I was always so scared of it blowing our house away when I was small.”

“You know what helps?” Marcus murmurs against your head, another soft kiss placed to it.

“Hmmm?”

“Sometimes you’ve just got to be louder than the storm.”

You look up at him, confused for a second, until you can feel him moving the two of you, laying you gently down on the couch. His mouth sponges kisses across your neck, trailing down across your collarbone before he drags it away to peel your tank top from your body. You hear Marcus hum in approval at your lack of bra, his hands gently pressing your tits together before his mouth is suckling a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over it until it’s stiffened to a peak, giving the same attention to the other side until you’re gasping, bucking your hips into his, the bulge in his trousers evident as his mouth trails further south, tongue leaving a trail from your tits and down your stomach until he gets to the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“Lift up.” He murmurs softly, voice almost drowned out by the constant smattering of rain against the windows.

Doing as you’re told, you lift your hips up, letting him hook his fingers into the waistband to drag them down your legs. You miss the weight and warmth of his body when it’s gone, but then you feel his warm palms on the inside of your thighs, pressing your legs open, and then you don’t mind so much at all, especially when you look up at him, watching him admire the already sticky mess accumulating between your thighs.

Marcus moves to run his thumb across your folds, dragging your slick across your skin, but not daring to dip below to where you truly want him.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He muses, moving to situate himself between your legs, hot mouth pressing wet kisses to the delicate skin of your thighs, teasing you by putting his mouth everywhere but where you need it most.

“M-Marcus, please.” You whimper when his face moves, he’s so close to your cunt you can feel the hot of his breath.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks, running that damn thumb over your folds once more, this time though, his other thumb rests to the side, gently pulling your folds apart to bare you to him, “Want me to kiss it a little?”

“Oh god, oh please Marcus, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for it.” He speaks, and you’re about to say something smart when he leans forward and presses a single, open-mouth kiss to your clit.

It’s tiny in comparison to what you really want, but it makes you throw your head back anyway, back arching, trying to press your cunt closer to his face. Thankfully, he takes pity on you, kisses your clit once, twice more, and then you can feel the tip of his tongue, flicking up against your clit, then dragging back down, sometimes circling, working you gently until you’re whining and bucking your hips into his face.

You’d almost forgotten about the storm outside, the movements of his tongue distracting you just enough, until the loudest clap of thunder echoes through the apartment. It makes you scream, jumping slightly, but you feel Marcus’ hands grip tightly to the skin of your thighs, tearing his mouth away from you. You look down at him, mouth glistening with a mix of your slick and his spit, glint across his brown eyes.

“What did I say?” He asks, squeezing at your thighs again, “What did I tell you earlier?”

“Um…” You wrack your brain, trying to remember, “I needed to be louder than the storm?”

“That’s right, my clever girl,” He praises, heat rising across your skin, “If you scream for me, you won’t notice.”

Once again, before you can retort with your smart mouth, he’s back on you, lips closing around your clit, tongue resuming it’s flicking across your bundle of nerves, but then you can feel two of his fingers sinking inside you, easing into your walls, curling up against that perfect spot inside of you.

It makes you cry out, his name dropping from your lips as you arch off the couch, his tongue working in time to the press of his two fingers in your cunt. You’re chanting his name into the room, moving your hips in time to the movements of his hands until you’re teetering on the edge of bliss. He knows, of course he does, the way your walls start to flutter around his fingers, so he slows his fingers, keeping you dangling over the edge but not quite pushing you just yet.

“Marcus p-please,” You whimper, hands tangling in his hair, “Please make me come.”

“You asked so nicely, baby,” He muses against your pussy, letting his fingers curl just perfectly against the spongy spot inside you, “Whenever you’re ready honey.”

It takes very little more, his mouth suckling at your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, and then you’re crashing, skin aflame with pleasure as you do exactly as he told you and scream his name into the living room, body convulsing, gushing around his fingers as they still inside you. You’re clenching around him as his tongue moves gently across your clit to work you through your orgasm until you’re boneless and pliant beneath him.

Marcus drags his fingers from you, letting them run up the skin of your thighs, as he finally relents and pulls away from you, just in time for more thunder to sound out, this time a little further away.

“Well, listen there,” He whispers, fingers moving to undo the button of his trousers, “Storm still hasn’t passed,” He speaks as he drags the zipper down, “Think you can make a little more noise, baby?”

You reach up, hand clutching the back of his neck to pull him back down on top of you, mouth meeting his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you before you pull away, “I can make all the noise you want.”

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike Smut #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x F!reader #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #the mentalist #the mental illness is winning #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Pedro pascal #marcus pike fluff #Marcus Pike angst #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike The mentalist

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