#〚he must lead them well. (ic)〛 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tojisun · 4 months

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sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

part of the ‘if fwb’ spinoff // simon riley x f!reader

johnny’s been… doubting, you see, about the validity of simon’s dating life.

like, for example, if he really was dating anyone.

simon looks content in a way that he never was before—intense eyes turned down towards his phone, unapproachable aura less angry but more settled, like he’s warding off people not because of his dislike but more so because he’s not available anymore.

not like he ever made himself available before, but it’s fundamentally different this time around; self-imposed walls brought down to make room for unbridled fulfillment.

he looks like he’s won the damn cup.

and that’s what makes johnny twitch—someone out there was just as, if not more, valued as the championship cup to simon, but he’s never introduced anyone to them.

not a picture nor an update nor even a PSA that they need to commission another WAG jacket for his partner because simon is tight-lipped about whoever it was he’s seeing. it’s not like he’s even dancing around the fact, it’s just that whoever it was he’s dating was never free.

not for a game nor a night-out nor a party. in simon’s house.

this level of secrecy was just unheard of. even the other men in the league who have a tight leash on their private lives still have living proof of their partners unlike simon who leaves it at, “she’s busy,” like that covers anything.

which is why johnny would like to go on record and say: he is totally valid for choosing to crash at simon’s place without letting him know.

he remembers getting wasted with the others, then refusing to be driven home, only to take a cab to simon’s place. he must have been coherent enough to remember the code for simon’s house, and was shockingly coordinated enough to even punch it in, but his memories begin to splinter there.

next thing johnny knows, he’s waking up, feeling like he’s been hit by a freight train. his tongue is heavy inside his mouth, the pungent taste of last night’s alcohol rising from the back of his throat like bile. he groans, blinking blurry eyes as he tries to remember where he’s at or what he’s done, only for nausea to wash over him so intensely he flops back down onto the bed—

he pats at the cushioning.

—onto the sofa then.

by the devil, what did he do last night? got him drinking like he’s got a new liver to replace this one he fucked with.

christ. he needs water, or a whole bottle of mouthwash, honestly.

“mactavish?”

johnny jumps, twisting his head to the side at the call of his name. it’s simon, of course it is, but he looks dishevelled, unkempt in a way that looks criminal because—johnny roves his eyes over his friend—who the hell looks that good when they’ve just woken up?

simon looks like he can be the next cover of inside fitness; give tyler fucking seguin a run for his own money.

“wha’,” is all johnny gets to say because he starts sputtering, dizziness hitting him intensely again. he gags, and only has enough mind to cover his mouth with his fist.

“jesus– down the hall. go,” simon barks and johnny warbles his thanks before locking himself in the guest bathroom.

johnny comes back out to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and melted butter wafting through. simon did say he had a problem with his kitchen vents which made cooking a problem, but johnny sure isn’t complaining right now. although, he supposes that it is a whole different problem when it’s steak or some ribs that simon’s firing up.

oh well, johnny thinks, scratching his side as he ambles to the island, pointedly quiet because simon might kick him out before breakfast is even done.

simon eyes him with a muted approval and johnny grins because, hey, he just secured free breakfast.

he’s about to break the silence, to apologize once more he guesses, when the sounds of padded feet descending from the stairs leading up to simon’s lavishly decorated—sarcasm intended—second floor pierces through the silence.

johnny’s back straightens, his exhausted mind clicking awake.

he turns to his friend but simon’s already angled towards the kitchen door, facing away from johnny. he looks relaxed, previous half-bareness now covered up with a thin white shirt, and johnny doesn’t know why he missed it but simon looks like a perfect picture of a boyfriend fixing up breakfast post-coitus.

“jesus–” johnny begins to say, the pieces linking because yeah, simon’s never denied that he’s been doing some dating around and it’s just johnny’s drunken whim to assume that the most talented ice hockey player of this decade was lying about his relationship status and—good lord, that’s a fucking person diving in simon’s arms, alright.

johnny watches, with his mouth agape, as simon and the mystery woman talk to each other in hushed whispers, his friend having to bend forward to make up for the height difference.

johnny watches, like the third-wheel he is, as simon laughs, actual quiet chuckles and not that children-crying-in-terror-inducing cackle, before nuzzling his nose over your own, and breathing you in.

johnny watches the quiet kiss, just lips pecking each other, and it’s all so soft and tender and johnny feels really, really bad that he didn’t get to give simon and his girl the privacy you two surely deserve and—

your eyes open, flitting to him because johnny is sure that he’s standing out amidst what must be a normally empty kitchen. he doesn’t even get to count three seconds before you’re screaming, lurching out of simon’s hold and hiding behind his bulk in your terror.

simon, screw him, seems to not have cared that johnny was privy to such an intimate moment and just turns enough to catch your attention again before murmuring reassurances. he says things like, “mactavish? the punk ass who got his hair shaved for the new season only to realize no one’s actually gon’ see it because of the helmet? remember?”

“what,” johnny chokes out, embarrassed that that’s what simon told you about and not, like, his player number or something.

“oh,” you gasp out anyway, clearly having heard of the shaved-sides and using it as a marker for johnny. “oh!”

you dance away from behind simon to make your way to johnny, your previous embarrassment gone from your gait. he’s so sure, though, that he’s seen you from somewhere, but the thought’s dashed out of his mind when you chirp, “you’re my best friend’s favourite player!”

“yeah?” johnny replies, gaining his confidence back.

“yeah! she won’t stop showing me the highlights of your guys’ game against that big german fella an’ his team!”

johnny laughs, his own giddiness ramping up. he remembers that game, alright. he remembers the miracle play during the final period when price was able to score an empty-netter. he remembers how, in his adrenaline-induced ecstasy, johnny turned to the player to his side, konig, and laughed in his face.

johnny made headlines then, and he’s saved every single one. his fiancee even printed a copy of her favourite shot and stuck it in her wallet.

(“for good luck,” she said with a wink, like johnny doesn’t have his prick twitching in her fist.)

“well, y’got anything for me to sign for her?”

“uhh…”

“guess you can use that one group photo our marketing team gave to us,” simon finally pipes up, and johnny turns, surprise lining his face at seeing the rich spread of breakfast.

he didn’t even notice simon setting up the table, too engrossed in the high that came from reliving the memory of laughing at konig’s face which resulted to him being pushed into the glass protector by a protective horangi.

not even that had dampened johnny’s elation then and now.

“oh yeah. thanks!” you say to simon before you run out.

you’re barely out of their eyesights when johnny turns to simon with a grin.

“what.”

“oh, you fucken’ sap!” johnny sings because he’s still too hungover to come up to simon and playfully punch him. “and why were ye hidin’ lassie?”

simon grumbles something as he turns, pretending to busy himself with the now-empty coffee pot.

“wha’s’at?”

“i said,” simon begins, heaving out a sigh. “that we jus’ became official last week.”

“oh, shit,” johnny whispers sagely. he blinks. “so, uh, who’s the one you’ve been callin’ yer girl?”

“oh fuck off johnny,” simon hisses, sputtering, before throwing the tea towel at him.

“what now!?” johnny yelps, ducking away from the soaring towel. “what’d i do now–” he gasps, realization dawning on him. “you didn’t.”

simon looked like he was going to say something but by then you were running back with the photo and a marker pen, telling him your friend’s name—alessandra, “or sandy!”—for johnny to sign.

while johnny’s busy practicing his signature on a scrap of newspaper that simon gave to him, he pretends not to hear the giggly whispers between his friend and his friend’s new but longtime-pining-for girlfriend.

“and me? why aren’t you asking f’r my signature?”

“oh ‘cuz y’r mine.”

johnny dutifully ignores the lips smacking sounds as he finally signs the picture, making sure to add devil horns on simon’s head.

serves him right.

i just. love fluff and hockey au sm 😞

#hockey au #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod x reader #suns #guys we are so back (to fixating to the point i cant even function anymore) !!!!#im so sorry if u guys are tired of this :(( i just love this au sm. its so refreshing

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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our girl with the emt!marauders is constantly in pain lol. how would you feel maybe writing about one of the boys getting hurt for a change? she gets called to take whoever home! it can be funny cuz it’s usually her ass who needs saving. (only if it’s tickling that writin itch)

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: back injury

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 708 words

Sirius is already hobbling out of the front door when you pull up at the curb, James hovering beside him like he’s about to keel over and Remus walking behind them both with a worried indent between his brows.

“Hey.” Sympathy bends your voice as James opens the door for him. Sirius grimaces, slowly lowering himself into the passenger seat. “Wow, I didn’t expect it to be this bad. You can’t straighten up at all?”

“Nope,” James answers for him. He comes around to your side of the car and leans through the open window for a kiss. “He’s strained a muscle in his lower back. Only thing to do right now is rest and ice it.”

Remus passes Sirius his seatbelt before he can reach for it himself. “Try to keep still,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss across his temple before looking at you. “Please try to drive extra carefully so he doesn’t hurt himself, love. And don’t let him do anything at home.”

“This has got to be the first time I’ve been asked not to help out around the house,” Sirius teases. “I’d like to use my current privileges to extend this dish-doing ban indefinitely, please.”

You find yourself in agreement. Is Remus really worried about Sirius rushing home to do chores? Just last week you had to show him where you keep the broom. You’ve lived together for over a year.

Your dubiousness must show on your face, because James laughs and says, “He’s already injured himself worse by trying to put the moves on Remus.”

“Hardly my fault,” Sirius says dismissively. “He’s very tall, have you noticed? I don’t have the proper equipment for mountain climbing.”

You snort, and he grins, a true show of resilience by a soldier down.

“I won’t let him do anything,” you tell Remus solemnly.

“Thanks, lovie.” James plants another kiss on your cheek, rounding the car to lead Remus back inside. “Rest and ice,” he reminds you. “Keep an eye on him!”

“I twinge something in my back and suddenly it’s like I’m not even allowed to speak for myself,” Sirius gripes.

You laugh, putting the car into gear. “Welcome to my world.”

You take Remus’ cautioning very seriously, drifting into all your stops and easing slowly around each turn. The drive takes about twice as long as it usually would, but there are no incidents. When you get home, you do your best to give Sirius the princess treatment the boys always give you when you’re injured or ailing; you insist on opening his door for him and helping him inside, you set up a mountain of pillows to support the ice pack behind his back, and you put the remote in his hand so he can choose something to watch while you make the both of you lunch.

“I feel very lame,” Sirius says as you come back with sandwiches and drinks. It’s a repetition of the same complaint you heard every time you started to slow down for a turn or glanced over to check on him during the drive here. “But I will say, this luxury service is starting to make up for things.”

“Really?” You grin at him. “You’re not experiencing any urges to get out the vacuum or lift heavy things?”

“Oddly enough, no.”

“Crazy.” You take a bite of your sandwich, cozying up on the other side of the couch to watch the film he’s chosen.

“You know,” Sirius drawls, “I realize I’m making this all look very easy, but I wouldn’t reject a cuddle.”

You turn, and your boyfriend is looking over at you with a raised brow. You smile sheepishly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He scoffs. “Sweetheart, if I’m too injured to cuddle, they may as well put me down. C’mere.”

You scoot to the other side of the couch, curling into your boyfriend’s side but covertly leaning your weight against the back cushion instead.

“Better.” Sirius kisses the top of your head firmly.

“We probably shouldn’t tell Rem and Jamie about this.”

“Oh no. When they get home, the story is that I was miserable being laid up all day and didn’t enjoy it at all. God forbid I have to do it again tomorrow.”

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eilidh-eternal · 9 months

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Good morning 🥰 Wolf-shifter!Price is a bad, bad man 🤭 | Part 1 | Masterlist |

18+ MDNI | This is a DARK FIC | cw: blood, drowning, predator and prey dynamics

Little fawn… You shouldn’t be out on that ice.

John lingers at the edge of the forest, halts his routine surveillance at the fringes of his territory, and watches as you fall, can hear the ice shudder and give way, can smell the panic and fear as you sink beneath the frozen surface.

Well. A frozen meal is better than no meal at all.

He peels back layers of winter garb as he approaches the waters edge, shucking them into the snow before he makes the plunge himself.

You must have tried to fight it, the dead weight of your heavy clothing. Still so close to the surface when he reaches you. With kicking feet he takes you under the arms and hauls you back up, pushes you up onto the ice before hauling himself out behind you, and carries you off the treacherous lake. Sharp metal prods at his thigh with each step that jostles your skate-clad feet, and a growl of contempt rumbles in his chest when he feels the blade dig into his skin, thin rivulets of warm blood mixing with the water that drips from his body. They’re the first thing he removes from you, followed by the useless coat full of lake water and the monstrosity of a sweater beneath it.

Your left side blooms a tantalizing red, droplets staining the snow beneath you like Rorschach ink bleeds onto paper, and the sweet, metallic scent floods his senses. Calls to baser instincts. But then you begin to cough and hack, water gurgling between your darkened lips, and he can hear the faint thump of the cordiform muscle in your chest beating back to life. Pulsing with more of that sweet essence.

Not so frozen after all. Still time for a little fun.

He hopes you wake soon, that he won’t have to slink along in the shadows for hours before your scent paints the forest and leads him to you. Hopes that when you wake the panic and fear will smell just as decadent mingled with the adrenaline. Oh, how he’d like to linger here and watch that panic bloom on your pretty little face. Watch the confusion turn to shock, watch the whites of your eyes swallow the irises as you realize who—what—looms over you.

But he can’t. You won’t last out in this cold in your sopping clothes, and he won’t last in this form without his. So he leaves you with his coat draped over your body, the rest of his clothes nearby in the snow, and prowls into the sanctuary of pine and aspens that shield his fur from the wind blasted clearing you lie in.

He prowls, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long. And you’re so, so smart, little fawn. So smart to make use of the clothing he’s left for you. So very clever to follow his footprints in the snow. To wrap your arms around your middle and keep your hands balled inside the oversized sleeves of his coat.

And your scent… Oh, he had not been expecting that. The way your sweetness has tangled itself with his own scent. The way the lingering musk from his clothes wraps around your delicate, honeyed sillage. Warm and syrupy, like the blood that splatters in the snow and paints a path through the trees.

So focused are you on pushing forward, on moving and staying warm, that you do not notice the shadow at your back when you trudge into their refuge, sighing long and heavy at the absence of the punishing wind nipping at your exposed skin. You huff and puff as you fight the deep drifts, already at a disadvantage and clumsy in shoes far too big for you, his footsteps clearing the way not making much if a difference in your exhausted, wounded state.. You can hardly walk, let alone run, and so he bides his time. Watches from a distance, from the cover of pine boughs heavy and drooping with snow, from the shadows cast by the rapidly setting sun.

The snow may glitter and glisten, might make pretty patterns on frosted leaves and look pillowy soft where it gathers in drifts at the bases of tree trunks, but it is deceptive and cruel under the light of the moon. And the dark brings forth a host of malevolent, savage creatures. Things like him.

He’s doing you a kindness, really, watching over you as you tromp through the snow. Herding you closer and closer to his den. And don’t you just look delicious, smell absolutely divine, when all that fear and panic comes rushing back when you reach the end of his tracks. You’re so lucky that it’s him who pulled you from that lake, who’s been tracking you through this forest, and not some other, overeager beast that lacks composure and control.

No, he’s going to savor you. Going to take his time wearing you down. Get your adrenaline pumping, nice and warm for him when he finally brings you to his den. Then, and only then, will he taste you. Slake the thirst gnawing away inside of him, hollowing out his insides with the need to touch and taste and devour the sweet scent he’s been following for hours.

The snarl that rips from his throat is a primal thing, more animal than man, as he tastes your desperation, the spike of adrenaline when you finally realize you’ve been followed. His growl echoes in the silence that follows, beckons you to turn around, to let him see the fear as it unfolds across your features.

Let me see you, little one. Look at my teeth and claws and show me those pretty doe-eyes.

And god are you a fucking sight when you do, eyes wide with terror and shaking like a newborn on trembling legs. He knows you don’t shiver because of the cold, knows the decadent scent of dread and horror when it hits him, knows the instant you get that sinking feeling in your stomach when your eyes meet his and instead of doing what you should do, make yourself seem bigger, louder, you deflate. You curl in on yourself and don’t make a sound, hardly even breathe, until he pads forward, and you mirror his movement.

He steps forward, you step back. He steps to the left and you’re inching to the right. So easy for him, going exactly where he wants you to, doesn’t even have to snarl to get you to move in the right direction.

What a precious little thing you are, and you have no idea what’s in store for you.

He wouldn’t say it’s a game of cat and mouse, you haven’t even taken your eyes off of him, refuse to turn your back to him. So he keeps edging closer, hedging your little bubble of ‘safety’ you’ve managed to maintain. But then you go the wrong way, stumble over a fallen tree buried beneath the snow and it sets you off course, so he has no choice but to correct you.

Another low growl vibrates through him and it amuses him when your steps falter, when you freeze in place and he circles to come at you from the other direction.

This way, little one.

He moves further into your bubble and you start moving again, in the right direction this time. And though he can still taste the fear rolling off of you, there’s something else buried beneath it, tangy and acidic on his tongue. You don’t exactly back away from him anymore, either, just shuffle along with frequent glances over your shoulder to make sure he hasn’t gotten too close. Getting too comfortable. He’ll have to teach you how poor that decision is, to turn your back on him.

But not today. Today, you will go to his den, and he’ll be teaching you a different sort of lesson once he gets that nasty gouge on your side sorted. It’s beginning to bleed through his coat, deep red blooming against dull khaki, and you’re stumbling over everything and nothing. So he hedges closer, practically nipping at your heels to spur you on, get you moving just a bit quicker, until finally the scent of smoke and pine sap wafts through the air, and you make a relieved sound when the cabin comes into view.

You don’t need his guidance anymore. You know you need the warmth of that fire, the shelter the cabin offers. And you’re desperate enough not to care who it belongs to. Desperate enough that when no one answers your calls and you find the door unlocked, you go right in, go straight to the hearth and huddle as close as you can to the flames. You really shouldn’t, but you lay down, curl into the insulation of the coat and let your eyes droop closed, despite the risk of hypothermia that falling asleep poses. But you must be tired. You’d drowned. Nearly gutted yourself falling through the ice. Waded through wind and snow with a wolf at your back to get here.

Of course you’re tired. Tired enough that you don’t hear John come inside, don’t stir as he moves about and tends to himself and the fire. Only make a soft whining sound when he finally lifts you from the floor to settle you on the couch and peel away the blood-crusted layers that cling to your skin. He makes quick work of the wound, cleaning the dried blood from your skin and soaking up the fresh outpouring with gauze as he pushes the needle and thread through your skin, too exhausted to register the additional pain.

Fur lined blankets settle over you, cocooning you in warmth and shielding you from the lingering cold in the air. John watches you from his place on the adjacent armchair, feet kicked up on the old coffee table, and he hums knowingly when you burrow deeper into the blankets' warm refuge.

Rest now, little fawn. You’ll need all your strength when you wake.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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opluffys · 2 years

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Leading Score-

somethin quick, posted first to my archive. pls let me know if there are any errors or if it copied weird. pls enjoy <3

tags- size kink, size difference, creampie, vaginal sex, rough sex, desk sex, fem reader.

2.3k words.

-Ghost x Reader-

-smut/nsfw-

As you had graded papers from your young students, you idly hummed as you noted how most of the scores had went up. Regarding spelling, it had been some of your kids weaker points, but after practicing with them one on one, they had gotten better, much to your pleasure.

"Done!"

You looked up from the monotonous tone of black on white, quickly writing a red mark next to the misspelled 'contree', you smiled warmly and took Joseph's paper.

"That was quick, sweetie. You could've taken until your daddy came to pick you up." You said, looking down at his exam and clicking your red pen.

"I'm fast." He smiled, sitting back in his small desk and chair, kicking his legs wildly as he awaited your feedback.

And however badly you wished to give him a full twenty out of twenty on his exam, spelling was one of the things that Joseph had struggled the most with. You knew he wouldn't improve overnight, which is why you were hopeful for tonight.

Even though it wasn't parent-teacher conference night, Joseph had been chirping, 'my daddy is picking me up today, and then we'll get ice cream.' before hearing a cacophony of envious groans. It had you laughing, yet hatching a quick plan to discuss Joseph's struggles with his father. You already had a small packet labeled 'trouble words' to give to his father, hoping they'd be able to practice over the long weekend.

Seeing as Joseph had been bored at his desk, you called him over to give him some puzzles or colouring sheets to do. He eagerly thanked you before returning to his seat, noisily scribbling on the paper.

Quickly finishing grading his spelling errors, he'd gotten a thirteen out of twenty. It'd been a wild and vast improvement from his other exams, but you knew he could do better.

You stood up and walked over to Joseph's desk, ruffling his hair and placing a small lollipop on his table. "You did better, honey. But I want you to practice more, can you promise me that?" You crouched down to his level, talking to him in a soft and understanding tone, a warm and inviting smile on your face. It had made him feel comfortable, not scolded, not 'do better', no. He'd wanted to do this on his own, seeing as he had nodded furiously, telling you that he'd do perfect on the next one.

You took his exam and walked outside of your classroom, leaning against the wall and waiting for Joseph's father to show. School had been finished for a while, the extracurricular activities ending early due to the extended weekend.

Out of your peripheral, you'd seen a tall figure walking towards your class. He had caught your eye easily, since the man was extremely tall and well built. As he'd gotten closer, you noted how he wore a balaclava with a skull pattern over the material. An interesting, choice to wear to an elementary school, but to each their own, you supposed.

"Mr. Riley, before you take Joseph, can we talk about how he's doing in class?" You inquired, quickly checking on the adorable child idly drawing on his papers before continuing the conversation with his dad.

"I'm not his old man." He said, voice low and gravelly as he held your stare.

Before you were able to ask what his relation was, he quickly replied that Joseph was his nephew.

"Oh! Then you must be Simon." You smiled, resisting the urge to tear your eyes away from him, seeing his dark eyes change expression for a moment, wondering how you knew who he was.

"Emergency contacts." You quickly added, chuckling awkwardly. He only offered you his cold stare, waiting for you to continue. "Well, if it isn't too much trouble, can you relay this to Joseph's dad for me?" You timidly asked, the tall man's presence causing you to feel skittish.

He gave you a curt nod, his shoulders relaxing as he stepped closer to you, looking at the paper in your hands. "Joseph struggles a lot with spelling," You almost choked on your words as you felt his arm brush against your shoulder, attempting to find your words once more, "as does his classmates. But I know he can show further improvement if he can practice at home." You showed him Joseph's test, his hand connecting with yours briefly before he took it in his larger one.

He hummed lowly, reading over his mistakes. "I have a packet of tough words for him that he'll need to practice," You went back into your classroom, hearing Simon's impossibly quiet steps echo behind you.

"Honey, your da-" You caught yourself before making the mistake, "uncle, is here." Though, you didn't really need to tell him, seeing as Joseph shot up from his seat to run over to Simon, hugging him tightly.

"Hey kid." His voice was soft, still low and rough, but that was just how he'd always sound. Seeing such a thing made your heart melt, having to quell the want to 'aww' at the sight unfolding, the huge man embracing such a tiny child endearing yet comical.

"It was nice to meet you." You said, handing Simon the packet, "And you," You laughed, looking down at Joseph, "keep your promise to me."

"I will!" He happily beamed, a toothy grin shining up at you.

You waved the two goodbye, turning to go back into your class and continue the long trek of finishing up your students papers. You had also wanted to enjoy your weekend, placing work on the back burner as you got lost in endless glasses of wine.

•

Never in your years of teaching had you ever expected a parent-teacher meeting to end like this, never.

Bent over your desk and crying out as you felt Simon behind you, large hands on the fat of your hips as he slammed into you. Your hands grasped at the edge of the wood desk, glossy eyes popped wide open as you felt his fat cock stretch you open inch by delicious inch.

How you two had went from talking about Joseph's amazing and impressive progress in class to him whispering the most vile things in your ears, an impressive feat. But you'd be a filthy liar if you hadn't been thinking of you and him in this very position.

"Simon..." You moaned, laying your tear stained cheek onto your desk, wetting any loose papers that remained. You almost sobbed when you felt his big hand slap your ass harshly, rubbing in small circles to soothe the stinging supple flesh.

His hard and toned muscles were flush against your softer back, his masked forehead pressing against your shoulder. His deep grunts and groans were right into your ear, having you squeeze him tightly, dragging him in deeper. Just the fact that he was so big had you unraveling on his fingertips. His hoarse and low voice telling you to be a 'good girl and push yourself against the desk.'

What else could you do but oblige?

"Fuck, you're tiny." He cursed, accented voice directly against your ear, his deep breaths and sounds repeating in your head again and again. You lost your words, brain just muddled thoughts and him in your head. You just mewled in response to his words, already aware of the fact that the differences in sizes between you two was evident. Evident in how his entire hand seemed to swallow the skin at your hip whole, how his shadow enveloped your own, he was just so big.

Tears continued their flow down your heated cheeks as you felt his dick assault your insides. Wet and warm walls clamping down on him with a vice-like grip, the hot sliding of his cock deep inside you having you cry out to him. Your blouse had been bunched up and held by Simon as he anchored himself to it, his hold on the fabric tight as his pace never faltered.

Your mixed sounds had been heard, skin against skin reverberating around the walls. Your heat taking him in and out hung embarrassingly in the room, your sounds louder as his hips continued to meet your backside. He watched, mesmerised at seeing your body recoil in response to his movements, how despite your smaller stature, you took his large girth, in fact, you'd wanted more.

The feeling of being stuffed to the absolute brim, or rather well past it, had you seeing stars. You don't remember the last time you'd been fucked like this, so raw and primal like. Losing your ability to form cognitive thoughts, the only thing that you'd been able to say was quiet, meek curses and affirmations.

To further your pleasure, he snuck a hand under you, pressing hard on your abdomen, pressing your insides against his cock. You almost screamed, his hot hand against your stomach had you reeling, your pussy squeezing his cock tightly at his touch.

"So good," You sobbed, knuckles blanching at how harsh your grip had been, he was so deep inside of you, too far. You wondered if you should curse him, as no other individual would surely match him in bed ever again, shattering your expectations of any other man permanently.

Your back had arched as you felt your high quickly approaching, sobbing when you felt his flushed head kiss flush against your womb, having your painted nails claw at the wooden desk. Crying his name out in broken sobs, stringing your words together pathetically as he unraveled you with his cock.

His hands around your soft body tightened, hearing the threads of your blouse rip, it's buttons loosening from its rightful position and scattering onto the ground. It'd been one of your favourites, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with such a huge cock splitting your insides, having you yell out to him like a mantra.

When you felt him slam directly into that spot nestled within you, that bundle of nerves that had you seeing double, you nearly screamed, burying your head into your folded arms. You had to bite your wrists, you throat growing raw at all of your screaming, muffled whimpers spilled from your lips, eyes watering as you felt him ram into that spot with unknown precision.

He took both of your hands in his lone one, using your own wrists to hold onto while he continued to fuck you into the desk. "None of that, wanna hear you." He huffed, groaning when he felt you squeeze him tightly at his words.

You quietly moaned, your aching throat unable to produce sound at this point. Your fingers clasped and laced with your opposing hand, making it easier for him to hold onto your wrists. Grounding himself against you, his pace sped up, his length slamming into you over and over, it was too much, too good.

Your teary eyes etched closed, that familiar knot deep in your abdomen beginning to loosen, disentangling with every drag of him inside. Your gummy walls tightened around him, that pressure within finally ridding, just feeling pure bliss. Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, rough waters eventually calming as your slick trickled down your spread thighs.

"That's it, take it," He cursed lowly, feeling your velvety heat clamp down on him, "doin' so well for me." You had no choice but to lay there and take it, take him. But you'd lay yourself down on any surface if he had asked you to, offering him your all whenever he'd commanded.

He assisted you in riding out your orgasm, your excess arousal making it easier for him to fuck deeper into you. He still trapped both of your hands in his singular one, garnering you unable to move properly without the assistance of your hands. His other hand had been attached to your hip, absentmindedly squeezing the fat of it every few thrusts.

You whimpered his name, your senses being thrown into overexertion while your nerves felt fried. His stamina was impressive, as you were normally used to a quick and disappointing fuck where only one of you had finished. He'd actually taken your own pleasure into consideration, that in itself had been surprising.

You felt his thick and heavy cock twitch inside your wet heat, hearing him curse deeply. His thrusts were sporadic and random, yet they still had your back arching.

You felt his masked forehead press against your bare shoulder. He deeply groaned as he shallowly thrusted into your wet and fluttering heat, spilling himself deep inside of you, painting your insides the prettiest of white.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, feeling him soften inside of you as he pulled out with a pained hiss. You had been slightly saddened at the loss of warmth inside of you, biting your bottom lip in fear that you'd accidentally blurt out something lecherous.

He assisted you in redressing, apologising at ripping your blouse. He offered you his large sweatshirt, covering majority of you. His scent was intoxicating, you had half a mind to lead him onto your spin chair, seating yourself down on his cock and using him for your own pleasure. But you just thanked him, rolling the sleeves up as you adjusted the scattered papers on your desk. You'd come back to clean in the morning, it was still the weekend and you had wine to attend to.

After ensuring you were dressed adequately, he walked you out and into your own car. He stared deeply into your endearing gaze, before a single question left his covered lips.

"What'd he get?"

You couldn't help but smile, turning the key into the ignition and hearing your old car sputter to life. Your hands loosened around the steering wheel before turning back to him once more,

"Twenty out of twenty."

#fanfic #smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod

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milswrites · 7 months

Text

Hobbies Part 5.

~Azriel X Reader~

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Lots of fluff. Tiny bit of angst (I can’t even tell at this point). Very vague references to sex. Cliffhanger (Whoopsies)

Five hours later, once Azriel had planned out the date and bathed the sticky multicoloured icing from his skin, he had begun pacing his flat in anticipation of Y/N’s arrival. Shadows swirling around him, sensing their masters spiked anxiety. Should he have offered to pick her up from her own place? Does she even know this is a date? He had asked her to go out but he had never explicitly said the word date.

He was sweating profusely under the black dress shirt he had adorned for the occasion, glad he had one packed. Azriel had been with plenty of women over the years but taking one on a date? This would be the first.

It was only after she had left his flat that he realised he had never even given her a definite time to meet, just a vague promise of seeing her later. Azriel blames Y/N for this lack of communication, planting the kiss on his cheek and leaving him speechless.

So here had been for the last hour, moon now high in the sky, waiting for her to arrive. Having far too much time to overthink about everything that could go wrong. He had to stop himself from anxiously walking over to the mirror in his bathroom for a sixth time to make sure his hair was in place and question whether he should wear other clothes than all black, not wanting to look like death personified next to Y/N’s radiant self. No, he would stick with what he was comfortable with, Y/N wasn’t one to judge. That and Azriel didn’t own anything other than black clothes and he was sure if he ran to the shop now he would miss Y/N.

Finally, a soft knock at his door broke his pacing. His shadows all flew to the door whispering in excitement, waiting for it to be opened so they could be blessed by her presence. Straightening the collar of his shirt, Azriel took in a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let his fluctuating attitudes ruin tonight. He would allow himself to have fun.

He grabbed the handle of the door, looking up to the ceiling and praying to the Mother that tonight would run smoothly, and slowly pulled it open.

~~~~~

If Azriel was the personification of death, Y/N must have been that of life. As she stood there in his entryway, mouth slightly open as her eyes drifted over Azriel’s form, he couldn’t help but think that everything in his life just felt like it now made sense.

He looked from her dress, a soft pink which Azriel thought complimented her oh so beautifully, the entirety of which was patterned with hand embroidered flowers of a deeper shade of pink, and forced his gaze to move to her face where a nervous smile was resting.

“You look…wow” he finally spoke, gulping as he took in the sight of her. A rosy blush that matched her dress crossed her face, “Thank you. You clean up nicely too”. A matching tint formed on his own cheeks.

“So what’s the plan?” She asked curiously, looking up into his eyes which were still trailing the length of her body.

“Uh well I realised I don’t actually know anywhere nice to eat in this Court so I’ve kind of planned something else” Azriel tried to keep it vague, hoping to keep the true plan somewhat of a surprise.

“Sounds perfect! Lead the way!” She grinned, before stepping to the side to allow Azriel and his wings to fit through the doorway. Before he could even step out, his shadows rushed towards Y/N twirling around the skirt of her dress. Fearful that his shadows would scare her, Azriel went to angrily call them back. But he was stopped in his tracks by a melodic laugh slipping from her lips as she began to spin round with them as if they were dancing.

It was at this point Azriel made the decision to not stand there stunned like he usually does in situations where Y/N makes his heart pound and he doesn’t know what to do. Instead, trying to find some semblance of confidence, he reaches out to take Y/N’s hand which was outstretched for balance as she spun. He grabbed it in his own scarred one, and raised them together, allowing her to twirl underneath him, shadows in tow.

Their surroundings forgotten, this little dance continued for a few minutes, smiles on their faces as they were absorbed into the moment. Spinning and moving together fluidly. Wanting to feel her even closer, Azriel reached out his other hand hoping to come into contact with her waist, only to be interrupted by a squeak from the end of the corridor which caused him to draw his hand back.

His head snapped towards the sound, eyes viciously landing on the neighbour who earlier that day had witnessed him standing there in his frilly yellow apron. A low growl came from Azriel’s throat as the neighbour awkwardly rushed forward to pass them in the corridor, Y/N’s hand leaving his to make space for the neighbour to get past with a high pitched “sorry” coming from them as they sped round to the other stairway.

Azriel’s shadows had stopped dancing, electing to disappear during the awkward moment. The moment was gone much to Azriel’s disappointment, the embarrassment of being caught creeping up his spine was testament to that.

Noticing his red ears, Y/N placed a calming hand onto his chest, which of course made them even redder. “Come on! I’m excited to see what you’ve planned!” Of course Y/N wouldn’t be phased after being caught dancing in the corridor.

“Yeah” Azriel sighs, dejected. Annoyed at the lack of control he had over his body prior to being caught, and so when the pair walked out of the building he made sure to leave some space between them, not wanting to do anything else rash that would undoubtedly lead to further embarrassment.

~~~~~

Azriel led the way, walking towards the location of the date. He wanted to talk, but after what had transpired outside the flat he was afraid to and so he had to put up with walking in silence. Y/N clearly wasn’t bothered as she hummed happily, either having not noticed the arm length of space between them or choosing not to comment on it.

Azriel was kicking himself, he was on a date with a beautiful woman and he couldn’t bring himself to find the words to speak. He wished he had his brothers with him. Cassian would have prepared him for the date, he would have made sure his friend was filled with confidence and prepped lots of things for Azriel to talk about. Rhysand would have fussed over his clothing and given him tips on how to flirt, how to complement a woman and make her blush until her knees wobble.

Yet his family had abandoned him here. But now weeks later after the fact, Azriel couldn’t help but feel grateful for the events that had transpired otherwise he would have never met Y/N.

Y/N who was walking next to him, eyes full of love and admiration as if she was taking in the moonlit surroundings for the first time even though she undoubtably walked these streets daily as she headed to and from work.

On and on they walked, Y/N’s humming being the one thing that kept Azriel earthed, preventing him from freaking out and flying off in fear that he couldn’t do this right. Fear that he didn’t know how to act on a date. Until finally they approached the garden Azriel had found during one of his nightly flights around the city.

Azriel had originally landed in this hidden piece of paradise because he was searching for a little trace of Elain, a reminder of what he was missing out on from being away from home. Only once he had entered the gates to be greeted by garishly bright sunflowers his thoughts were only on Y/N.

He had spent hours walking around the garden on the first night he had discovered it, appreciating the hundreds of plants and flowers that grew inside of the gates. It was only after his third visit here during his nightly outings that he pictured Y/N here with him, walking along the trailing path, smiling up at him as she smelt the flowers, admiring their beauty as he admired her. It only made sense to Azriel that he had to bring her here. See if Y/N reacted to it in the same way she did in his dreams.

Her reaction did not disappoint. Azriel held open the gate for her, allowing Y/N to enter with a gasp upon her lips.

“Oh Azriel it’s beautiful! However did you find this?” Y/N was whispering, her awe at where she was overwhelming. Azriel silently watched on as tears filled her eyes, trying to cement this moment into his mind forever. Y/N in her pretty pink dress, standing in the garden.

It was only after he was certain the picture of Y/N, surrounded by flowers as beautiful as she was, was permanently fixed into his brain did Azriel then allow himself to talk. “There’s more” Azriel too spoke in a quiet whisper, afraid of interrupting the perfect moment that was occurring.

Y/N’s eyes which were filled with an emotion Azriel couldn’t place, looked to his expectantly. Gently, Azriel placed his scarred hand onto her back and led her through the garden, allowing her to stop whenever she wanted to appreciate a flower she found particularly beautiful. Until finally the plants broke away, revealing a clearing in the middle of the garden where Azriel had set up a blanket, jars of faelight holding it down and twinkling under the light of the moon. A wicker basket was placed on top, filled with goods he had bought from the market earlier in the day.

“Oh Azriel!” Y/N cried out, taking a step towards the picnic. His hand moved from the small of her back, tentatively grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the blanket to sit down.

“I know it’s not fancy, I should have probably taken you for a meal out. And don’t worry I didn’t do any of the baking, wouldn’t want to poison you again.”

Y/N didn’t even laugh at Azriel’s joke, she just threw herself over the basket on the ground and latched her arms around his neck, pulling him in tightly for a hug. It took three deep breaths before Azriel responded, wrapping one arm around Y/N’s body which was pressed against his, whilst using the other hand to brush the hair that had fallen from behind her ear back.

She pulled away, wincing in pain from the basket that had been digging into her stomach. “It couldn’t be more perfect Az” she smiled, resting her hand over his.

The two ate the food Azriel had bought, making light conversation about the garden they were sitting in and the food they were consuming. Until finally, stomachs full, they both laid back onto the blanket in order to gaze at the stars shining above them.

“What’s it like? In the night Court I mean” Y/N shyly asked, as if afraid of talking about the spymasters home might set him off.

Azriel felt no spike of anger as she mentioned his home court. In fact he didn’t even feel the painful longing he usually did at the thought of it, wanting to be nowhere else but in the present with Y/N.

“It depends where you are. The Illyrian camps are no paradise. But there’s some places…a city that is so magnificent it still takes my breath away every time I see it. That’s where I live. Sometimes I spend hours flying above it and no matter how many times I do I always see something new.” Azriel said whilst closing his eyes, allowing himself to picture it.

“Ah Velaris, the secret city,” Y/N teased, causing Azriel’s eyes to snap open as he sat up and looked at her in shock, “Helion’s a talker” she shrugged as if it was common knowledge.

Azriel laughed and settled back down, head resting onto his hands behind his head, gaze once more returning to the stars. “I’ll take you one day” he confirmed, wanting nothing more than to share his home with Y/N.

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling as she replied, “I’d like that.”

“Maybe you could make a dress just for the Night Court” Azriel mused, imagining what Y/N would look like in all black before deciding he wasn’t sure if he would want to see her with her colour taken away.

“I’d make you a matching tunic so we could wear them together, only I’m not too sure how to make clothes for Illyrains.” Y/N brushed his wing lightly with a finger as she said this, causing Azriel to stiffen as they twitched responsively.

Obviously he didn’t expect Y/N to know about the sensitivity of an Illyrians wings so he did his best to calm himself, nervously stuttering, “yeah the wings are really something.”

“It must be the best feeling ever, flying.” She said wistfully, staring at the night sky as if imagining she was up there. “I can think of some better feelings…but yeah it’s definitely up there” Azriel spoke, turning his head to admire Y/N. The moonlight making her skin shimmer.

“If I were born with wings I’d travel the whole world. I would see everything Prythian has to offer.”

Azriel wanted to burst her bubble, tell her most of Prythian wasn’t even worth visiting. Yet he held his tongue, not wanting to dampen her dreams. Instead he encouraged them, “where would you fly to first?”

“To Velaris,” she said, finally turning her head to meet his eyes, “I’d have to pick you up first before we go.” Her hand creeped over to Azriel’s which was laying on the blanket before entwining their fingers. “I have a big wingspan, what makes you think you’d be able to keep up?” Azriel warned, smirk on his face. “I think you’d wait for me” Y/N said knowingly, matching smirk on hers. “I’d wait forever for you if I had to” Azriel squeezed her hand as he said this.

“Just you and me and the whole world to explore. Sounds like a good dream.” Y/N smiled sadly, no doubt referring to the fact she didn’t have wings like Azriel’s and reminding him their planning was all based on fiction.

Adamant he didn’t want to see her sad, Azriel shot up onto his feet, hand held out to Y/N to pull her up, “Come on!” He ordered.

Y/N sat up on the blanket, eyebrows creased in confusion, “What?”

“Come on!” He pressed, pushing his outstretched arm even closer to her impatiently, “We’re going flying.”

Y/N released a sound of disbelief, grabbing onto his hand and jumping up from the ground excitedly, “Brilliant! So how do we do this?” She asked, referring to how she would be carried.

Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, “uh well it would probably be easier if I just…” and with that he grabbed her and swept her into his arms, one going behind her back for support and the other holding up her legs.

Giggling in anticipation for the flight, Y/N once more ran her fingers down Azriel’s wings in admiration as he spread them wide and shook them ready for flight. He flinched abruptly, almost dropping her in shock before he stuttered, “It’s probably best you stop touching them or I don’t think we’ll ever get round to flying.”

This time instead of just her cheeks flaring red, her entire face flushed, clearly now understanding the implications of touching an Illyrians wings. Finding himself liking her response, Azriel bravely sent her a wink before shooting into the sky. Y/N’s arms flying around his neck and face pressing into his shoulder with a squeal at the speed he had launched from.

Azriel steadied out once high enough in the air, but Y/N still kept her face tucked into his neck in fear. “You can look now” he teased, urging her to lift her head but all he felt was the firm shaking of it against his shoulder so he continued, “We can’t go flying the world together if you won’t look at it? You won’t see much like this.”

That got her attention, Y/N’s head raising, but her eyes didn’t take in the view. Instead they found their home on Azriel’s face. “But I don’t have wings” she pouted up at him.

“But I do” he said with a laugh, batting his wings a little harder so they blew her hair into her face playfully.

“You mean it?” She asked in disbelief that he’d be willing to carry her just so she could see the world.

“Only if you take a look” he whispered into her ear, daring her to break eye contact and take in the view. And so she did and Azriel couldn’t have been more in love than he was in that moment.

Y/N beamed as she looked down on the city. “Look you can see the palace!” She pointed out the large building that towered over the rest of the city, “and my house! This is amazing!”

Azriel didn’t move his gaze to take in any of the sites, instead it stayed locked on Y/N as he replied, “yeah it is.”

“I’m going to want you to fly my everywhere!” She cheered excitedly.

“Wherever you need” Azriel replied, taking his focus off of where he was flying so he could rest his head against hers while she sat happily in his arms, “I would never put you down if you asked me not to.”

Azriel could see the struggle it took for Y/N to pull her eyes from the stunning sight of the twinkling city at night but she managed to, turning to Azriel and shifting slightly in his arms to face him better.

“And if I asked you to hold me forever?”

“Then nothing, no one, would stop me from holding you until the day the Mother takes me.”

Y/N released a small strangled cry at Azriel’s words before she leaned forward in his arms to softly place her lips onto his. Responsive, Azriel meets her halfway, their lips moving together in a passionate dance. Y/N went to deepen the kiss, drawing her tongue languidly against Azriel’s lower lip and in his surprise at her need to take control he completely forgot the two were in the air, relying on the beat of his wings to keep them afloat.

And so they fell.

Y/N releasing a scream as their lips tore apart and Azriel struggled to regain his grip on her flailing body as he turned his attention back to flying. Once she was secure in his arms one more he spread his wings out wide to level out, stopping their freefall.

Y/N panting slightly as her adrenaline at being dropped slowly evaporated, bravely placed her lips near Azriel’s until they brushed before pulling away as he eagerly tried to meet them once more. She shakily spoke against them “I think we’re going to need a rule about kissing while flying.”

Barking out a laugh, Azriel agreed before asking her which direction her home was in. He held her even tighter as he flew in the direction Y/N had pointed in, not wanting to permanently scar her so she never wanted to fly with him again.

He landed as gentle as he could, pulling her closer against him to make her feel safer as he did so, before he carefully placed her back onto the ground, a large hand around her back to ensure she didn’t stumble as she regained her footing.

“I think it’s safe to say this has been the best birthday I’ve ever had.” She grinned up at him, her hand finding his once more.

Azriel opened his mouth to reply but was interjected by one of his shadows moving up to frantically whisper in his ear, causing a frown to adorn his face. In her euphoria Y/N failed to notice this, instead she led him by their interlocked hands towards her front door.

“Would you like to come in?” She asked, dropping his hand to unlock the door. He cursed under his breath at the untimely appearance of his shadow. “I’d love to really but I’m sorry, I best go home. It’s getting late after all” he had to force the words out, throat closing tightly to try and stop him from saying them.

Y/N’s smile stayed on her face, Azriel knew if she was disappointed she wouldn’t let it show.

“That’s alright”, she said perhaps a bit too overly happy, “you’re right it’s late. Besides, I have something fun planned for us tomorrow, I should get that ready.” Azriel released the breath he didn’t know he was holding at the fact she wanted to meet him tomorrow, Y/N mustn’t be too hurt.

“Oh yeah”, he smiled back at her, batting away the shadow that was still whispering in his ear, “what fun things have you got planned?”

“That’s for you to discover tomorrow” she chided before her lips came to meet his once more. Azriel kissed her back, deeply breathing in her vanilla scent and gripping her waist tightly to avoid his hands wandering elsewhere. His shadow, annoyingly still chittering away into his ear, causing him to reluctantly pull back from the kiss.

“Tomorrow” he huffed, disappointed he had to leave and couldn’t come inside as he wished.

“Tomorrow” she confirmed before retreating into her house for the night.

~~~~~

Azriel was growling the whole flight home. His perfect night had been interrupted, he tried to brush away the thoughts of what could have happened if he had entered the house with Y/N. Best not to dwell on what he couldn’t have. He had tomorrow to make up for that.

Roughly landing outside his flat he stormed through the buildings corridor, where he had danced with Y/N, to his door, flinging it open in anger and stepping inside.

His shadows alerting him to the presence in the corner of the room.

“Hello brother,” Rhysand purred, “ready to go home?”

Part 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: (oh my there’s so many of you now! Thank you guys for all your continued support xx)

@minnieoo @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

(If I’ve missed any of you off I’m so sorry please let me know)

#acotar #fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar imagine #azriel imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel oneshot #azriel #azriel shadowsinger

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biteofcherry · 11 months

Text

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; ex-pli-cit; knife kink; choking; choking kink; praise;

word count: 7k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 6. Downpour

~ * ~

Victims often described the events of their traumatic experience as a blur. Or a film montage of chopped scenes, often black and white, or with one color prevailing. Sometimes their minds protected themselves so strongly they dissociated, their consciousness floating away into a safe space.

Nothing of the sort happened to you on your dreaded wedding day.

If anything, you felt more present in the moment than in the days leading to it.

Colors were vibrant, sounds clear, your feelings vivid.

You felt the constriction of the built-in corset of your wedding dress, the soft swish of the embroidered, shiny tulle in the chalice of the wide skirt; as well the warm amazement at how beautiful you looked.

Even though your spite tempted you to pick a dress that would manifest how much you didn’t want to say your vows, you couldn’t help the flaming love you experienced at the sight of yourself in a stunning wedding dress.

A fucking princess style, out of all.

You wanted to hate it, to cross it out purely to not give Steve the extra satisfaction, but your parents teared up when they saw you in it. Maybe they had some qualms about the speedy wedding, but they sure got on board with it when they saw your face glowing.

You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was because you felt beautiful, not because you loved your future husband.

Whose handsome face you couldn’t look away from as your father walked you down the aisle.

Dressed in a sharp suit, steel gray a tone warmer than his cold heart, Steve watched you every step of your way to him. Others perhaps saw in his face awe, getting all mushy over how much he had to be in love with you, but you knew it was a glint of triumph.

You said your vows in the wide garden surrounding Steve’s property, under an arch of lush peonies and vines. You were sure it’s only thanks to the two glasses of Prosecco and Steve’s hand holding yours a tad too tightly, that you recited your promise to him without a hitch.

With how smooth and soft Steve’s voice was, how he held your gaze captive, you’d think he was expressing true, deep feelings when he said his vows.

True was his possessiveness.

Steve displayed it first in the way he kissed you - draping you over his arm, like in old Hollywood movies, and branding your lips with a breathstealing, passionate kiss. Unable to resist, your arm sneaked around his neck, fingers splaying on the back of his head, while your other hand gripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket.

Then by keeping you occupied each dance, allowing only your father to lead you through two songs.

To your further annoyance, Steve turned out to be a really good dancer. Or maybe he was simply good at holding you and controlling your body as he guided you across the wooden planks built into a dance floor specially for this occasion.

“You look beautiful, Princess.”

There was no breathtaking awe in Steve’s voice, like you used to imagine your true love would say those words one day. But it was no coy game, either. Steve meant them, it was an honest compliment.

It was also his pride in owning you.

“I’m already your wife, all is signed. No need for bullshit,” you stared over Steve’s shoulder, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze and see what desires may shine in the ice cold blue irises.

He twirled you suddenly, then pulled you back to him. Kept you pressed against him tighter as he brushed his lips along your cheek.

“I’d think by now you know I don’t really bullshit anyone,” he whispered in your ear. “I do find you stunning. And I’ll repeat those words later, when I have you naked in our bedroom.”

Heat filled you faster than after that shot you sneaked right before soup was served, to calm your nerves and numb yourself further as the reality of being now Mrs Rogers started settling in. No, that fast dose of booze didn’t scorch your insides the way Steve’s promise of the wedding night did.

“Not gonna happen,” you tried sounding fierce, but your voice came much breathier than you’d like.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Steve chuckled, tip of his tongue flicking the shell of your ear, eliciting goosebumps to appear all over your skin.

His hand on your back was placed low, but he dipped his fingers even further, toying with the ribbon of your corset right above the curve of your ass.

“We have a deal, after all.” He reminded you.

You wanted to argue with him, that technically you didn’t agree to it, but you knew it’s futile. You suffered some disturbing sexual deviancy and your pussy tingled at the mere thought of Steve touching it. So you planned on simply being sneaky and wiping yourself dry before entering the bedroom. And then staying resolved and unbothered, so that Steve’s dark touch didn’t force a single drop of slick out.

You considered stuffing your nose with something too, because the scent of Steve alone now that he was pressed to you so close, was enough to warm up your body.

To ignore your own responses - to his smell, to his touch, to the images of wicked acts he could do to you - you focused your gaze above Steve’s shoulder. Glancing at random guests, at the stunning flower arrangements, trying not to hurt from the fact your parents looked so joyous.

You frowned, noticing Natalie smirking around the rim of a champagne flute as she talked to a man whom you recognized as Steve’s most trusted right hand, Bucky. While flirting at a wedding wasn’t something unusual, alarm bells rang in your head at the prospect of Natalie endangering herself. She was already at risk, being associated with you, but to dance with a wolf was like playing with fire that was surely going to consume her whole.

You didn’t know much about Bucky, practically nothing, but if he was this close to Steve then there was no trace of innocence or clear conscience in him.

No one could stay pure, if they followed in Rogers’ murky wake. A realization which made you wonder, if your own core may rot and dissolve at his feet.

Your heart fluttered, as Steve twirled your body again. Chalice of your dress opened, shimmering in the sunlight as if encrusted in crushed diamonds. In reality it was a faint sparkle compared to the actual bling of the diamond ring on your finger.

You glared at it with disdain when Steve first put it on your finger, seeing nothing but a leash. A brand of ownership and reminder of torment. But the more glances you stole, the more irresistible it was to admire.

It was truly beautiful and you hated it for it.

Steve pulled you back to his body, pressing you even closer than before. Tip of his nose grazed along yours, the icy blue of his irises warming into the shade of pure sky. His breath tickled your mouth, mingling with yours as your lips parted on a gasp.

Then his lips were on you. Soft and coaxing, tempting you to respond in submission.

You told yourself it’s the surprise of it that made you give in, the spectacle you had to continue for the guests, but you couldn’t completely deny the jolt of excitement that spurred heat into every crevice of your body, then melted it into a pliant surrender.

You were vaguely aware of the camera flashes as pictures of you were taken. The sound of cheering and clapping barely registering through the haze of your heartbeat pounding in your head.

There was no triumphant smirk on Steve’s lips when he reluctantly pulled away, which would undoubtedly shake you out of daze. Instead, there was a dark hunger that clenched your heart in fear and your cunt in anticipation.

You found yourself surprisingly reluctant to step out of his embrace as the song ended and Steve took the opportunity to build the lie further by asking your mother to dance.

Trying to avoid dancing with Steve wasn’t as clever a solution as you first thought, because the bastard found other ways to instigate small gestures of intimacy that confused your brain and tickled your clit like a living tongue.

Like him smoothly commenting how delicious that seasoned rib was and how you should try it, then promptly feeding you a piece of it.

With his fingers.

Purposely slipping his fingertip between your lips along with the meat.

It was a split of a second, but enough to have a wave of heat wash over you and your thighs clench.

You thanked heaven that you picked a princess dress, because the layers of the skirt at least hid the movement that would otherwise betray you.

A gulp of wine couldn’t wash away the sensation, nor did it wipe the lewd image of Steve forcing his fingers into your mouth. Would they be salty? Would they feel heavy as he pressed them against your tongue? Would his rings feel cool?

Then you didn’t even have alcohol to numb yourself. Steve made sure your glass was filled with water only as the celebrations proceeded. When you glared at him, trying to yank your hand out of his grip, he said he won’t have you sloshed on your wedding night.

“Don’t want you to worry it was only the booze that got you wet,” he sucked on your earlobe.

But made it look so sweet, the way he pressed his cheek to yours and gently held your hand, that to the others it had to look as if he was whispering love admissions into your ear.

The bastard played supportive and soothing as he caressed your back when you were saying goodbye to the guests leaving the reception late in the evening. Your mom took your teary eyes as an overwhelming, but positive emotion that made her all mushy as well.

You couldn’t cling to her, or your dad, crying in despair that they were leaving you with a monster. Not when that monster was constantly by your side, being most respectful and charming towards them. Displaying a twisted care for you that eased your parents’ worries while irritating you.

There were fireworks bursting in the sky in abundant splashes of color as Steve led you to the master bedroom.

Everyone was gone, only the wedding planner’s team was rushing around like busy bees, cleaning up and packing leftovers. And they all pretended they didn’t see you. You thought some of Steve’s men were also circling around, but you didn’t know yet if it was to keep an eye on the workers, or if it was their routine to guard Steve’s mansion.

Once inside the bedroom, you blurted out your need to use the bathroom and promptly locked yourself inside. Only for a few moments you entertained the thought of staying in and sleeping on the tiled floor, but you knew Steve wouldn’t allow that. He’d sooner take the damn door down than give you reprieve.

He wanted to wreck your body too much.

And you feared how you may react to it.

As you pulled up layers and layers of tulle, to use the toilet and clean yourself from the already obvious reaction to Steve’s touch; you accepted that your anxiety wasn’t for debauchery, but for the inappropriate eagerness of your body.

For fuck’s sake, you were dripping and coming on command when he defiled you with a gun!

How much stronger was your reaction going to be when he caressed you with his hands and mouth?

After wiping yourself dry, you cleaned your hands and with your head held high stepped out into the bedroom. You still planned on fighting tooth and nail to not arouse from whatever he had planned.

Having taken off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Steve waited for you in the middle of the room. His eyes glinted with satisfaction when you stepped out. He crooked a finger at you, beckoning you to him.

“I knew you’d come out like a good girl, Princess,” he crooned, not at all bothered by your stomping and glaring daggers his way.

“Didn’t feel like watching a door being splintered into pieces,” you snapped, clenching your hands on the skirt of your dress as you stood right in front of Steve.

“Of course. That’s the only splintering you were concerned about,” he teased, running a single digit down the column of your neck. “But I know, Princess. I know there’s this curiosity that draws you to me. You may hate it, but your body is eager to learn what I’ll do to you.”

“It’s not. I’m not!” You protested, yet you didn’t flinch when his finger drew a scorching line from one collar bone to the other, then dipped lower to trace your cleavage.

“I want to believe your words, Princess,” Steve said in pretend seriousness, “but let’s check in with your body, too.”

As embarrassing the thought of him flipping your skirts up was, you inwardly prayed he’d do it quickly. If he touched your pussy now, he’d find you dry. But if he prolonged the whole thing, you had no certainty it would stay this way.

“I’m aware how fond of my gun you are,” his words startled you, stopping your heart for a split of a second then sending it into a fluttery beat. The memory of the warm muzzle dragging along your thigh and slipping under your panties spurred heat to pool low in your core.

Shit! No!

No, no, no. You couldn’t get wet!

“But I didn’t think it’s an accessory appropriate for the wedding,” Steve’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile that only added to his criminally hot look.

“So I had something special to be custom made for this occasion-” he touched your cheek in a sweet caress- “and for any future occasions… with my wife.”

Your breath hitched in your lungs when he called you his wife. He made it sound reverent, but at the same time his tone dripped with that dark triumph that reminded you there was no way out from his clutches.

You watched Steve dip his hand into his pocket and then a glint of steel flashed before your eyes.

A switchblade so sharp and polished so smooth that it seemed to be honed out of pure light. The handle was a shimmery white, with undertones of rainbow. Mother of pearl, you realized.

Steve had his fingers wrapped around it, but purposely flipped it out, pinching the hilt between two of his fingers so you could see the silver initials engraved on it. Your initials, but with your last name being Rogers.

Eyes widening, you went still as Steve brought the blade to your skin. Just the tip of it, you barely felt its touch, but your mind was already running with images of cuts and drawn blood. It should scare you, cause tears to fall out. Instead, you felt your pulse thundering in places that shouldn’t react to fear with excitement.

Steve drew a soft line over the curve of your breasts and dipped the steel into the valley between them.

He wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the front of your neck. His eyes heated up as your pupils widened in reaction, once again proving how weak you were for this single gesture. Keeping his hold firm enough you felt the silver of his rings pressing into your skin, Steve traced the blade along the trim of your wedding dress and then down your ribcage.

“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?” Steve’s voice was deceivingly soft, as if he really cared if you were scared.

You doubted he’d stop, even if you claimed that you are. You’d sooner expect him to mock you and then proceed to torment your body, proving to you how much you craved his depravity.

But it wasn’t the physical torture you wanted to avoid. For how bad Steve was, how he fucked up your life, somehow you knew he wouldn’t harm you physically. Well, perhaps if you betrayed him. He’d kill you then. But as long as you followed his plans, you were certain he wouldn’t raise his hand on you.

Steve’s thumb brushed along your jaw in a seemingly soothing caress. You turned your face to the side, but he forced you to look back at him when you admitted in a defeated whisper:

“I’m afraid you will make me like it.”

Fingers still curled around the front of your neck, Steve inched closer. Blue of his irises seemed to glitter an impossible hue up this close, mesmerizing you.

You were a prey fully ensnared.

“I will, Princess.” Steve’s lips teased yours. “I will give you pleasure that hurts so good.”

A tiny whimper escaped your mouth. You wished it was a sound of trepidation, but it held an unmistakable undertone of need. It was too late now, you felt a wet spot forming on your white undergarments.

Steve kissed you softly, reverently; like a husband in love might kiss his beloved wife on their wedding night. Combined with the pressure of a sharp blade at your side, it made your head spin.

“Stay still, please,” Steve squeezed your throat lightly, before releasing you and taking a step back.

He walked around you, slowly making a full circle as he admired you. Teasing you by making you wait for what he does next. When he stopped behind you and you felt the puff of his breath on your nape, your fingers trembled.

Then the cool blade pressed where Steve’s warm breath tickled you a second ago. He drew a sharper line down the middle of your back. You didn’t feel the sting of a cut, but he put enough pressure for you to feel a tingling scratch that dispersed into pleasant burning.

You gulped when you felt him hook the knife under the lacing of your dress.

“I can just take it off.” You grumbled, frowning. It was a stunning dress and even though you wouldn’t be wearing it ever again, you weren’t happy with the idea of it being cut to pieces.

“You could,” Steve chuckled, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you-”

You gasped as he swiftly cut through the first string.

“-make that lovely sound.”

Steve relished in each cut, though you weren’t sure if he was more entranced with your little noises (which you tried to suppress, but failed at times), the act of cutting itself, or with your naked skin being revealed as the bodice of your dress parted.

When the corset opened fully, dropping and exposing your upper body, Steve smoothed his hand along your back. Which elicited another gasp from you.

You expected the blade to return, to draw dangerous patterns on your fragile skin. Steve’s warm, gentle caress sent a different kind of jolt down your spine, causing your tense muscles to relax in foolish trust. He pressed himself to your back, moving his hand around your front and boldly cupping your breast. A wave of heat seemed to scorch your face from the inside, but it also pooled between your thighs.

He peppered kisses along your neck as he played with your breast; sucked on your skin as he switched his attention to the other tit.

There was no logical thought in your head when he pinched your nipple hard and you arched; one of your arms flying up to grip the back of Steve’s head. It was an instinctive reaction of your body’s deepest need.

Suddenly, Steve’s touch left you. Only to pull impatiently at your dress, forcing the abundant skirt to fall down. Big hands - one still holding a knife - clenched around your hips. He picked you up so easily, as if you weighed close to nothing.

Then he was dropping you onto the grand bed. Before you even managed to push yourself up, he flipped you over onto your back. A split of a panicked thought almost had you inching away, reheating the idea to fight him. But one of Steve’s hands clenched on your ankle, while the other splayed on your belly - the one holding the knife.

“Lie back, Princess.” Steve’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it chimed with certain urgency.

You stilled. Though you preferred to think it was because of the blade he left on your belly in a warning, not because he asked you to.

Definitely not because you couldn’t look away from him as Steve undressed in a few quick, practiced moves.

The sight was so enticing you didn’t think of grabbing the knife and possibly changing the flow of the night to your advantage.

Without his shirt on, you saw the wide plains of Steve’s chest and chiseled abdomen; saw the tattoos entwining his arms and upper body. Dark patterns, with a few splashes of rich color, that only added to the dark, thrilling aura of Steve Rogers.

You swore that while Steve was a scary motherfucker in his usual wear, he’d appear an even more lethal demon if he approached his victims half-naked.

Your gaze shifted downward when he pushed his pants down, but you forced it back up to his face. Mostly because you feared the sound you may make, if you saw his cock. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you staring.

When Steve knelt on the mattress and then crawled forward, you dropped your head to the pillows and focused on the ceiling. A part of you craved to watch him, to await in trepidation, but you still held onto that sane part of your brain that told you it’s wrong to want it. Wrong to give in to him so easily.

“You’re beautiful, Princess.” He repeated the words, just like he promised.

Calloused fingers traced up your legs. The sensation this touch evoked made you want to clench your thighs, but Steve’s knee was wedged between your legs, preventing it.

Eyes focused on your face, Steve seemed to study and memorize every spark of reaction to his touch. He picked up the knife again. The grin that he flashed you as he brought the blade to your skin was all satisfaction and condescending praise. He didn’t say it, but you almost heard the Good girl. For doing as he told you. For waiting. For being so obviously responsive.

He knelt above you as he trailed the knife along your exposed body. His gaze shifted between the glint of the blade and your face. As his aim traveled south, Steve moved along with it.

Corner of his mouth tugged upward in a dangerous smirk when he slipped the tip of the blade under the white lace of your panties.

Your whole body went rigid. Your mouth opened, your breath becoming ragged.

And yet, when he slashed the fabric apart, you felt a new gush of slick.

Steve cut the other side of your panties as well, then pushed your thighs further apart. Exposing your shameful reaction.

“Princess,” he licked his lips, “it appears that you’re wet.”

He tapped the wide side of the blade against your clit, the jolt of it making you clench around nothing. Steve’s eyes darkened and a low, growling kind of sound rumbled in his chest as he used the knife to flick away the lace that was sticking to your drenched folds.

“You’re not wet. You’re dripping.” He seemed to be in awe of the discovery.

It was in a sense a comforting feeling, to see more than just a cocky triumph. To see Steve affected by the situation. Perhaps not as strongly as you were, but with enough force to make you think perhaps it was a novelty for him as well.

“Say it, Princess.” Steve’s gaze flicked back to your face; his own eyes full of dark hunger. “Say how wet you are, for me.”

Your lips clenched shut, a stubborn frown drawing your eyebrows together. It was humiliating enough that you were so lewdly on display for this bastard, that your body betrayed you and was ready to take him. Admitting it aloud would only strip you of all defenses.

When Steve slapped your inner thigh, the sting of it seemed to zing directly to your clit.

“Ohh!” You couldn’t suppress the gasp, but then managed to spat angrily - “Fuck, fine! I’m wet for you, you bastard.”

As much as you hated it, your anger was less about him demanding your admission and more about him not touching you where you most needed it.

“Your husband.” Steve reminded you, with sinister glee.

With his knee, he pressed your other leg down. Then dragged the knife along the skin of your inner thigh. This time you felt the prick of pain as he cut the tissue. You hissed, head lifting up to stare at the tiny, thin wound. A single drop of blood pearled at the end of it.

Then Steve’s mouth was on it. Warm and sucking, and drawing a surprised moan out of you.

He sucked and licked it clean, making you forget about everything else. His mouth moved up, closer and closer to your core. When he finally licked into your folds as if he was biting into a ripe fruit, you dropped down with a cry.

Fingers gripping the sheets tightly, you rode sensations unknown to you until then. Muscles strained in pain as you held yourself stiff, still sensing that blade pressed against your skin. Steve had his arms wrapped under and around your thighs, keeping you spread as he feasted on your pussy. One of his hands was holding the knife against your abdomen, the sharp tip right on your mound.

“Oh God, please!” Your eyes clenched shut. “Please, please, Steve. I-”

As he lapped at your clit, lashing it with rapid flicks then sucking on it so sweetly, you felt your orgasm building painfully high. You were heartbeats away from climaxing.

“Stop, please!” You begged. “The knife- I can’t- I need-”

Even if you were pleading for him to stop what he was doing all together, Steve wouldn’t listen. Not when he was so close to owning you completely. You needed something slightly different and you hoped Steve would recognize the urgency.

Mercifully, he paused. Though he held his lips close to your clit as he looked up at you from between your thighs - his eyes reminiscing of the stars frozen in dark waters of the northern lakes.

“What do you need from your knife, Princess?” He asked, tilting the blade an inch lower.

It almost touched your clit.

“Place it away, please,” you started explaining, sensing that he wouldn’t comply without a satisfying reason. “I- I’m about to come. And I will, um, move. I can’t stay still. I just, I never could. I can’t.”

“You’re afraid I’d cut you, if you get all squirmy and arching?” Twinkle of amusement lit up Steve’s eyes.

“Please, Steve.” You feared tearing up, if he refused you. You also feared he would make you cum and cut you, and that you weren’t ready for that combination of pain and pleasure.

He hummed, holding your gaze as he licked your clit again. Your muscles tensed anew, he had to feel them straining in your thighs where he held you. Then, very slowly, he untangled himself from you. Steve let your thighs drop to the mattress freely. He lifted the hand holding the knife and you sagged in relief.

Steve leaned over you, bracing his weight on one arm. His broad frame cast a shadow over you. He brought the blade up to your face, you could see a fragment of your reflection in it.

“Kiss it.” Steve ordered.

You stared at him, bewildered. He waited, surprisingly patiently, holding the blade inches from your mouth. He called this knife yours. Had it custom made for you. Used it on you in ways you never imagined in a sexual encounter. Teased what more he could do. What he probably would do to you in the future. And he wanted you to kiss it as if in gratitude for all the lewd things it would unleash on you.

Swallowing nervously, you lifted your head enough to press your lips against the steel.

“Good girl,” he praised.

Your gaze followed Steve’s arm as he reached toward the nightstand to place the knife on it. Then his hand swiped along your arm, caressing muscles that strained from still gripping the sheets.

He coaxed you back into the moment with a sensual kiss. The way his tongue dipped between your lips was soft and seductive. You’d never expect someone like Steve to be able to kiss like that.

Heat quickly returned in pulsing beats to your clit as Steve kissed down your body. He settled back between your thighs, with a moan tasting your pussy once more. Relentlessly, he licked and sucked you back to that edge. Then pushed you over it as he pushed a finger into you.

Steve kept that finger pumping steadily into your fluttering walls as he trailed wet bites up your body. He was hovering above you. Mouth, glistening with your arousal, was a lick away from you when he thrust a second digit inside. The stretch made you keen and Steve drank up every grimace you made.

“Touch me, Princess,” he tempted you, curling his fingers just right. “Come on. Touch. I know you want to.”

If your brain wasn’t a post-orgasmic mush, maybe you could muster some stubborn will to do the opposite. But he was right, you itched to touch him, to feel the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, to see how hot he ran.

Hesitantly at first, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders. Your gaze found one of the intricate vines that weaved along his shoulder and up his neck, a branch sprouting from it curved down and over his pectoral. You traced it with one hand, your other instinctively moving to Steve’s back.

When you traced the contoured muscles of his abdomen, fingernails scratching lightly at the narrow path of coarse hair leading southwards, Steve increased the pace of his fingers. It stirred the fire in your core into a burst, evoking another moan.

“Lower.” Steve gritted out, putting more of his weight and heat onto you. “Wrap that small hand of yours around my cock, Princess.”

It was dirty - his words and the squelching sound of your pussy as he fingerfucked you.

But it also made you drop your gaze between your bodies, searching for a glimpse of that dick. It swayed heavy, half-hard, right above your hip. Your walls clenched unexpectedly as you watched it.

This wasn’t the first cock you saw in your life. You were far from a blushing virgin. There was something about Steve, however, that made you feel nervous and out of your depth. It appeared that sex with him was a whole new, scary discovery.

Steve urged you with another command and your hand slipped down instantly. Hot, pulsing flesh in your palm, twitching and hardening as you curled your fingers around the quite impressive girth.

It would stretch you so deliciously. Steve didn’t need to voice it for your imagination to ignite with the phantom sensation.

You tightened your hold, swiping your thumb over the widened, red head. At Steve’s deep moan, your eyes flew up to his face, watching his pleasure in wonder. He didn’t hide it from you, didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t affected. Still, you felt yourself more at his mercy than he was at yours. Especially when you sensed that small kick of elation at giving him pleasure with your touch.

You smeared the beads of precum down his shaft and started stroking. It was a mismatched rhythm, your focus faltering every time Steve drove his crooked fingers against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you.

When Steve sat back on his haunches, you stopped your movement. A rush of heat filled you with sudden shyness as his gaze roamed over your splayed body.

Skin dewy, breasts heaving with quickened breath, legs spread wide. Your hand was still around his cock, your ring and wedding band catching sparks of light. Steve’s own fingers were buried deep in your cunt, your slick glistened on his palm and wrist.

Steve moved his other hand up your body, marveling at your curves and softness. He gave your breast a playful squeeze before trading his fingers further up. Fingers encircled the front of your neck in a familiar way.

“You’re a fucking perfection, Princess.”

Then he was withdrawing his fingers from your heat; milky slick sticking in a web between his digits. He knocked your hand away and spread your wetness all over his cock.

He held your gaze as he dragged his dick between your puffed folds and into your hole. A pause for you to catch your breath, then he was thrusting in one fluid, firm stroke.

A curse bubbled on your lips, stretching into a moan as he split you. Unable to reach him at the moment, your hands fisted the shits, gripping and twisting the fabric. Nipples stiffened into hard peaks, your chest arched upward at the same time as your head bowed back.

There was no second to adjust, no mercy. Steve pounded into you roughly, setting a steady tempo. He watched your body move along the mattress, at least as much as his hold on your throat and your hip allowed. Your breasts swayed with each thrust, your thighs shook with each slap of his hips into you.

He watched your eyes glaze over as an orgasmic haze crept over you anew. Your pretty mouth stayed open, letting out all the sweet noises. It took barely a few of his thrusts and you were cumming again.

Everything was still spinning in your head when Steve yanked your hips more upwards. Your buttocks rested on his thighs, legs thrown over his hips as he fucked into you. Grip on your throat tightened more and more. Your eyes flew open, one of your hands grabbing onto Steve’s wrist. Unbothered, he kept choking you lightly. At the same time, his other hand sneaked across your abdomen.

With your airflow limited, every sensation seemed to heighten impossibly. The stretch of his cock, the pressure of his hand on your lower belly. The coil tightened and tightened, and when Steve swiped his thumb over your engorged clit, you shattered with a soundless scream.

Steve released your throat and the gulps of air you instinctively tok between raw cries seemed to prolong your orgasm. It twisted into a craze that felt agonizingly good.

So good it caused you to cry, salty streaks dripping out of the corners of your eyes and down your temples.

Through the thunderous buzz of blood pounding in your head, the muffled sound of Steve’s voice reached you. Your brain was unable to function enough to recognize it, but it sounded like your name. And something akin to ‘Atta girl.

When Steve shifted, you welcomed his warm heaviness like a comforting blanket, mapping his sweaty back with your hands. He was still moving, speeding up, as he braced both of his forearms on the mattress. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips starved as he kissed and nipped.

He rested his forehead against yours as he came with a loud moan. Warmth of his spend filled you and though you didn’t think of it now, later you would be thankful for the little contraceptive implant you had. As the fog of pleasure held you in its grip, you didn’t care for the consequences. Not when Steve was still rocking slightly into you, his cock twitching.

You sighed, scrunching up your nose, when Steve pulled out a while later. Your pussy throbbed in protest, or maybe it was from the ache that was starting to make itself known. You leaked, too, which would make you really embarrassed if you weren’t too boneless to care.

You managed to wipe at your temples and cheeks, where remnants of tears still wetted your skin, before Steve was touching you again. He flipped you onto your belly then licked a line up your spine with a broad stroke of his tongue.

“Aren’t you done?” You huffed, fearing you may not be able to survive more.

“Far from it,” Steve laughed and playfully slapped your ass.

You were thankful that he spent quite some time just kissing and touching your back, your ass and your thighs. Whether he was giving himself enough time to get hard again, or if he was this dedicated to learning your body.

When he sat on your thighs, his knees braced on the outside of your closed legs, and squeezed your asscheeks, you expected him to play there more. Instead, you felt him spread you enough to expose your pussy. He slid inside slowly, but it still took you by surprise.

Steve laid on top of you, balancing his weight on his arms as he pulled back and thrust back in. The angle unraveled a completely new type of sensation.

“Oh my- fuuuck!” You couldn’t help the unladylike, high pitched squeal.

Nails scratching at the sheets helplessly, you spluttered mewls as Steve purposely rocked his hips back and forth.

“Awww,” he cooed, “is that the spot, Princess?”

Then he pulled back and slammed back in. Each thrust grazed that ultrasensitive area; each time he sunk deeper and deeper, too.

If you were moaning and crying when he fucked you the first time, these sounds were a symphony of pitiful and needy that surpassed others. At one point your mouth just hung open, saliva seeping out of the corner and staining the mattress.

Your toes curled and you helplessly kicked your feet up and down, unable to shift in your position to ease the increasing, maddening pleasure. With your cheek pressed to the mattress, your gaze mindlessly focused on the ring on your finger where your hand rested beside your head.

Steve’s fingers entered your vision, brushing along your hand and intertwining with your fingers. A mockery of softness in the ruthless way he was fucking you.

Your cunt tightened around him, producing more slick the longer he railed that tormenting spot. The sound of him fucking you turned more and more squelching.

“I want you to soak the sheets,” Steve grunted. When you made a noise of protest, he paused to force your legs wide apart with his feet. “Come on, Princess. Make a mess.”

And you did.

Hiding your face in the bedding didn’t suppress the string of cries as you climaxed, squirting a small pool of release.

Steve fucked you through it. Each of his hard thrusts ripping your whimpers into a choked single vowel as you went lax beneath him.

“Fuck, Princess.” He groaned, feeling your wetness drip down his balls. “I would wife you up for that alone. You really-” his hips snapped harder and faster- “are. Fucking. Perfect.”

Your fingers remained intertwined, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck, as he came. Perhaps it was the angle at which he was buried inside of you, or maybe this time his orgasm was much stronger, but you felt every throb and every spurt more clearly than before. Felt yourself full with his cum and dripping excess of your combined spend.

Long, long minutes later, when Steve pulled out and dropped next to you onto the mattress, you didn’t even blame him for not having enough power (or decency) to get you a wet cloth.

Honestly, you didn’t have any strength to get up either.

It was later, as you resigned yourself to falling asleep in the mess that you made, that you heard the sound of a drawer being open. Then a soft, wet wipe was pressed to your inner thigh. It was a surprise. Felt a little weird, too. But you rested quietly as Steve wiped you and himself clean, tossing used tissues into the bin hidden behind the nightstand.

When he laid back down on the unsoiled side of the bed and reached for you, you glared at him.

Yes, he fucked your brains out. You seriously doubted there were any functioning brain cells left. Yes, you were officially married. Still, it didn’t mean you were going to play a docile wife in every aspect of this torment.

“You want to sleep on the stained sheets?” Steve arched a single eyebrow. “Swallow your stubbornness and scoot here, Princess.”

It was voiced as if he was giving you an option, but he didn’t wait for your decision. Astonishingly easily, he sneaked a hand under one of your thighs and simply lifted you enough to relocate you.

Nestled to Steve’s side, with one leg hiked over his thigh, you willed yourself to stay awake long enough to sneak out when Steve dozed off. Unfortunately for you, your will was too fucked out.

You fell asleep snuggled to the ruthless mafia monster.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x you #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #touch the darkness #my writing

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ln4bub · 10 months

Note

Okay so how about 21+39 + Oscar. like seven minutes in heaven or spin the bottle situation. (Only if you want tho)

I saw this request and I just had to write it immediately, this fits Oscar so well

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Oscar was never really one for emotion, he was almost impossible to read. So when he reluctantly agreed to play Truth or Dare with you, Logan, Robert, Arthur, and a few of your female friends you were surprised. He was always a ‘stay in the corner and observe’ kinda guy, but now he was sat in a circle, an ice cold beer in his large hand.

“Y/N, it’s your turn.” Logan nudges you, forcing you to take your eyes off Oscar. “Oh, uh dare?” You say, doubting your own choice. It’s Arthur who speaks up, a devious smile on his face.

“I dare you to do that minutes in heaven thing that Logan had to do with a driver of your choosing.” He tells you, the smirk on his face suggesting that he expected himself to be picked.

You stand up, smoothing down your dress before walking over to Oscar and extending your hand. “You coming?” You ask, eyebrow quirked. “He hopes so.” Logan laughs, sending the circle into a fit of giggles. Oscar rolls his eyes before pulling himself up and grasping your hand in his, leading you away to the closet. Arthur trails behind the two of you, locking the door after you enter. “We’ll start a seven minute timer for you, if you want to leave early then knock on the door three times.” You and Oscar confirm that you’re good to go before you hear the soft pad of Arthur walking away.

The two of you are left illuminated by the pale yellow lighting of the closet. The shadows cast over Oscar’s face, revealing a gentle smile. “We, uh, we don’t have to do anything. I have no expectations of you and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Oscar rambles, his eyes avoiding yours.

“Oscar.” You say, attempting to interrupt his rant.

“I don’t want to assume that you picked me because you’re attracted to me, I mean don’t get me wrong I’d like to hope that that’s why but if it’s not that’s totally okay.” He continues.

“Oscar.”

“What?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

He freezes, lips parted and eyes wide. “You really want that? With me?” He asks. You giggle slightly at his reaction. “Why else would I pick you Oz?” You question, hand coming to cup the back of his neck. He leans in, your breaths mingling in the small space. His lips touch yourself, briefly and softly, but you know they’re there and you whimper, pushing your lips harder against him.

Once he senses your eagerness he’s quick to reciprocate it, his lips moving perfectly with yours. His hand comes to rest on your jaw, his tongue now sliding against your own.

“Oscar, we have seven minutes. Do something please.” You beg against his lips, causing him to groan in response and rest his forehead against yours. “You want me to touch you? To make you cum with everyone outside?” He asks teasingly, shocking you with this switch in demeanour.

“God yes please Oscar.” You whine, grinding your hips against his thigh resting between your legs. His large hand comes to rest under your dress, sliding your underwear to the side and feeling the slick gathering already.

“Is this what I do to you?“ He asks and you nod in response, unable to find words as his fingers find your clit. “Poor girl, you must be so needy. Desperate.” He whispers, placing kisses across your neck as your hand tangles in his hair. You pull lightly when his finger slips inside you, making him moan against your skin.

He curls his fingers against your walls, your back arching in pleasure as you let out a moan of his name. “Oh god, right there, fuck- please.” You babble incoherently as a second finger joins his first.

“So tight for me baby, I want you to cum on my fingers so I can lick them clean. Have the taste of you in my mouth for the rest of the night, d’you want that?” You barely comprehend Oscar’s words, his fingers moving at a rapid pace. Your moans become more high pitched, joined by the slick sounds of Oscar’s fingers moving in and out of you.

“So close Oscar, please, please, please.” You whine, grinding your clit against the palm of his hand as he continues his actions.

“I know Y/N, I know. Soak my hand for me come on, we haven’t got long.” He reminds you, hitting the spot that makes your legs turn to jelly. Your mouth drops open, a moan on the verge of slipping out before Oscar’s mouth covers your own. He muffles the loud moan of his name with his tongue, feeling your walls spasm around his fingers.

“There we go, good girl. Let it go f’me.” He tells you, slowing his fingers but continuing to draw the remnants of your orgasm from your body. When you’re spent he slides his fingers out, sucking them clean with a groan.

Arthur’s knock sounds and the lock clicks open. The two of you hastily pat down your hair and clothing before stepping back into the room. You’re a sight to behold, hair and lipstick messy, dress hitched slightly too high and legs trembling. Oscar’s not much better, flushed cheeks, ruffled hair and a sly grin on his face.

“So, what did you two besties get up to in there?” Logan asks, smirking as you both go beet red. “Didn’t sound like anything people who are ‘just friends’ do.” He adds, quirking an eyebrow. Arthur slaps his hands onto Oscar’s shoulders. “Right there Oscar, so good, oh god.” He mimics, everyone laughing at the way you both side eye each other in awkwardness.

Oscar grabs your hand, pulling you out of the party to finish what you had started. But not until he tells Logan that you’re not just friends, and now everyone knows it.

#f1 smut #formula one smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 smut #op81

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kayentokk · 10 months

Text

Easy Peasy Sukuna Squeezey(Part 1);A Lot More Ice Cream

Pairing;Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Summary;Sukuna always knows what to do when you’re upset, but this time he thinks he’s gonna need a lot more ice cream to fix the problem.

Contains;feelings, some sadness, cheating mentions, angst kinda (not in a death way), comfort(Sukuna comfort), 🥹

wc; 1,261

A/N;uhmmm y’all I think imma make this a series. Cuz I wanna drag it out and I have more ideas for this storyline, so bear with me. And I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

Series M.list Next

The smell coming from inside was musk, and humid. You could feel it radiating through the door. You knew this was coming, hell this is what you came over here for. But it still hurts like a bitch to know your boyfriend, ex, is in the middle of sex with one of your mutual, ex, friends.

You were tipped off today by one of your ex’s friends, the only reason he told you was because quote unquote he “can give you a better time than that prick.” At the time you thought, he’s probably not wrong, maybe you’ll even take him up on the offer after this. That’s not likely though. You’re just, rightfully so, in your feelings and feeling angry about the whole situation.

You still wanted to see for yourself though, so you went to his apartment. You quietly unlocked the door and turned the knob, you just needed to know for yourself. You didn’t want to be privy or see the adulterous, disgusting act.

As if the clothes, that obviously belonged to him and his little- thing, that were in a trail leading to the bedroom weren’t enough, a loud, keening, high-pitched whine was let out. You didn’t need to see or hear anymore, that was enough.

You had tried to tried mentally prepare yourself before you got there, deciding to walk there for the commute instead of driving because you could clear your head better, but nothing prepares you for betrayal. And this was betrayal at its finest.

You placed the keys on the counter, opened the door, and slammed it shut loudly on your way out. You were hoping to startle them, but you’d be long gone before they got a clue.

You didn’t want to go home, so you didn’t. It’s not like you had anything waiting on you there, besides the memories that were once happy of you and him. And that’s just depressing.

After walking for a while, you noticed where you were headed. Sukuna’s house. It was only natural to want to go there. Sukuna is your best friend, of sorts. You guys grew up together, you went to the same schools your whole life, and your mothers were best friends. So you guys were destined to be close in some way.

You stopped yourself right across the street from his complex. All the intrusive thoughts immediately rolled in, what if he has girls over? Or he’s having a party? Or maybe he’s not home? M-maybe he doesn’t want to-

“Hey,” a gruff voice greets you.

It’s Sukuna.

He’s in his car, the windows are rolled down and the music is low so that you can hear him, he has a couple of bags in the front seat, he must have just been returning from somewhere.

“Hellooo? Earth to y/n?”

You snapped out of it, “hey,” you greet him lowly.

“Were you coming to see me?,” he asks reaching for his phone from his back pocket, “I didn’t think I got a message from you.”

“You didn’t. I didn’t know I was coming here either to be honest.”

“Oh…well, are you gonna get in or what? It’s freezing outside and you’re letting all my heat out of the window you psycho.”

It’s cold? Yeah, it is the middle of winter. You hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it. He moved the bags to the backseat without even having to get out of the car, the perks of having long arms, and you got in. It was warm, and your fingers started to defrost.

He parked the car in his designated spot, and you went to get out of the car but not before he stopped you by grabbing the hood of your coat. You turned your head and looked at him. His bright garnet eyes were piercing right through you, and you wanted to break. You wanted to crumble and cry and scream, you hate that look. Like he knows something is wrong.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong? or we jus’ not gonna talk today?”

Your lip quivers and at that small twitch Sukuna’s face drops. The normal irritated grimace that dawns his face is replaced with something else, something you’ve never seen before. It’s almost a saddening expression, it doesn’t suit Sukuna at all, you think.

In all the years you guys have been with each other, Sukuna thinks, he’s never seen you look so delicate or fragile. He’s seen you cry over getting a “boo-boo” or “ouchie” when you were small, he’s seen you cry over being reprimanded, hell he’s even seen you cry during your period, but all those things he could fix. A bandaid, a cookies and cream waffle cone, and a movie. Easy peasy, Sukuna squeezey. But a part of him felt like this ouchie would be harder to fix if he could fix it at all.

“He cheated ‘kuna,” you spoke plainly. It was harder to admit than you thought. You immediately felt repulsed from it.

He didn’t know what to say, he was in utter shock and he wanted to kill the dirty bastard. How could he? You devoted yourself to him and you cared and treated him with all the kindness in your heart. Sukuna was so enraged and he also felt….sad? This wasn’t the usual agitated feeling he got when you were upset, this was different. He knew this was different. You weren’t even crying yet, just sitting silently in pure consciousness.

You didn’t really want to talk about it if you’re being honest. Your boyfriend-ex, cheated on you. What else was there to say about it? But the silence was killing you.

“You could say something y’know,” you sniffled bringing a hand up to rub your nose. “It’s more embarrassing if you don’t,” you chuckled dryly.

Sukuna, however, didn’t find it funny. Nothing about this was funny. And it was becoming apparent to him, that he’d need a lot more ice cream.

What do you want him to say though? If he told you he’d kill him that wouldn’t solve the issue or lessen your hurt, If he acts out of character and said sorry you’d just think he’s taking pity on you and he knows you hate that.

So Sukuna does what he knows best, he “ignores” it. When you were both in your adolescent stage and you were mad at him about something harsh that he probably said that’s what he did.

He’d still talk to you even if you were ignoring him, which pissed him the hell off by the way, he’d do anything you wanted. And eventually you’d forget why you were mad at him in the first place, it was his way of apologizing. That was the only way he knew how to treat you without you feeling like he’s pitying you.

So he turns off the car, gets out, grabs the bags he put in the back seat, and when he sees you’re still in the car he gives you a nod and says, “come on, we don’t want you to freeze do we?” And you smile, it’s only a fragment of what it normally is, but you smile. And Sukuna feels relief, of course if you wanted to talk about it he’d listen. But right now, it’s freezing outside and he doesn’t think a car is the right place to have that conversation. All the people passing by while you’re hyperventilating and crying over your jerk of an ex is not exactly what you want to happen either.

So you follow him into the apartment.

@/cafekitsune for the divider

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spookyspecterino · 3 months

Note

I'd love to see an Eric x Reader where they share a first kiss together.

Love this ask. Thank you for requesting it! It went longer than I originally planned because I have a flair for the dramatics.

Focus on Me

Eric x GN! Reader

CW: Panic attacks, fear, fear of death, mentions of blood, some language.

Three days. Three days since New York became an unrecognizable, empty shell. Three days of maddening silence. Three days of existing in absolute total fear.

The helicopters have stopped flying overhead. There’s nothing in the sky anymore. Everything has just stopped.

The silence is unbearable. At least now the ambient sound of the storm—the torrential rain and howling wind—fills that awful, strange void.

Every sound, every movement, even the water dripping from your clothes, has you and Eric pausing in step. The creak in the floorboards, the way the crumbling building shifts against the outside wind, it’s nerve wracking and makes forward progress slow.

This building wouldn’t have been your first choice, but you and Eric needed to get out of the storm. The giant holes in the side of the complex were blissfully ignored until you were both inside and the strong wind whipped through them. You counted your blessings that the concrete stairs were even intact.

Eric’s hand is on your shoulder as you get further into the building. It eases your nerves, as you know it comforts him as well. It’s the only source of warmth you can feel through the ice-cold adrenaline and the chill of your damp clothes. A warm spot of hope.

You’re positive he can feel you trembling. Scared shitless. Expecting to die at any moment.

It’s so dark in that hallway, the only source of light is from the night sky, through the shattered windows. The storm wind howls through the glass cracks creating an eerie whistling. The rain pounds, lightning flashes give you quick snapshots of the apartments around you. There’s an open door to your left, which seems like a good option.

Lightning flashes again and illuminates the dark red stain leading through the door. Never mind.

The clap of thunder moments later startles you so bad you flinch and duck. Eric’s hand squeezes your shoulder, reassuringly. Without thinking, you grab his hand and hold it in place. An anchor to keep you calm, to keep you sane. A reminder that you’re not alone.

You pass the red stain with careful steps. Part of that apartment must have a hole in it because the sound of rain is clearer, every pounding raindrop echoes off the walls.

The last door to your right is wide open.

Lightning flashes again. Another snapshot. Coast is clear, no trail of blood this time.

Every muscle tenses up, bracing for the thunder to follow. Push on. You repeat this in your mind as the noise rolls above, gentler this time. You can’t afford to lose your nerve.

Eric’s hand moves from your shoulder to your lower back as he shifts to stand next to you. His other arm wrapped around your waist. He’s taking more of a lead as you pass through the doorway together. His breath comes out trembling and slow in your ear.

This apartment has more windows, letting in enough light to see around the room. In the context of everything, it looks strange. It’s still neat and undisturbed—the couch has a blanket and cute pillows, the coffee table has a tv remote on it, the living room floor is covered in a long, plush carpet. It’s a time capsule, back to the last hours of normal life within the city.

Eric points to the couch and back to you.

Shaking your head ‘no,’ you grab the blanket from the back of the couch and lay it down on the carpet. Somehow, sleeping on the ground feels better—what if the springs in the couch make noise? The idea of shifting in your sleep and creating noise has become a constant fear every night.

There’s been so many new fears in the last couple of days.

Eric watches you, then begins sitting on the ground too. He takes his suit jacket off and hangs it off the coffee table to dry. He’s busy setting up his spot to sleep, smoothing out his side of the blanket and taking one of the couch pillows. He hands the other to you. It feels like a really strange sleepover.

Lightning flashes again and you get a clear view of Eric. His tie is still on.

Your fingers find their way to his shoulders first as you reach out blindly in the dark. They’re broad, well defined, and you’re surprised at first. Eric freezes, thinking something is wrong, but you continue on your way to his tie, gently pulling it loose and unwrapping it from around his neck. He watches you, sitting up a little so you can reach better.

So distracted by your task, the following clap of thunder above barely registers. Neither of you flinch.

“My mum taught me how to fix my ties.” His voice is barely a whisper, but it mixes in the space between you with your own breath.

In the dark you’re only inches apart.

You pull the tie off and lay it down on the coffee table next to his suit jacket.

“What’s she like?” You ask with a matching whisper.

God, the sound of your own voice is strange to you now. Raspy, raw, unused. And Eric’s…you almost forgot he was English.

“My mum?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s kind…” He swallows back the rising emotion in his voice. “Always so kind. She didn’t want me to—to go.” He takes a ragged breath; the harsh noise is enough to make you tense and pull him closer to you. It’s an action of panic at first, but it quickly turns into a hug as he presses his face into the crook of your neck.

At least now his choked sobs are muffled.

Running a hand through his hair, you try to calm him. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

There’s a sniffle and he pulls back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Here, lay down.”

You lay down too, guiding his head to the pillow. His nose nudges yours in the close space—you can feel his breath on your cheek. His hand grips the side of your shirt. He might still be crying; his eyes are shiny in the dark.

Your palm rests against the side of his neck, cupping his jaw—it stays there. “Tell me what England is like.”

Another flash of lightning. His face is so strikingly handsome in the light. Droplets of water fall from his brown curls onto his forehead.

“Um…well…” He begins unsteadily. “It’s very tight.”

“Tight?”

He nods, nose brushing against yours again. “The roads don’t get wider than two lanes. One going each way. All the houses are linked in long rows—almost like the neighborhoods here.”

“Is there traffic?”

Eric laughs once, a quiet laugh that comes out more like a long breath. It’s enough of a laugh to hear the humor in his voice. “There’s nothing but traffic.”

“Why’d they make the roads like that?”

“Not enough space.”

“Oh.” You ponder. “That makes sense actually—being that it’s pretty much an island."

“An island, yeah.”

“An island full of traffic.”

He laughs again, breath mixing with yours. “The U.S.—it’s quite big, so you can make your roads wider. More lanes and the like.”

“Ah…”

There’s a moment of silence where just the rain pounds overhead. Silence, that dreadful thing forced upon you now. Eric’s laugh, however small and subdued, was a wonderful sound.

“What made you want to be a lawyer?”

“I dunno. I… my dad said it was a good profession to do and—and it seemed very grown up.”

“You must be very smart to get into Law School around here.”

You win another laugh out of him. “I don’t know about that.”

“No, I’m serious. They’re extremely competitive.”

“It was expensive to get in.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“What about you, are you going…” he pauses, his voice deflates a little, “…Were you going to school?”

You remain undeterred, you have to. “No, too expensive. Just working and trying to figure things out.”

“You didn’t have any plans?”

“I had plans, short-term stuff, but I’m not really a ‘plan your life out’ kinda person.”

“That actually sounds nice.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Another bout of silence. Eric is no longer sniffling; he watches you curiously.

“And your soccer teams—"

“—Football—”

Maybe he can see your teasing face in the dark, maybe he can’t. “Mm. Tomatoe, tomato. So, your soccer teams—”

“Hm, no. Football.”

“I’m not calling it football—you’re going to get me all confused.”

Eric laughs again and leans his forehead against yours. “It’s really not hard to separate them out—you’re doing this on purpose to get a rise out of me.”

“A rise? Jesus, you’re so British. Are you going to let me finish my question?”

“I’ll let you finish your question if you call them football teams.”

“You are a stubborn one. I feel like most people would have moved on by now.”

“Does that surprise you?”

You make a noise. “No, actually I like it. But anyway, Football—”

“—Thank you, darling—”

“—Hm. It’s a big deal, right?”

“Oh, huge. Did you even need to ask?”

“I guess I could have figured it out when you forced me to call it football in my own country.”

Eric’s grip on your shirt has relaxed now, his hand rests on your hip. “Is football a big deal here?”

“Football—football, or soccer—football?”

“Ah, well played. I see what you’re doing now.”

“I will make you say the word soccer.”

Somehow, he leans even closer.

“Not a chance.”

“Ha. Well, football tickets are sold out months in advance, sometimes before the season even starts, so that might answer your question.”

“They’re sold-out like that in England too.”

“But which football am I talking about, Eric?”

He snickers. “The one where they throw and kick the ball.”

“Oh, that’s very funny. Very clever.”

“I do know—”

From back in the room something creaks. Pressure on a floorboard, something moving, something big. Eric freezes. Your body goes cold.

Click-click-click.

Another couple of pounds on the ground. These are closer, you can feel the vibrations through the floor.

In the back of the apartment, leading to a bedroom, a door slowly creaks open. The rain sounds much closer now and the clicks continue, vivid and clear.

This apartment has a hole in it to the outside.

Eric is back to gripping you like his life depends on it. Your hand trembles against his skin.

Pound. Click-click-click.

The indifferent storm above sends lightning down again, as if it’s saying 'Hey, look at this'. The rapid succession of flashes gives you a view of the doorframe and the monstrous creature slinking through it.

Its body contorts and bends, long legs folding in as it fits itself into the room without disturbing anything. Scales and plates shift and move fluidly along its back. You didn’t think it was possible for it to be this nimble.

Click-click-click.

Eric, watching your tearful eyes track something over his shoulder, very carefully and very slowly starts to turn and try to get a glimpse of it. Your hand on his cheek tightens and stops him, turning him back to look at you. The message is clear as his breathing starts to quicken.

Look at me.

He purses his lips in an effort to keep from breathing through his mouth. He’s shaking as much as you are now.

The creature swings its head around in the dark, opening its face plates and clicking out. The way it opens up, the sound it makes is almost enough to make you shudder. Who knows why, but it moves toward you and Eric. Its massive silhouette stands out against the apartment’s lighter walls. You keep watching it, trembling and on the verge of tears.

The thing’s leg bumps the coffee table, and your mouth drops open at the sudden startlingly loud shriek of wood scraping against wood. Eric is quick to cover your mouth with a hand, holding you in place, keeping you quiet. He presses his mouth up against the back of his hand, trying to keep himself quiet too. Tears spill over onto your cheeks; they mix with his. Your faces are pressed together. Even though he’s terrified, he’s still gentle.

Click-click-click. Pound.

It’s so close now that those alien noises vibrate through your body. It’s so heavy that when it steps on the floorboards it almost bounces you.

And the thing smells.

It smells like death, decay, and rot. You’re never going to forget that smell as it wafts over you and permeates your clothes.

More tears fall, it’s impossible to rip your eyes away from the creature’s silhouette, it towers nearly to the ceiling in one long, thin body.

You wish more than anything that the lightning would stop. You don’t need to see it in clear detail. You don’t need to see the bits of viscera hanging from it or the dark red stains leading up its grotesque arms.

Eric’s hand moves a fraction out of the way to hold your cheek. Your eyes flash to him just as he replaces his hand with his mouth.

It’s reckless beyond measure, but the action makes you instinctually close your eyes. There’s no movement, there’s no bloom of passion, but the warmth spreads through your face. It’s an act of desperation in what may be your last moments together.

The creature’s feet pound on the floorboards again. Are they getting further away? You don’t dare open your eyes. You focus on the feeling of Eric’s mouth against yours. If this is when and how you’re going to die, you want to think about how soft his lips feel. You want to think about the way his curly hair looks as it dries into a tangled mess. How his shoulders felt under your touch and the breath of his laugh and the way his words sounded when he smiled.

It works, you almost feel at peace. It's just the feeling, the idea of it all ending any moment that keep you trembling.

But the footsteps are getting further away. The hinges of the door leading out into the complex’s hallway creak as the door is pushed open.

It’s leaving. It’s leaving.

After you can no longer feel the pounding footsteps or hear it anymore, you open your eyes again. The apartment is empty. It’s gone.

Eric is also looking around. He pulls back a little, separating your lips. The absence of warmth sends shivers down your body. And then you start trembling again, left to deal with the struggle of survival. The adrenaline, the short supply you had left, is used up—your body is suffering.

Shell shock is the first thing you think of, but Eric’s eyes catch yours and you snap back to the task at hand. Fortification. Leaving and following in that thing's footsteps would just mean a grisly death in the dark. You'd have to make due and close off all the exits.

It takes ages to sit up. There are moments when you think you hear something, only for it to be your imagination. There are moments when you question if you’re still alive.

Eric gently takes your hand; he helps you to your feet. Moving so, so slowly and carefully. It’s Eric that guides you through the next few minutes, directing you to help him move furniture in front of the door. Picking it up slowly and delicately. Closing the back door, which does indeed lead to a hole in the wall. He always stands near you; his hand guides you either by your shoulder, your hand, or your lower back.

Eric, the man you found shaking and traumatized in the rain, helps you and leads you.

Once the furniture has been moved, the apartment no longer looks like a time capsule of normality. It matches the rest of the city—disorderly and inherently wrong.

With your task complete, you lean against one of the walls, holding your mouth shut. The shaking in your legs becomes more pronounced now that you’re no longer moving. Your heart is pounding out of your chest. The dark room spins around you. Through your fingers you take small gasps of breath.

Eric knows what a panic attack looks like. What it feels like. How it cripples a person.

“It’s alright.” He breathes, as he comes over to hold the sides of your face. “We’re alright.”

Your hands reach out and cling to him, pulling him closer. His body flattens against you on the wall. His forehead leans down to yours.

“Eric…”

He lifts your face up, smoothing out your cheeks, trying to calm you down. “I’m here. Right here.”

You do the only thing you can think of. The only method true method that can dispel the thoughts of your near death. Closing the short distance between your faces, you kiss him.

This time, he moves. This time it’s not a kiss with your imminent death looming right over you; it’s relived, it’s desperate, it’s a plea to wake up your body and revive yourself.

We’re alive.

The kiss is wet, you can taste the tears on his lips as he sloppily molds them to yours. The light stubble on his face scratches you, but it hardly registers. The kiss gets increasingly desperate—you both needed this, you both wanted this. You could have died and never experienced this and now you’re making up for that.

Your fingers tangle in his still wet hair. They grab the back of his neck; they grab his shoulders as he flexes and runs his hands up and down your sides. If you pull away to take in another gasp, Eric is quick to close the distance again, forcing you to take in air through your nose.

But you’re tired beyond measure, running off nothing but pure fear and adrenaline for days and nights on end. How Eric keeps himself together after being through the same things you have is something you’d like to learn one day, but tonight—fuck, tonight you need to sit down before your legs give out.

You pull away again, trying to gasp out something. Eric’s lips chase yours, but your body has had enough finally, and you give in, sliding down the wall before he catches you. By the way your head lolls back, and your arms fall to your sides, he understands.

Always so gentle, always so caring, Eric leads you back to the blanket and lays you down in his arms. Pressing your face into his collar, you feel just safe enough that you might be able to sleep. Exhaustion pulls at your consciousness, but images of the hideous alien are vividly playing out in your mind’s eye.

Only Eric’s voice, barely above a breath, but warm in your ear is enough to soothe you. He murmurs about how you’ll both be on the boats tomorrow. Tomorrow, you’ll be safe. Everything will be ok tomorrow. He peppers your forehead with light kisses in between words.

Before your world fades into nothingness, you stretch up to kiss him under his jaw. The last thing you hear is his quiet sigh.

Eric didn’t sleep much that night, too busy making a plan in his head to get you both to the south st. seaport. If he had to carry you, he would. He would do anything for you. And if this all somehow turned into a happy ending, then he would be right next to you to share it, to see you smile again, to hear you tease him.

If it doesn’t, then he has to find a way to kiss you one more time before the end.

#Eric AQPDO x Reader #A quiet place day one #AQPDO #eric aqpdo #GN!Reader

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