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mundanenonsense · 10 days ago

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part 2 of the biker!simon x learnerdriver!reader

3989 words (not really edited, sorry for any mistakes)

cw: slight NSFW, mdni, mentions of death, if there’s anything else I should mention, pls lemme know.

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As soon as he stepped into the familiar house, Simon immediately kicked his boots off, bending over with a groan, his stiff muscles practically screaming at the sudden pull when he placed the boots on the shoe rack. His mask almost instantly got pulled off his face and thrown into the pocket of his hoodie, discarded and unnecessary.

He knew his mother hated it.

Slowly and silently he headed over to the kitchen, opening one of the windows to let some fresh, crisp spring air in as he proceeded to boil the water in the kettle, grabbing his mug, gifted to him by Joseph one Christmas. It was hand painted, chipped at the handle and a bit ugly. But to Simon it was one of his most prized possessions. That’s why when he was away, it lived right at the back of one of the higher cupboards, so that his mum wouldn’t accidentally knock it down and smash it.

Whenever he held something close to his heart, he would cherish it. Protect it. Do anything and everything not to break it. And for a man who’s job was to break stuff, he had to put quite a lot of effort into it.

He was made to break and he knew it. Everyone who looked at him knew it. Strong, heavy muscles rippled under the inked skin, with every single movement. Hands that should be permanently stained with blood, were clean, only because he spent over an hour under a hot stream of a shower, meticulously scrubbing them, and the rest of his body, after returning to the base. The scars on his skin just reminded him that although he bore many, he probably caused hundreds if not thousands more through the years of being in the army.

So now he was blankly staring at the teabag that currently sat in the hot water, as he oh so gently stroked his large finger over the little crack (that wasn’t his fault, Joseph dropped it himself whilst he was sat in Simon’s lap, explaining what each of the painted monstrosities was), eyes narrowed, cogs turning in is brain.

He needed to find you.

You.

His beautiful, sweet, stranger with eyes that he was willing to do anything for and driving skills of a grandad with myasthenia, unable to press the gas pedal hard enough.

There was no point crying over spilled milk. Simon knew that. He had his chance and he fucked it. But maybe that was for good? Maybe he would have spooked you if he suddenly decided to beg you to marry him with a bolt nut instead of a ring? Maybe you’d have hated that? A woman as beautiful as you deserved only the best.

He was a fucking twat, of course you wouldn’t want a fucking steel nut instead of an engagement ring.

In all fairness, you already looked like you were a split second from a breakdown, he was sure that even if he asked for your name, for your number, for anything at all, you’d have just deteriorated.

His poor, little driver.

If only you knew how much he wanted to soothe all the stress that so clearly held you in its tight grip.

To take it away. Calm you down.

Fuck knows well, he knew how.

He struggled himself. He was running on fumes. The past months being away took their toll on him, they always did, no matter how much he tried to keep all of that inside. Maybe that’s why, when he saw those vulnerable, teared up eyes in the reflection of your rear view mirror, Simon was instantly and utterly gone?

So genuine. So true.

Don’t worry sweetheart, from now on he would make sure that the only tears that would be guesting under your eyelids and sliding down your cheeks were those of happiness. Or overstimulation, from when he would fuck you breathless in the back seat of his car. Legs shaking, hands weakly holding onto his scratched up shoulders. Don’t worry, sweet thing, it wont scar, and even if it does, these will be some of his proudest scars that he acquired yet. Just trust him. Dig in deeper. Harder. Make it stick. He’ll kiss all those tears off as he drives his fat cock into your crying cunt again and again and-

But how?

Simon took a sip of the hot tea, his calloused hand sliding over the tightness by the zipper of his cargos, humming quietly, grinding his teeth together. He rolled his neck, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep, deep fucking breath, knowing he needed to calm down. Desperately.

His mother could wake up and come downstairs at any minute and he didn’t really want her to see him sporting a raging hard on, or at worst explain to her that it was because he could not get his future wife out of his head. That wouldn’t be fair to you, sweetheart. But then again, it would probably never get mentioned.

Not if he could help it.

Fast forward a few hours, Simon was comfortably and rather peacefully asleep on the soft sofa in the lounge, covered up with one of the knitted blankets his mother started making after her retirement. He was warm, his stomach was full, his mind was (somewhat) at ease after being pampered and waited on as soon as Anne found him sitting at her dining table.

He knew she would do it, she always did. At first it annoyed him. The learned independence and self sufficiency from the years of growing up under his father’s iron fist and later the military made him struggle to adjust to her suddenly overbearing care. It took some time for both of them to adjust. A long time in fact. Before she stopped letting her paranoid thoughts take over every single time Simon would be sent away. And before he let her mother him whenever he was back without a grumble of complaint.

So now he just let her.

Of course he did.

He knew how hard she was trying to take care of him and Tommy whilst they lived with his father. How difficult it was whenever she’d try to help them after yet another beating, which would result in her getting one too. Anne was so fucking full of love and care that Simon began denying her that for years, afraid that it will end critically for her. He knew that one day he would have to stand up to his father and when it finally happened, he needed his mother by his side. Because fuck knows that Tommy wasn’t in the state to do anything.

Losing people made him both desensitized to death and yet so incredibly, overly aware of it.

He knew he’d lose Anne one day.

So if she fucking wanted to treat him like a kid whilst he visited her between the missions, he’d let her.

And although the sleep was truly a blessing, it was disrupted when he heard the quiet sound of the door opening, the metal squeaking against the hinges, wood brushing over the doormat and quiet rustling of something being passed between hands. Simon’s eyes staying closed but body instinctively tensed up, so that he was ready to throw himself off the sofa and straight at the potential danger.

“Oh, ta lovey, you sure spoil me wi’ all these! Do you wanna come in? I’ll make us a brew. Me lad’s come to see me, but he’s fast asleep in’t living room, it won’t bother ’im, pet.”

“No, no, Anne, thank you, I’ve got a tonne of work to do at home, got a new commission so I’ve got to work on it, but I’ll pop in for a brew at some point in the week, yeah?”

Simon’s shoulders relaxed and he breathed in deeply, hearing an unfamiliar feminine voice decline his mum’s invitation, grateful that he wouldn’t have to deal with one of her gossiping friends. In moments like this he was jealous of Tommy being all hitched with Beth and their lil shitling attached to his hip. He was officially off the table when it came to the matchmaking.

Simon wasn’t ever interested, of course. But that didn’t mean that his mum and her pain in the ass friends didn’t try.

But now you have so serendipitously appeared in his life.

He just had to secure you permanently somehow.

As the front door shut, he got up from the couch with a groan, his knees and shoulders cracking as he stretched. He met his mother half way to the kitchen, where she gently patted his upper arm (struggling to reach the shoulder with the arthritis slowly settling in her joints, bless her heart) and nodded at the kitchen.

“Just me neighbour’s made us some biccies, she’s a good hen like that. Come on, I’ll stick the kettle on, make you a coffee, an’ you can ‘ave some. You’ve proper lost weight fightin’ out there. They wanna feed you lads better in’t army if they expect you t’scrap proper.”

And to his satisfaction, the biscuits were truly great. Crunchy, but not overly dry. Not too sweet to cause heartburn either. They were a buttery goodness that melted on his tongue as he chewed one by one, unable to stop.

Anne and her feeding habits were a welcome change. The hunger that he suppressed for such a long time was demanding to be felt too.

But with every single bite he couldn’t help but think about biting into you.

Sinking his teeth into your soft looking skin, anywhere and everywhere you would let him leave a mark. He’d be gentle of course, he could not risk hurting you (too much). A sensitive thing like you, who clearly was struggling to drive faster than 30 miles per hour must have been delicate.

He wondered how the rest of your lesson went.

He really should have followed that stupid white car just to make sure no driver who was stuck behind you would stress you out more than you already were.

If anyone as much as tried to use their horn, he would deal with them. Don’t you worry your sweet, little head. He saw how you reacted almost crashing into the hedge when he revved the engine. The sound of a car horn would likely send you spiraling and he could not let that happen to his brave little driver. It’s okay sweetheart, you’d never have to encounter that dumb fuck again. Why? Well, silly goose, you can’t really use the horn or even drive for that matter, if you don’t have arms, no? Oh wait, you can? Well, he’d make sure to discourage them from getting behind the wheel ever again. He’s good at threatening people into submission. That’s kind of a part his job.

He’d happily cuddle you afterwards. Wrap his big arms around you tenderly, stroke your soft hair and tell you how well you did and that one day you’ll own the roads. Even if he had to somehow close off the whole city so that you could drive stress free. Bomb threat perhaps? Terrorist threat? Murder every single driver registered as living in Manchester and close off all the entry roads into the city? Slash the tires of every single car? Johnny would surely help with that. Especially if he was doing it for his lieutenant’s bird.

Before Simon knew it, he was standing in front of the neighbour’s door, helmet in one hand, empty and washed out tupperware box in the other, knocking against the hard wood with the tip of his shoe. “Seein’ as yer not stayin’ over tonight, pet, can yer take that tupperware box next door? If yer don’t, I’ll only forget, yer know what I’m like, Si.” He once again couldn’t say no. He ate majority of the biscuits anyway, the least he could do was return the bloody plastic box to the owner.

He heard snapping of the lock bolts as the key turned from inside and then the door opened, revealing you.

The air got knocked out of his fucking lungs, eyes opened wider, the grip of his hands tightened, afraid that he was going to drop everything he was holding as he stared into those beautiful eyes which haunted him every single time he closed his own, even to blink, since this morning.

Looks like he didn’t have to spend his evening planning on how to find you at all.

You were right here, under his fucking nose this whole time and he had no idea. Now staring up at him, chin darted up, head tilted back a little to accommodate for the height difference between the two of you.

Future Mrs Riley was so much prettier when there wasn’t a car window in the way.

You stood there, one hand on the doorframe, ready to shut it closed (good girl, look at you, staying so careful, he’s so proud of you), eyes narrowed a little as you studied his features, clearly not recognising him, but sizing him up. He was a stranger after all.

Strangely handsome, but still, a stranger who was for some reason stood at your door, staring at you silently, making it impossible to tear away from his intense, dark gaze (was it dark or were his pupils just abnormally blown? Was he on fucking drugs? Nah, Simon was in fucking love, and when someone is in love, their pupils dilate. But how could you know sweetheart? Just stay oblivious for now.). You weren’t entirely sure why. Maybe because it felt like a challenge? First person to look away loses. As if you were both taking part in some dumb staring contest, but from the way he was looking at you, you could tell it wasn’t a fight for dominance.

At least not anymore.

Because as much as you always read in your silly books, the author describing that someone’s gaze softened, you didn’t really understand what that meant. Until now. Because a couple moments after your eyes met his, you could see it happening.

The whole demeanor shifting. His furrowed eyebrows relaxed, deep set wrinkles disappearing from between them, although still leaving delicate lines in their place. The eyes seemed to have lost their sharp edge, that intensity remaining, but now having taken on a gentle way to it. They weren’t indifferent, cold, even scrutinising anymore. No.

Simon cleared his throat, looking away first, down at the tupperware box in his hand.

Something he rarely did. He was a manmade predator. He knew how to intimidate, scare, make someone feel like a little roach about to be squashed under his boot. But in this moment, standing at your door, he couldn’t help but want to drop to his knees and beg for you to walk all over him. Just to confirm this was not a fucking daydream and that for once, life has fucking smiled at him and said ‘hey, there you go, have it the easy way mate’. Walk over him like a fucking marching band, please, pet. Run him over with a car for all he cares. At the speed that you drive at, the worst he’d get was a couple broken ribs and a sprained wrist and that is nothing, lovey. He’s been through worse.

Fuck, you turning in the opposite direction on that junction this morning seemed to hurt worse.

You still stared at him, curiosity flashing through your eyes as he dropped his, but you let yourself study his face for that quick moment. The slightly crooked nose, messy blonde hair that he clearly put no effort into styling, sharp jaw with a freshly trimmed beard, a few scars, a particularly nasty looking one that ran down the length of his cheek, a split bottom lip that was almost healed and a yellow bruise painted on the temple.

Man’s been through shit.

“Hi?” You said quietly, a little hesitantly as you attempted to catch his eyes again, tilting your head to the side.

Simon’s eyes snapped back up to yours as if your sweet voice gave him the permission to indulge in the beauty that you oh so kindly provided and blessed him with.

He couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe he choked on one of the biscuits that turns out you made and now he was dead and somehow he made his way to heaven. Somehow. If he clawed his way into there, he didn’t remember that, but surely he wasn’t just invited. Not with all the fucked up things he’d done in his life. But if this was the promise of heaven, he’d happily do anything to experience even the snippet of it.

He needed to say something, anything that would make you stay, indulge you, keep you from shutting the door in his face, something that would portray all the fucking intensity of scrambled up emotions he was feeling right now. Fuck, would it be weird if he ran to his bike now and undid one of those nuts and came back asking for your hand? He couldn’t ask without a ring. He didn’t have anything on him that could imitate one. “Th’ biscuits were mint, pet.”

You raised your eyebrows as he extended the tupperware box to you, realizing that he must have been the son Anne mentioned earlier when you dropped the sweet treat off. You assumed she was talking about Tommy, Tommy was often over.

Not this absolute behemoth of a man who, for a brief moment after opening the door, you expected to pull out an axe and just kill you on the spot.

She spoke to you about him over a cuppa one day. Samuel was it? You’d never seen him, only heard about him, which made sense since he was a soldier who apparently spend majority of his life away on deployment or out at the base.

Well, now he was here and he complimented the biscuits you stress baked after yet another unsuccessful driving lesson. You were surprised he enjoyed them. Thought the tears that streamed out of your eyes as you mixed the batter would have made them a tad too salty.

“Oh, I’m glad. Thanks, Samuel.” Big, well deserved pat on the back for you, showing off that you listen, that you know who he is, without him having to introduce himself. You’d known his ma for a few months now after moving next door to her. She almost immediately decided to kind of adopt you, after learning that ‘y’ were just a teeny thing, livin’ all on ‘er own.’.

He appreciated the try. Really. No, honestly. If you wanted to call him Samuel, he’d let you. Hell, he’d change the name in all his documents if it made you happy. “‘Ts Simon, love.”

And he fucking immediately wished he never said that and actually went with the idea of a name change, because the way your eyes instantly saddened broke him. There was that worry in them again that he saw in the morning. The expectation of punishment almost. Guilt. Upset. You looked as if you just admitted to killing his childhood pet, not accidentally calling him the wrong name.

No, no, no, sweetheart don’t be upset with yourself. In his head he already promised himself to only make you cry for two specific reasons. This wasn’t one of them. Please don’t beat yourself up for it. He should have taken it back, the nervous stuttering of all the half words and sorries filled his ears and he wanted nothing more than to cup your flushed cheeks and kiss those words off your lips.

Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, don’t apologize, not to him, not to anyone, ever. You tried. That’s all that matters. He can be Samuel from now on, really. Promise.

Just like when you mouthed the ‘I’m sorry’ through the closed window of the car.

Poor thing.

Guilt didn’t suit you.

But your name that you introduced yourself with in the midst of all that babble did indeed suit you. He chewed on it for a moment as he repeated it in his head, memorizing it, tasting it, almost choking on it as he finally said it out loud.

He watched your eyes wonder to his motorbike helmet as you tapped your thumb quickly on the lid of the plastic box that you held in your little, slender hands.

Were you realizing who he was? Were you remembering the intimate (intimidating), heartfelt (angry) looks he was giving you as he stared at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your car?

Surely you must realize.

He would recognize you just by your eyes anywhere. How could you not do the same?

Did you just not care?

Were you truly this fucking oblivious?

Or were you just pretending?

“Let me get you some more of those biscuits. As a sorry for getting your name wrong. I think I’ve got some left…”

He stared at the open door as you rushed back into the depths of your house.

Stranger danger, did your parents not teach you about it?

But he wasn’t really a stranger was he? You shared someone in common. Anne told you about Simon. He was her fucking son. And she lived next door, it’s not like he would do anything to you, at least in your head. In his head he wanted to do everything to you. But you’d enjoy it, obviously.

So at least both of you were sure that no hurt was on the cards.

He would never do anything to hurt his missus.

Now standing in the doorway, was he supposed to follow you? Was that an invitation?

He fucking hoped it wasn’t, because if he walked in right now, his claws would settle deep into the floorboards and he’d refuse to leave. Would you even want him to leave? Would you ask him to stay? He never stayed. He never accepted any food offered to him just like he never opted for the post fuck cuddles. That wasn’t something he ever wanted really.

Nah, he had shit to do. Reports to write. Places to be. People to train. Guns to clean.

He was full, he didn’t need more biscuits. His mother fed him more calories today than his usual weekly allowance was during deployment.

But then again, if his future Mrs Riley insisted, he’d gladly stuff those biscuits down his throat, even if it meant his stomach was going to suffer. He’d do it with a damn big smile. Just to show you how much he fucking appreciated you feeding him. Hoping that you’d feed him forever. Was your pussy a meal you’d consider giving him too? Because fuck, he’d devour it as a pallet cleanser between all the biscuits he was willing to eat. Just let him have a taste. Please. He’d make it worth your while. His face stuffed between your legs, hands tightly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you nice and spread open for him as he munched on you like a man starved, singing praises into your pretty cunt about how nice she tastes. Drinking up all the juices. Staying hydrated was important after all.

That’s when you could cry, lovey. He’d lick those tears right off too. Can’t let your sweetness (or saltiness in this case) go to waste.

“Come in, Simon, shut the door behind you, the draft’s chilly!”

Without thinking twice, Simon stepped into the house, shutting the door quietly behind him. Hearing his name in that sweet voice of yours was like a call to prayer. Like a call from the goddess who he swore to worship until the day he died. You were cold? Oh you poor, pretty eyed thing… Don’t worry, angel, he’d happily set himself on fire if his body heat itself was not enough to keep you warm.

hope you liked it!

requests open, I guess?

If you wanna be added to the tag list, let me know!

@anonymouse1807

@shesneverreallythere

#simon ghost riley x reader #biker!ghost #biker!simon #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley smut

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azsazz · 1 month ago

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Over Ice (Part 11)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: Mentions of barfing.

Word Count: 3989

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10)

Notes: Sorry I haven't put anything out in a while, I've been mad sick.

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“I still think this is a bad idea,” you whisper-yell as you and your two roommates sneak across the lawn. There’s no need to sneak, really. The Hockey House is packed to the brim with people, some even spilling onto the front lawn of the two-story home. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t even notice if you walked right through the door and up the stairs to begin your search for their precious trophy.

Mor and Gwyn halt where they’re pressed against the side of the house to stare at you. You all are dressed in black from head-to-toe, which, in your opinion at least, makes you stand out even more from the plethora of people inside.

“Where’s this sudden conscious coming from?” Gwyn asks. She’s right, even she’s here, though this entire scheme was her idea in the first place. For some reason, she hates everything and anything that has to do with the word hockey, and yet, here she is.

To steal a trophy, your mind supplies. It’s not like she’s here to party.

“Yeah,” Mor tacks on, and it’s difficult not to duck out from under her scrutinizing gaze. “My cousin’s in there and you don’t see me complaining.”

Funny she mentions that, because that’s the exact thing you’re worried about. Running into Rhysand.

“Nothing,” you stammer, trying to console your roommate. “It’s just…we should be cutting Gwyn’s cake right now, not pulling some prank like high schoolers.” At first, the idea of pulling a prank on the hockey team seemed like fun. Now that you’re here and the buzz of the wine you drank has wavered, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. Those hockey boys take their superstitions seriously, you can’t imagine how they’d feel about a trophy disappearing.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don’t take it out for fear that it might be Rhysand. You can barely believe he called you, flirted with you while his cousin was one room over. He knows that nothing can happen between either of you, it would only spell disaster. Mor would have an aneurism, at the very least.

“Stealing this will taste so much sweeter than cake!” Gwyn insists. She wobbles on her feet and catches herself against the side of the house, waving Mor off when she reaches out a hand to steady the redhead. Gwyn blinks her big cerulean eyes at you in her infamous innocent look. “This is what I want for my birthday, but I won’t force you to join us. We’ll go inside, steal the trophy from right under their noses, and meet you back at the apartment, if you want.”

“No,” you shake your head. Maybe this will be fun. Maybe you can do this for Gwyn and return the trophy before the boy’s notice. Maybe they won’t even notice at all. Yeah, right. “we’ll find it faster if there’s three of us. I’m in.”

Gwyn beams and throws herself into your arms. You stumble, unprepared, but manage to keep the both of you upright with a startled laugh. Mor quickly joins the hug and it takes five minutes for the three of you to stop giggling and get your heads straight.

“Right, so where do we think they’d hide it?” Gwyn asks as the three of you huddle together to form a plan. When you left your apartment, the only idea in motion had been to walk into the house and steal the trophy. You have a feeling it’s going to be a little trickier than that.

You and Gwyn look to Mor who makes a face. “What the hell are you looking at me for? How would I know where it is?”

“He’s your cousin,” you supply and Gwyn nods vehemently.

Mor scoffs. “And? That doesn’t mean I’d know exactly where they’re hiding a giant trophy! I’ve been here the same number of times as you!” She points in your direction. “Do you remember seeing it around?”

You think for a moment. No, you don’t remember seeing at the last party you were here for, but you don’t think you’d miss a giant, gleaming trophy, even if you were distracted by Rhys. “No,” you mutter quietly.

Mor crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin haughtily. “Exactly.”

“So, we sneak inside and split up and hopes one of us finds it?” Gwyn asks. She’s not giving up on this easily, that’s for sure. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so hungry for revenge. Maybe if you knew exactly why she disliked the hockey team so much, it’d help psych you up.

“No, we need a better plan than that.” You offer a silent apology. “Who’s the most superstitious?”

“What?”

“Well, if we decide who’s the most superstitious of the group, maybe we can narrow down where the trophy might be,” you explain. “Like, if Rhys is the most superstitious, do you think he would hide it under the kitchen sink or something?”

Mor’s brows furrow as she thinks. Nearby, a boy shouts drunkenly across the lawn. You can’t make out what he says with the way his words slur, but the three of you huddle closer to the house, nonetheless.

“Azriel or Rhys,” Mor decides. “Cassian wouldn’t care about some trophy. He’d mix drinks in it. Which leaves us with Azriel or Rhys.”

And well, that narrows things down a little.

“Where would they hide a trophy like that?” Gwyn asks.

You and Mor exchange a knowing look. “Their room.”

The three of you decide that after you sneak upstairs, Gwyn will keep watch, Mor will snoop through Azriel’s room, and you’ll try and find the trophy in Rhys’ room.

“Why do I have to look in Rhys’ room?” You all but complain. You didn’t like this idea before, but you sure as hell don’t like it now. Snooping through someone’s personal things is so wrong, and the fact that you’re going to be digging around in Rhys’ things, the boy who stirs reluctant feelings in your stomach, your tutor, doesn’t sit well with you.

“Because I can’t look through his things!” Mor protests, then shudders. “What if I find something that changes my perspective on my cousin forever? I spend too many family holidays with him, it’ll be too difficult to avoid eye-contact with him if I saw something weird.”

And yeah, that’s a good point. Maybe for more reasons than one. If you find something that puts you off from Rhysand, it won’t be such a struggle to stay keep away from him like you’re supposed to be doing. Being his tutee will be much easier if every time you see him, you’re thinking about a stiff sock under his bed or a Playboy beneath his mattress.

“Okay,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

Gwyn puts her hand out and looks between you and Mor eagerly. “C’mon. We need a chant.”

You don’t, you really don’t, but you divulge her, anyway. You place your hand on top of hers, and Mor rests hers on top, completing your best friend hand stack. Gwyn bounces her hand up and down. On the third bounce, when you all break and toss your hands in the air in triumph, she cheers, “These hockey boys don’t know what’s coming for them. Revenge is best served over ice!”

Revenge? Who on the hockey team is Gwyn beefing with that she wants to enact revenge on these boys?

Before you can ask, she slips around the side of the house into the darkness of night.

“Shit,” Mor curses, “Let’s go.”

There’s really no need for the three of you to be sneaking at all, but if this is what Gwyn wants for her birthday, then you will deliver.

College students are still elbowing their way inside of the house. The three of you slip into the crowd easily. It takes a few minutes of patience to get through the front door because people keep pausing to greet newcomers, but once inside, your all-black garb really does seem to help you blend in. The lights are dim in the house, and it’s all too easy to wind your way through the living room to make your way to the staircase, clutching tightly to your friends’ hands.

“Duck!” Gwyn yelps and tugs you lower. You don’t question her, ducking deeper into the crowd.

A behemoth of a boy ambles past, like a drunken bigfoot. You’d recognize those broad shoulders and loud voice anywhere. Cassian.

“Who’s up for a game of flip-cup?” He shouts directly over your heads. Thankfully, he’s too busy counting the number of hands that shoot up for a chance to be on his team. You and your friends quickly slither away from him, keeping your heads tightly tucked to your chests. “Shirts vs. skins!”

You roll your eyes at the suggestion in his tone. Then, you wonder if Rhys is playing.

Something hot prickles your gut, but before you can read into the feeling, Gwyn’s leads you further into the wolves’ den.

You straighten your posture as you pass the kitchen, hoping that you’re in the clear, only to catch a glimpse of the other two members of the household you’re attempting to prank tonight.

Your breath catches when you spot Rhys. He stands beside Azriel, the both of them leaning casually against the counter. They look cool. Effortless. They look fucking hot.

Your mouth runs dry. His shirt is tight, stretched across those broad shoulders that are the basis of your dreams. The material stretches across his bicep when he reaches a hand up to brush back the strands of his deep, dark hair. His violet eyes glow, and a dimple indents his cheek when he grins down at the person who stands before him. You follow his line of sight and this time, when you see the petite, pretty brunette that holsters his amusement, your stomach churns violently. It’s definitely jealousy this time.

You clench your jaw and shove the emotion away. You hold no claim on him, nor that you can. He’s Mor’s cousin, you remind yourself vehemently. He’s your tutor.

Neither of those chants does anything to ease the sourness in your stomach.

At least all three boys are occupied. It makes getting up the stairs all that easier. As you ascend, you can’t help but think that maybe you do want to steal this trophy, make their lives a little more vibrant tonight. It’s petty, you think, but you continue anyway.

When the three of you reach the landing, you and your roommates reconvene.

“Any idea whose room belongs to who?” You ask, looking up and down the hall. There are five doors. One has a line of people behind it, so you count that as a bathroom. Maybe another is a closet. You’ll have to look quickly.

“No idea,” Mor shrugs, and glances down the stairs. None of the boys have caught wind of you here yet. Good. “We’ll just have to look.”

“What if their doors are locked?” You wonder and both of your roommate’s stare at you. Shit. None of you had thought about that possibility, and unless Gwyn or Mor secretly know how to pick locks, your prank might be doomed.

“Worry about that if it happens,” Gwyn answers hurriedly and shoos you down the hall. “If you hear a turkey call, the missions been compromised and you need to run. If we get split up, meet at the rendezvous point by one a.m. or the search party will come out.” Rendezvous point being your dorm, search party being whoever makes it to the dorm first.

Turkey call? You share a look with Mor. You’re learning so much about Gwyn tonight.

You split from your friends without another thought. If the three of you pull this off, you’re won’t hesitate to interrogate innocent, little Gwyn about all of the revelations you’ve learned tonight. Apparently, you don’t know your roommate as well as you thought you did.

You rip open the first door you come across. You’re met with a bare ass and the lewd moans of a girl getting her world rocked. The pair don’t even notice you, but you blurt in shock. “Holy shit! I’m sorry!” You gape for a moment longer, truly impressed the kind of leverage the boy draped over her back has in the tight confines of this linen closet. You slam the door shut and stumble to the next room.

Aha! The door is unlocked. You take a quick glance over your shoulder. Gwyn’s attention is on you. She offers you a huge smile and a big thumbs up, then avert her gaze back to the stairs like a rottweiler on duty.

“Please, don’t let anyone be naked in here,” you mutter before slipping inside.

Thankfully, you don’t hear any sex-induced noises. No squeaking of a mattress. No headboard hitting the wall. Just the bass of the music through the floorboards.

You flick on the light after shutting the door. It’s a typical boy’s room, you note as you look around. A bed with navy sheets, surprisingly made. There’s a wooden dresser pushed beneath the three large windows that overlook the small backyard. A closet door hangs ajar near the corner of the room.

You aim for the dresser. There’s a picture frame of the hockey team on top, along with a stack of clothes that hasn’t yet been put away and a few textbooks, but no trophy. Damn.

There’s a small desk that looks like the legs are going to give out if the slightest breeze brushes up against it. A laptop sits shut on top, along with a cup stuffed full of pencils and pens. There’s a notebook flipped open, and you recognize a few words as psychology jargon from some of your classes. Rhys room, you deduce immediately.

“Where are you, where are you…” You mutter. The closet produces no results, either, just perfectly lined up sneakers and a surprising number of suits and dress shirts. On the shelf, there’s an entire bin of beanies, and thrown on the floor in the middle of the closet is a hockey bag. The smell that wafts out of it makes your nose scrunch.

You’re about to dive to the floor and check under the bed. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline coursing in your veins. You don’t have high hopes that the trophy will be stashed under his bed, but you’ll give it a cursory glance before reporting back to Gwyn.

You kneel on the floor and peer under the frame, praying that you don’t find some weird sex toy or something. That’s the last thing you need to be thinking about right now. You hold your breath and open your eyes, exhaling a loud huff of relief when you don’t find any monsters under his bed.

“And just what do you think you’re doing in here?” An all too familiar voice rasps from behind you.

You almost hit your head on the metal bedframe when you jump in surprise. You whip your head around only to see Rhys towering over you. His arms are crossed over his chest and though he’s trying his damned hardest to keep the smirk from breaking out across his lips, you can tell how amused he is by the glittering of his violet eyes.

“Fuck!” You scramble to your feet, dusting your knees off. “You scared me!”

Where the hell was Gwyn with her turkey call? Were you so invested in searching his room that you missed it completely?

“As much as I like the idea of you in my room, darling,” he drawls, and his voice sends shivers down your spine. “When I pictured you in here, you were in my bed, not under it.”

Fuck. Now you’re thinking about being in his bed, too, and that just won’t do.

You swallow harshly. If you rip your gaze away from his hungry eyes, you’ll look directly at said bed. And then you’ll be even more tempted to fall into it, and pull him in behind you.

Stop it right the fuck now.

“I was just, ah,” you scramble for a lie. “Looking for some psych notes.” You wince. It’s not terrible, but there’s no way in hell Rhys is going to believe you. “My test today really got me down. I thought I would start studying for the next one early.”

Rhys quirks a brow. He’ll play along, if that’s what you want. “And you thought I keep my notes under my bed?”

You glance at the floor where you were just face down, ass up, snooping. Your cheeks flare at the thought of him standing right behind you. You must have looked like you were his for the taking.

“I thought I dropped a piece of paper,” you nod solemnly. “Thought I saw it drift right under the bed.”

“And?”

“And what?” you ask, mustering all of the innocence you can.

The corner of Rhys’ mouth tips up and your breath hitches in your chest. Gods, he looks good enough to eat. All you’d have to do is take one step forward and you’d be pressed flush against his front. One step to the side and you’d be falling on his bed, where you really would offer yourself up to him.

Damn the wine you drank.

“And,” Rhys teases. He takes a step closer and you’d move back if you were of sound mind. If your feet weren’t glued to the floorboards. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

His breath brushes the tops of your cheeks and your lashes flutter. The warmth of his body floods yours. Your nipples tighten painfully under your shirt. Your chests brush with every sharp inhale you take, but does nothing to help calm your racing heart.

“I, uh,” your gaze flickers to those perfect, pink lips of his. You think they might be your favorite thing about him. How soft yet demanding they felt against yours at the Halloween party. What they look like wrapped around the top of a pen as he studies. Fuck. You want to taste him again, you’ve forgotten what he tastes like. When you drag your gaze back to his violet eyes, you find them teeming with the same pent-up arousal that courses in your veins. “I think I just did.”

You’re not sure who moves first, if you roll up onto your toes or if Rhys ducks down. All you know if the sensation of his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate kiss. Like you’ve gone without for far too long.

This is bad, this is sin, your mind refutes. You’re breaking rule number fucking one!

But your heart tells you to move closer, to press your body flush against his. It’s like you’re in a trance, and you do just that.

Rhys’ fingers thread into the hair at the nape of your neck where he grabs a fistful of hair. You gasp erotically against his mouth and he swallows the sound with a growl that makes the innermost parts of you ache. He guides your head this way and that, and you give into him, allowing him to take you how he wants.

You aren’t taking the time to run your hands up his body to explore like you want to. Nope, your fingers are curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt. You’re unable to move, completely entranced by the feeling of his tongue dipping into your mouth and laving against yours. It’s dominating, it’s sensual, it’s fucking perfect.

“Rhys,” you whine. It’s not a whine for him to stop, like it should be, but a desperate plea for him to keep going. You’ve thought about your kiss with him every night since Halloween. Touched yourself a few times to it as well. This, this is better than what you remember.

He shushes you softly. It sounds like a promise, like you have all the fucking time in the world. And you do, you think. You can’t remember what you were doing before this moment. Don’t even know what you’re going to do after this moment.

Have sex with him, hopefully.

Rhys hand wraps around your hips, then lowers. He grabs a handful of your ass, which spurs you into his arms. You lock your hands around his neck and all but climb into his arms, twining your legs around his trim wait.

“Fuck, darling,” he grunts as your nails scratch his scalp. It feels good, everything you’re doing. He wants you up against the wall, on the bed, bent over the dresser. Hell, he wants to sit you right upon that flimsy desk and fuck into you until it breaks. His teeth scrape against the skin of your neck. “Take your shirt off for me.”

You can’t obey fast enough. Rhys eyes are dark with desire, drinking every inch that you reveal to him like it’s his last meal on earth. Your pussy clenches at the sight and if he doesn’t start touching you, removing more clothes, you think you might just combust.

Like he sees it in your eyes, he slides his hand beneath your bra and cups your breath roughly. You moan, head falling back on your shoulders and he praises gruffly. “That’s it, darling, I’ve got you.”

You can’t even respond. Your brain doesn’t work. Any words you can form get caught in your throat. Rhys dips his head to kiss and suck at the tops of your breasts. He tweaks your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Rhys!” You hiss. You tug the hair at the nape of his neck. He fights against you, and it makes you even hotter. He knows what he’s doing with that mouth, and as nice as it feels on your chest and crawling up the column of your throat, you need his lips pressed against yours right now. “Please!”

“Okay, darling,” he whispers, and latches onto your mouth again.

You melt into him with a noise of pleasure. You grind your hips into his which makes his hands around your waist tighten. You’re lost in the feeling of him, want him to move closer to the bed, to press his tongue right between your thighs and use that very same swirling motion around your clit, you want him to strip bare and press his hot, aching cock right between your—

“Holy fucking shit!” A voice exclaims, ripping through your psyche.

Holy fucking shit. You’re kissing Rhys. Your shirt is off, you’re in his arms, and you’re kissing fucking Rhys.

You rip yourself from Rhys and swing your attention to the door. Dread settles like lead in your veins and you drop your feet to the floor, scrambling to pick up your discarded shirt form the floor.

Gwyn stands in the doorway, struck. Her cerulean eyes are comically wide, which is saying something because she’s always doe-eyed. She sways over the threshold and you hope it’s the lingering wine in her body and not because she just witnessed you all but mauling Mor’s cousin.

Mor.

“Gwyn,” you say desperately, tugging your shirt over your head. She can’t tell Mor, no one can. This will ruin your entire friendship, and you can’t handle that. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise.”

You barely register the affronted noise Rhys makes. You’re struggling with the material of your shirt, and he reaches a hand out to help. You brush him off, making your way to your friend who stares, glossy-eyed at the floor.

“I can’t…” Gwyn trails off. She raises her head and you falter at the hurt look in her eyes. It makes a lump form in your throat. Shit. You’re going to lose both of your best friends in one night.

Except, Gwyn admits, “I don’t feel very good.” She turns back into the hall and proceeds to throw up all over the floor.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

#rhys acotar #rhysand/reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #rhysand x reader #acotar hockey au #over ice #hockey!bat boys #hockey!rhysand

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oneterabyteofkilobyteage · 16 days ago

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original url http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/3989/ last modified 2009-02-03 18:24:27

#CapitolHill #2009 #Explorer6 #WindowsXP #800x600

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my-my-my · 3 months ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 15 - Voyeurism: Sosuke Aizen x Female Reader

Summary: You had some nerve to reject invites to a kido practice session hosted by Squad 5, led by Lieutenant Aizen. You looked at him like he was some kind of aberration, and never understood how someone could be “so nice” like he was. Well, your friends thought it would be a good idea to sign you up for practice, and you’re learning firsthand just how “nice” Lieutenant Aizen really is.

TW: “work place” bullying, oral sex (male receiving), degradation, humiliation, voyeurism, abuse of power. Aizen using kyoka suigetsu to gaslight reader.

Word count: 3989

Read on AO3.

The first time Lieutenant Aizen sees you, you have a soft smile on your face. You’re attentive, patient and gentle with the flower arrangement you’re creating as Captain Unohana instructs you and a few others.

He notices you because you remain unphased by his appearance at the ikebana session, while your classmates begin to fawn and stare adoringly at him as he apologizes to Captain Unohana for his intrusion. Lieutenant Aizen glances at your moribana-style arrangement. Your shallow vase propping up deep purple irises.

“Captain Hirako sends his regards, Captain Unohana. These documents require your signature.”

Captain Unohana gives him a gracious smile and accepts the paperwork, as he makes his leave. But still, you don’t look up at him. Your eyes are focused on the vase in front of you.

It surprises him, but he waves goodbye to the students, taking note of you who only smiles at the flowers.

The next time Lieutenant Aizen sees you, you’re at the Great Archives, head buried deep in an older textbook on kido. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you have your scroll next to you, taking quick notes.

“If you’re interested in practicing your kido, you’re welcome to attend the sessions hosted at the Squad 5 barracks.” Lieutenant Aizen whispers to you, a cheerful smile on his face. You look up at him and he’s surprised to see unfamiliarity dawn your face, as your eyes quickly dart to his lieutenant’s badge on his upper arm.

You quickly shook your head, “no, but thank you for your offer.” You hastily rebuffed him, as you went back to your textbook.

Lieutenant Aizen was again, surprised by you. He narrowed his eyes, before relaxing slightly.

“The offer still stands.” He calmly says, his glasses picking up the light – making his expression unreadable to you. “We host practices on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”

You nodded your head but quickly shooed him away as you tried to concentrate on the text in front of you. Lieutenant Aizen walked away from you quietly, yet garnered attention from fellow soldiers scattered through the shelves as he walked by. You perked up at the sudden influx of mumblings and shushing noises.

Some were quietly greeting him; others were blushing from being acknowledged by the lieutenant. You watched in curiosity as to how he interacted with people.

But once he was gone, some of those “fans” of his turned their attention on you.

“How could you be so rude?” One sneered.

“He invited you to practice! I bet you didn’t know Lieutenant Aizen is one of the best kido users in the Gotei 13.” Another soldier responded smugly.

You sighed, there was no reasoning with people like this, so you bluntly told them the truth. Putting on a cheery smile, you said, “oh trust me, I know of Lieutenant Aizen and Captain Hirako’s sessions, but it’s embarrassing, you know? My kido skills are really subpar, I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of them.” You meekly replied.

The two people harassing you gave you a side eyed, but let you be. You picked up the textbook and concentrated on the text once again.

It didn’t take long for Lieutenant Aizen to figure out what squad you belonged to. You were the recently demoted 3rd seat to 4th seat of the 12th division. Under the previous captain, Hikifune, you served as a 3rd seat, but once Urahara Kisuke accepted his promotion, he rearranged his squad.

Aizen watched with amusement as you struggled to chant a flurry of hado spells. He had skimmed through your dossier – you were an above average student at the Academy, excelling in hand-to-hand combat, and to his surprise, kaido. You were initially recruited under the 4th division, then received a promotion to 3rd seat under Captain Hikifune, but now were demoted once Urahara became captain. For all your strength in martial arts and healing, you struggled to create offensive spells that matched your power.

After months of observation, Aizen was amused at your continuous rejections to his practice invites, while repeating the same mistakes in your self-taught practice. He would find you incessantly pouring yourself over textbooks and scrolls, a concentrated look on your face.

And yet… you continued to refuse his help.

The opinions of ants didn’t matter to Aizen, but it annoyed him that you were quick to dismiss and rebuff him without any consideration. Aizen frowned to himself as he continued to watch you butcher mannequins with haphazard hado spells.

To almost everyone in the Gotei 13, Lieutenant Aizen held a standard for how a soldier should act, of how to be strong, kind and capable. Yet you looked at him with disdain. It bothered him like no other. And you had the audacity to act like that when you struggled with a simple hado 30 spell?

Aizen was done watching you for the day. He had more important things to deal with. Watching you struggle and fail was nothing more than to pass the time.

“Your kido hasn’t improved yet?” Your friend asked, as she found you in your usual corner of the Great Archives.

You frowned, hearing her comment. It wasn’t like you weren’t trying! “It’s not coming to me for some reason. I can weave kaido spells with ease, and bakudo spells are getting much better, but hado is another thing entirely.” You sighed, slumping into your seat.

And just like clockwork, Lieutenant Aizen spots you in the library… again. You grumble to yourself, as your friend’s eyes widen in shock. Lieutenant Aizen approaches the two of you and again, offers a training session.

But unlike the other times, your friend speaks for you, “oh she’d love to! She’s been telling me how much she’s been struggling with hado spells for months now.”

And with that charming smile of his, Lieutenant Aizen laughs politely, “I’ll tailor the session to suit your needs then.” He says to you.

You don’t say a word though, as you glare at your friend instead. You don’t hear the two of them exchange pleasantries, but once he’s out of earshot, your friend gushes about him.

“He’s so nice and handsome.” She says, with a dreamy tone in her voice.

“Too nice for my liking.” You grumble, as begin putting your books away.

“Too nice? Why is that such a problem?” Your friend sighed, as the two of you head out the library.

“I don’t know!” You snap, “no one can be that nice to everyone.” You remarked.

“But he isn’t that nice to everyone.” You friend stopped in her tracks, “I’ve seen how he interacts with his Captain. They tend to butt heads a lot.” You raised your eyebrows at the fact.

Granted, you didn’t interact with a lot of captains to begin with since Captain Hikifune got promoted, so it wasn’t something you would have been privy to.

“That seriously can’t be the reason why you look at Lieutenant Aizen like he’s some demon.” Your friend laughs.

You rolled your eyes, “well pardon me for not falling for the ‘nice and handsome’ Lieutenant Aizen.”

Your friend blushed in response, “you can be such a bitch sometimes!”

You let out a loud sigh as the hot spring water soothed your aching joints. Weeks had gone by since you began attending the Squad 5 training sessions on kido. You closed your eyes as the water washed over you, as you recalled your training. You had met Captain Hirako a handful of times now, an interesting Captain with a Kansai-ben accent. It took you by surprise at first, but he had a sense of humour and his lessons were engaging to a degree.

You actually looked forward to his tutelage more than Lieutenant Aizen’s… but you slumped into the water, as your arm tingled with pain. Lieutenant Aizen was tougher than he looked.

Or maybe that’s just to me… you mused. You weren’t sure if it was some bizarre flavour of favouritism. The lessons as of late, left you in a state of humiliation. Lieutenant Aizen was kind, thoughtful and patient with all the other soldiers, but with you, there was a vacant look in his eyes, or amusement as you butchered another incantation. And then there were the passive aggressive remarks that would give your class a bit of a laugh…

“Nice, my ass.” You muttered, as you remembered yesterday’s session. He had made an example out of you, as he wanted to demonstrate how to weave hado spells and hand-to-hand combat.

Well, you were an expert in hand-to-hand combat, and you had gotten better at certain hado incantations. Lieutenant Aizen had called other soldiers before for demonstrations, and he was gentle and patient with them as they nervously recited spells.

But the demonstration with you was… mean. Lieutenant Aizen had no qualms in belittling you and besting you. It was humiliating because you knew he was holding back. What you had felt was just a smidge of his actual power.

And it scared you.

You also remembered the tight grip he had on your forearm as he helped you, all the while remarking that “maybe it’s best to have academy students teach you.”

You couldn’t look at him in the face after that.

The humiliation still lingered in your mind, as you felt an uncomfortable sensation spread through your body. Lieutenant Aizen’s quips and taunts made you scared, and to your own shame, aroused. You rubbed your thighs together, hoping the feeling would dissipate, but you could hear his voice so clearly in your mind. You rolled your nipples between your fingers, before sending one hand down to your pussy. But before you would do anything further, you heard a twig snap.

You steeled yourself, pulling your hand away. You were determined to improve your kido. You would wipe that smirk off Lieutenant Aizen’s face and earn the praise you rightfully deserve.

“Hello… are you there??” You friend swam to you. You were completely oblivious to her entering the hot spring.

“Oh sorry, I was just lost in thought.” You gave her a half smile.

“No, don’t mention it! How are the kido sessions?” Your friend grinned. Your friend looked so excited and expectant... maybe to hear praises of Lieutenant Aizen.

You couldn’t look at her in the face though, as you stared at your reflection in the water.

“It’s… going. Captain Hirako’s pretty funny and has a lot of tips to share.”

“Ok… and Lieutenant Aizen?” Your friend asked.

“Oh well,” your face grew hot as you remembered the cold stare he gave you yesterday. Or the way his eyes flashed dangerously at you as you accidently hit yourself with a spell. “He’s tougher than he looks.” Was all you could say.

Your friend looked disappointed briefly, before flashing another smile at you. “Well that must mean he wants you to improve, right? I heard good things about his class from other people.”

“Y-yeah.” You stuttered meekly. “He can just be a bit intense, I guess.” You murmured, still avoiding your friend’s gaze.

“Maybe you can ask him for one-on-one sessions?” Your friend mused, “I’m wondering if the group format doesn’t work for you. You did do well in independent studies at the academy.” Your friend said softly.

“I don’t think that’s the reason” your friend looked dejected, “but – but maybe it’s worth a shot!” You said reassuringly, trying not to disappoint your friend. “I’ll ask him after my session next week.”

Aizen watched with amusement as you botched another hado incantation, earning the laughter of your fellow soldiers. It was certainly fun these past few weeks, watching your haughty attitude towards him break bit by bit with his true personality trickling through the sessions.

But today would be another shift in his plan for you. While you thought you were alone at the hot spring last time, Aizen cloaked himself in the adjacent pond, watching you bathe yourself. He couldn’t help but smirk as your eyes darted around, seeing if anyone was around, as you gently squeezed your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples. Aizen could see your legs spreading apart as one hand left your breast.

But then the sudden snap of a twig had you close your legs, then moments later, your friend entering the spring. You looked preoccupied with something else, as your gaze looked vacant, while your friend called for you.

Then came the interrogation on why you haven’t been improving. You tried to explain to your friend why you were struggling. The way you avoided her gaze, the way you brought your towel closer to your body, as if a shield to protect you from the mental humiliation. Aizen wanted more from you.

Would you gather the courage to ask for a one-to-one session with him tonight?

He looked at you coldly, as you avoided his gaze. To his disappointment though, he saw you leave with the others at the end of the session. Maybe you weren’t as bold as he thought you to be.

Aizen made his way back to his office, not far from the kido training grounds. He felt the familiar feeling of your spiritual pressure approach his door, “you can come in.” He said calmly.

“Lieutenant Aizen! I – “ you quickly shout, entering his office. He took of his glasses as he approached you, cleaning the lenses with his uniform.

“Yes?” He answered indifferently, as your eyes widened in shock over how sharp his eyes were without his glasses. He smirked at you, but you couldn’t help but look away from his intense stare.

“I was wondering if you had time to arrange some one-to-one kido sessions with me?” You asked, as you bowed your head.

You heard him chuckle above you, “sure – but you could wear clothes while you ask me.” Lieutenant Aizen grinned menacingly, as you yelped in horror.

Why am I nude?! You panicked, as you tried to cover your body. “I – I was wearing clothes!” You said in haste, your eyes darting around to see what had happened.

Then you had the faint voices from outside Lieutenant Aizen’s door, “I heard there was a streaker that entered the barracks!” One soldier clamoured. Your face dropped in colour.

Lieutenant Aizen gave you a look over and you felt weak. There was a look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize, but before either of you could say anything, he pushed you away from his door.

“Lieutenant Aizen, sir! Did you see a naked woman pass by?” One of the patrolling officers asked.

You watched Lieutenant Aizen fake a shocked look on his face, “no I haven’t. Is everything alright?” He asked politely.

“We heard reports of a naked woman running through the barracks. She went passed your office, but nobody else has seen her.”

“I hope you find her then. She must not have gotten very far if she’s nude.” Lieutenant Aizen remarked, softly. “I hope she’s alright.”

“No worry, sir! We’ll be on the lookout. Thank you and enjoy your evening.” The two soldiers said, as they went back to their search.

“You really are a pitiful thing, aren’t you?” Lieutenant Aizen murmured as he walked towards you. “Don’t tell me that interaction aroused you.” He leered, as you yelped. Feeling the familiar, warm sticky feeling between your legs.

What the hell is going on? You continued to fret nervously, unsure of how to leave without your clothes. “Lieutenant Aizen – sir,” you pleaded, “could I borrow a uniform?”

“And why would I do that?” He smirked, as his eyes traveled down your body. “You really are a pathetic little thing.” Your eyes widened in shock as he weaved his hand through your hair, gripping your scalp. “I can’t leave you in such a state.” He mockingly said, the grip on your hair getting tighter.

“It’s no problem, sir!” You whined, unsure of why your body was acting such a way. This couldn’t be Lieutenant Aizen, could it? You shut your eyes as you winced from the pain.

He was nice to everyone, but you.

He was patient to everyone, but you.

And he was generous and helpful.

… but not to you, especially in this moment as ran his thumb over your lips.

“You truly are awful at hado spells.” Lieutenant Aizen said calmly as he pushed you to your knees. “Is there any actual thought in that head of yours?”

“I – I’m getting better, aren’t I?!” You tried to defend yourself, but you felt your knees buckle under fear.

“If the misfiring of spells and butchering of incantations is what you call improvement, then,” Aizen pushed you down to your knees, forcing you to look up at him, “your mouth and arms need practice.”

Panic fills you as you feel glued to the ground, unable to get up. Your eyes wander to Lieutenant Aizen as he pulls out his soft cock from the confines of his uniform. You watch in fear as he pumps himself slowly, before placing his cock head on your lips.

“Well, if you want to practice, show me how much you mean it.” Lieutenant Aizen grinned viciously, tapping the tip of his erection on your soft lips.

You gently take him into your mouth, as you try to relax your mouth. The lieutenant holds your head in place as he pushes you further down his cock, forcing your mouth open wide. He looks down at you as you struggle to take him. You wrap one hand around the base of shaft as you begin to bob your head along his cock.

“You know…” Lieutenant Aizen says, as you struggle to suck him off, “I saw you at the onsen the other day.” He grins at you as your eyes widen in surprise, “you seem to enjoy playing with your breasts.” The grip on your head is tighter as he shoves his cock further down your throat, forcing you to choke. “Why don’t you show me what you were doing?”

You look up at him in horror, but the immediate need to please rushes through you, as your free hand pinches and rolls your nipple. Lieutenant Aizen lets go of your head, forcing you to pull away from his cock. You whimper as you pinch your nipples.

Lieutenant Aizen gently kicks your legs, trying to spread them apart, “you were also about to do something else before your friend came in.” He said, as you expose your slick cunt to him. “What were you thinking about?”

You tightly shut your eyes as your hand travels to your pussy, your fingers grazing softly along your clit, “I was thinking about” you whimper as you circle the entrance to your pussy, “how I haven’t had sex in so long.”

“Is that so?” Lieutenant Aizen says, tapping your face with his hard cock. “Then why did you look so embarrassed?”

You winced at his words, as you gently push a finger inside you. Lieutenant Aizen looks down at you expectantly.

“I can’t!” You cry out, pulling out your fingers. Lieutenant Aizen crouches down to floor, as he grips your face in his hand.

“Your wet pussy is making a mess in my office floor.” He squeezes your face tighter, but continues on, “and you’ve drooled over my cock. Yet you’re too embarrassed to share?”

You bite your lip, wincing as you feel his warm finger push its deep inside your pussy. “I was thinking of having sex with you!” You yell.

“That’s the first good thing to come out of your mouth.” Lieutenant Aizen smirked. Standing back up, the lieutenant places his cock on your face, your eyes looking up at him with eagerness, “let’s see if you’ll continue to improve.”

You’re jolted awake at the sound of your name and Lieutenant Aizen staring at you in his office. Your body feels hot and your face red.

“Is there anything I can do for you? You’ve been standing there for five minutes.” Lieutenant Aizen says softly, concern evident in his voice.

What the hell? You look around the office and barracks in confusion. Your uniform intact and still on your body.

“What time is it?” You asked, worry filling your voice.

“It’s a little past eight thirty in the evening.” Lieutenant Aizen looks at you with surprise. “Our kido training session finished half-an-hour ago.”

“Did I – did I say anything else before you called my name?”

“No, you just got here and stared at my door.” Lieutenant Aizen shook his head, “are you sure you’re alright? I can take you to the Squad 4 infirmary.”

“No! That’s ok! I’m feeling fine.” You quickly said, trying to diffuse the situation. “I just got disoriented for a moment.” You tried to laugh it off, but the worry on the lieutenant’s face remained. You weren’t comfortable seeing a concerned look on Lieutenant Aizen’s face. “I came here because I wanted to ask you a favour.”

Lieutenant Aizen raised his eyebrows, “sure?”

“Could you train me in hado spells on a one-to-one level?” You asked nervously.

Lieutenant Aizen gave you a gentle smile, “close the door and let’s talk about this more privately.”

“Wow, you’ve improved so much!” Your friends exclaimed as you showed off your improved hado skills. You grinned as you neatly hit the target on the mannequin with ease, and without an incantation.

Your friends clamoured around you as they praised you for your skills.

“Those sessions really help, huh. Lieutenant Aizen seems really nice.” One friend remarked, as they looked at how clean the spell had hit the target.

You shook your head, “I wouldn’t say he’s nice…” you say hesitantly, your mind recalling everything he put you through, “but Lieutenant Aizen really makes you work for it.” You explained. “I understand why he’s famous for his kido skills.” You murmured.

But before you could say much else, a hell butterfly landed on your shoulder. You read the message and shook your head. “Well, I still have some ways to go. I have to get going now though, more lessons.” You sheepishly explain, bidding your leave.

You find yourself in front of Lieutenant Aizen’s office once again. Your body is filled with trepidation as you wonder what mood the lieutenant would be in.

You hear him say your name, prompting you to enter the room. You immediately fall to your knees.

“You’ve made some improvement on your hado.” Lieutenant Aizen says out loud, as you eagerly await his praise. “It’s still an embarrassing sight though for someone who’s been tutored by me.” He says with an offhand tone, skimming through various papers he needed to sign.

“But I’m getting better!” You pleaded, worried what lies in store for you now.

Lieutenant Aizen rolls his eyes and gets up, standing over you. You can’t read his expression from the glare of the light. “No, the only good thing you can do with your mouth is suck my cock.”

You lower your head, embarrassed to at wanting to please him.

“No matter, tonight you’ll be learning something else.”

You snapped your head, confusion spreading all over your face, “but my bakudo and kaido skills are fine.” You explain.

“We won’t be doing kido practice today.” Aizen remarks, as he heads to a low seated table. “Let’s see how your calligraphy skills are.”

“Oh, I really enjoy callig –”

But Aizen interrupts you by pulling out.. your egg-shaped vibrator. Your face grows hot as you remembered looking at it during a quick solo trip to the World of the Living and buying it immediately. Lieutenant Aizen smirks as it whirrs away in his hand.

“You’ll be practicing your calligraphy, with this inside your wet cunt. If it’s acceptable, I’ll let you cum.”

You shift nervously in your spot, fidgeting your fingers trying to get them to warm up. But once you collect yourself, you stare at him, “I accept your challenge.”

Lieutenant Aizen's grin widens at your words.

WE'RE HERE. IT'S OVER. THANK YOU FOR READING!!

I initially had a plan to write an AU Aizen committing voyeurism and stalking, but I thought (as a challenge to myself), to write something with in somewhat in canon. I think Lieutenant Aizen still is hot-blooded enough to get annoyed by someone butchering and rejecting him (Captain Aizen is more ✨mature✨ instead), so this was a fun concept to write! It didn't go quite the way I planned (I always limit myself with what I want to write), but I also wanted to wrap this up.

Thank you to everyone who has read this, left likes, reblogs and/or comments! I really enjoyed writing this - it was a great experience to challenge myself with. I'm less likely to write one for 2025, but we'll see what the future has in store.

The title from this chapter is from Djedjotronic's "Take Me Down", specifically the mix used by Boys Noize in his Boiler Room set in Liège!

#bleach #aizen sousuke #aizen sosuke #aizen x reader #aizen x you #sosuke aizen #sousuke aizen #bleach smut #aizen smut #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach x female reader #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #a writes

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manicpixiefelix · 1 year ago

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 11.

Summary: It's good to finally getting back home to Saltburn. There's just a few things to work out, such as where Oliver's staying, and why.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: implications of child neglect

A/N: 3989 words. I think about Jacob Elordi saying that Felix would have Artic Monkeys on his personal playlist, about once a day. um okay so not only is this uneditd, but i definitely got very drunk halfway through it, so that's.... that. (im drunk as i publish this) BUT WE'RE AT SALTBURN AND OLLIE GETS HERE TOMORROW!! (which means the next chapter, which dw will be tomorrow irl) ((is this anything?? im worried its ooc please feedback??))

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

There is no reverence in you anymore for the castle in the countryside that is Saltburn.

Once it had towered before you, trembling, a child alone in every way that mattered until the doors opened before you. Saltburn was a haven away from the bitter hypocrisy of both expectations and apathy, though it took you quite some time to learn as much. At first, there was reverence; Saltburn was the place where every script you'd learned to smile through, every societal expectation you'd been trained to uphold, would be put to the test.

And if you couldn't keep up, if you messed up in this holy house in the face of their kind smiles, you were sure their gazes would turn blank with inevitable disappointment.

But that was years ago.

And mistakes made you interesting, your quirks made them laugh, and Saltburn became less holy each Summer as you found it to be far more human.

It's what occupies your mind for the entire trip back to Saltburn, with you and Felix sharing an earbud each from his iPod, and Farleigh reading - pointedly not not ignoring Felix after he'd found out the news.

You wonder what Oliver will see in the house; the sum of it's parts, or each room and inch of the grounds as their own storage space for memories worth so much more.

Felix hums along under his breath like nothing in the world could ever worry him. Farleigh licks the tip of his finger, glancing with ire at his cousin for just a moment before turning the page of his book. Play. You squint at the cover; Richard the Third. Shakespeare. Farleigh holds the play up further to hide the rest of his face from you both.

You'll get to the station before midday, and a town car will be waiting for you all. Most of your things from Oxford are on their way to a storage facility in the city for the Summer, but you've still got a few precious things you're bringing back to the estate in a suitcase a the front of the carriage, and a bag overhead.

Felix has been trying to look nonchalant and look out the window for a good part of the trip now, but he keeps glancing at you with a strange look.

"Does this change us?"

This time, you make sure to catch his gaze before you reach for the iPod. Most of the ride has been on shuffle, quiet otherwise between you two, if not for his humming, or yours. Flipping through the few albums he had saved, you clicked through to the one you had been looking for. The sunshine is beating down on him just outside the window, almost directly overhead, shining on him and everyone in behind him in the window seats, painting them in sharp relief if they had their curtains open.

You pressed play on You Probably Couldn’t See for the Lights But You Were Staring Straight at Me by the Artic Monkeys.

Felix, who knows and loves the song, can't look at you. Actually, properly can't look at you, hiding his embarrassed smile behind his hand as he forced himself to look out the window.

And you hum along, grinning, leaning just past him to also focus your gaze out the window.

"Stop that," he mumbles under his breath from behind his hand, clearly still smiling. All you do is continue to hum along as the band thrashes along in your heads. After a moment, you slide the iPod towards him, as if taunting him, daring him to change the song himself.

"- they're not half as bad as me," you sing under your breath. Felix is turning pink around the ears, but flips the iPod over onto it's face, letting the rest of the song play out, "say anything and I'll agree -" your smile grows wider and you sit back, but continue to hum.

If Farleigh's judging either of you, he doesn't lower his book enough to indicate as much.

The town car ride back to the estate was far more eventful, as the three of you began to properly discuss Oliver's impending arrival. Apparently he hadn't thought much about packing up his room at Oxford, what little there apparently was to pack up, so he was taking the extra day students were allotted to gather himself together for the Summer. That meant one night at Saltburn before he'd be there.

"I actually, genuine can't believe you sometimes," Farleigh had started two separate tirades in the past twelve hours exactly like this, and both about Oliver. It was no secret what this third was going to be about, "you honestly couldn't give me six weeks of peace? Six weeks?"

"You'll have plenty of peace, mate," Felix had insisted, eyes wide and pleading with his irate cousin, "and honestly, I think you'll really start to warm up to him."

"I appreciate that your optimism springs fucking eternal, Felix, but -"

"No, seriously, give him a chance outside of all the academics and what everyone else thinks," Felix was beginning to plead for a moment, all big brown eyes and imploring tone of voice. Farleigh, however, was not as well swayed as the rest of the world would be by his theatrics.

"I'm not going to play nice with your little -"

"Hey, he might be into that," you cut Farleigh off before he could say something too incendiary, but Felix still cast his frown between you both.

"Not helping, Y/N," he admonished, turning back on Farleigh who was suddenly overcome with mild revulsion at your implications. When Felix wasn't looking, you wiggled your eyebrows at him suggestively, teasingly adding to the bit. He fake-gagged, much to Felix's disappointment.

It wasn't a long journey, however, and soon enough the three of you were pulling into Saltburn, and there was something amusing about the collective sigh of relief you all shared once the door opened.

"Feels like ages since we've been back," Felix stretches, leaving his bags for the chauffer and doormen, as did you. Farleigh made a start towards the trunk of the car before the chauffer climbed out, giving him a confused look and he thought better of it.

"Christmas, right?" Farleigh stuck his hands into his pockets, sauntering up the steps beside you all, gazing up at the large, blue doors.

"Duncan taking his time," Felix muttered under his breath after a moment, to which you grinned.

"Probably wants to keep them closed on us as long as possible," though just as you say that, as Farleigh and Felix snicker, the doors creak open, and there, gaunt as you've ever seen him, Duncan somehow manages to loom impressively large, even as you've grown into an adult.

"Master Felix," he nods to each of you with the same stern civility he's always carried, "Master Farleigh, Captain Y/N." You nod in turn, voice turning cordial as you greet him warmly, despite your two companions barging through ahead of you.

"Duncan, always lovely to see you," you incline your head towards him the way you always have, and for a brief moment he allows himself a faint, but genuine smile.

"God, you're so fucking weird sometimes!" Farleigh calls over his shoulder at you. You roll your eyes, but Duncan is stone-walling again, so you slip past him to catch up. In time to hear Farleigh's voice lower and ask, "have you told your mother yet?" Felix makes a face.

"I texted her before we got on the train," it sounds uncomfortable, "she sent me an incomprehensibly long text back which I only got when we had service again. I think she's fine with it."

Farleigh hangs his head, his last defence against Oliver's impending arrival foiled. After a beat, he forced a smile, sliding up to get in step beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Oh, we're gonna be best friends this summer," he tells you, as if you have no say in it, "you, me, and my fucking weed guy -"

"Say it fucking louder why don't you," Felix rolled his eyes, but you simply shook your head at the altercation, wrapping your arm around Farleigh's middle and giving him a squeeze.

"You're impossible, Farleigh," you told him, "and so lucky I love you."

Farleigh quietly cheers for what small triumph he had won, before both you and him look to Felix's vaguely sceptical expression, taking in the both of you.

"It's a fair trade," Farleigh told him easily, "you get your new best friend Oliver -" still yet to say the name without disdain, you note, "- I get Y/N."

"I did also promise Venetia I'd spend some time with her," you chime in, but Farleigh can't help himself but snort.

"You sure she won't pick a fancy for Oliver too?" You can hear his lip curl, but Felix pulls ahead where he's been casually leading you all through the house to his room. You can't see his expression.

"Fuck off, Farleigh -" you start, coldly pulling away from him, but Felix's tone is light, almost forcibly casual as he cuts you off.

"Ollie's lovely but I don't think he's much of her type."

"Everyone's Venetia's type," Farleigh spits, unable to stop himself from putting his foot in his mouth. The implication hangs in the air for a long few seconds before Farleigh catches himself. The unneeded reminder. The real reason for the sudden coldness. Felix turns, smiling bright with nothing behind his eyes as he cheerfully tells Farleigh -

"You know where your room is, right?" And says he's going to rest before hunting down the rest of the family amongst the estate. Farleigh meekly nods, and departs from you both. Both you and Felix follow him with your eyes; Felix's smile doesn't drop before the door closes behind him, and it's the two of you in the blue room, alone.

And you know he's thinking about Eddie.

You wish Farleigh knew how to keep his mouth closed, how to stop pressing buttons when he always knew what they did.

"Where's Ollie going to be staying?"

Felix's eyes flash to you, and you wonder if it were the right or wrong question. Is there a question in this moment that isn't loaded? Is there a question you could ask that wouldn't make him think of Eddie right now?

Eddie had stayed in Felix's room. In Felix's bed. At least he was supposed to. But Oliver wasn't Eddie, so he needed his own space.

Oliver was different to Eddie, you reminded yourself, and hoped that Felix was thinking it too. That was good. That was good.

"Dunno," Felix finally admitted with a sigh, draping himself over the cream sofa, looking up at the ornate ceiling. You sat on the stool for the broken piano, lifted the lid and idly played a few notes, listening to the little hammers in the instrument tap uselessly against broken strings.

"Vennie wouldn't do that again, would she?" Felix muttered so quietly you almost miss it. He doesn't call his sister Vennie often; you know he's dwelling, he's hurting the way he tries to pretend like he doesn't.

"Farleigh's talking shit because it's his job at this point," you tell Felix flatly, and he angles his head towards you, even if it looks like it hurts, so you see him contemplating, "but Ollie isn't Eddie."

Something lights up in the back of your mind as you read faint disappointment on Felix's face as he processes your words. Nodding, he sighs again, looking up at the ceiling.

"Last night was fucking beautiful," Felix's tone turns wistful; he hasn't told you properly about what happened between him and Oliver, but clearly it went well, "I hope Ollie likes it here." Then, closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath before offering, "I've been meaning to thank you, actually," he admits. You shift from the piano stool to sit on the arm of the sofa he was laying across, "for giving me space to spend those moments with Ollie last night."

His face scrunches up a little, then, as if sensing you by his head, he cracks an eye open. Slowly, almost embarrassed, he starts to smile.

"He's like you, you know?" He says gently, before he really considers what he means, and his face falls; you watch, you wait patiently, "can't go home ever again," apology in his eyes, "that's what he said to me."

There's that love, that desire to do good, to be good, that Felix has always craved. He's in his own head, all kinds of thoughtful and melancholy that he often isn't around the rest of the world. Felix shuffles himself over on the plush, wide sofa, making himself as small as possible, and you know it's an invitation. One that you take. It's awkward, but he holds you tightly so you won't fall off.

You wonder if he even realises that you're there, that you're in his arms and listening to the way his thoughts spill out of him from a moment of connection he craves but doesn't often get. If you're so much of his mental wallpaper that holding you like this, the way you listen, the way you are so gentle in these moments, if you're more like a simple diary, an easy, comfortable way to get these thoughts out of his head without the fear of his secrets being spilled upon someone who might use them against him.

"I don't think I'll ever understand not being able to come home," Felix admits softly, "I can't even wrap my head around how Ollie became the man he is with parents like that; and after all he's gone through, for this to be straw, the thing that means he'd rather live in a world alone than be around the people - person - who was mean to love and protect him and yet failed him over, and over, and over again? He's so bloody strong for how long he's gone through it all."

Swallowing hard, you're surprised by the way your eyes are clouding over. Trying not to break the moment, you press your face against his chest; Felix doesn't seem to notice, still trapped in his own thoughts, but he instinctively holds you a little tighter.

"'Home' doesn't mean the same for you as it does for me," Felix whispers softly, almost to himself, and it hits you square in the chest. The tears start to come, and you can feel them dampening his shirt, "that's what he'd said to me," oh, Felix hadn't even realised you were crying.

It takes another half a minute before he even seems to realise something is wrong, but you assured him you were fine, that you were just very glad that Oliver would be staying here instead for the Summer. He'd almost connected the dots at the start of the conversation, but now he couldn't seem to see them.

Still, you knew Felix, and you weren't sure if his heart could handle making you cry twice in two days. So you lie, and he lets it go.

Felix is sitting up and stretching, his mood having improved for having voiced his thoughts it seems, and you're drying your eyes when the door to the Blue Room opens.

"Darlings, Duncan just let me know you'd arrived and were on your way to freshen up before the afternoon," Elspeth was as bright and flighty as always, looking between you both, "so glad I caught you both." Felix is the first on his feet, warmly greeting his mother with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which she returned in kind. Seeing your red-rimmed eyes, she's immediately concerned, but you brush it off quickly, telling her that you and Felix were simply discussing Oliver's situation and that you were incredibly excited to have him joining you all. She, of course, lit up at that.

"It will be such a treat, if I'm to believe my darling son," and of course she is to believe darling Felix, everyone at Saltburn always did. His admiration was worth it's weight in gold to the people who loved him, Elspeth especially. She latches onto the elbow he doesn't offer and you're left to catch up to them as they make their way through the familiar rooms to Felix's, her voice filling the space all the while.

"You must tell me all about dear Oliver," Elspeth insists; she, like her son, was made for Saltburn. She catches the light, beautiful and timeless and made to live amongst its timeless walls. Your face still feels hot; you don't know why but you feel out of place - home doesn't mean the same thing for you as it does for me - Felix pet's his mother's hand on his arm and assures him that she'll love Oliver. He's thoughtful. He's gentle. He's beautiful. Her eyes shine; even his mother is not immune to his light.

"Now, I hope you don't mind," Elspeth begins when the three of you get to the long gallery before Felix's room, "but it was rather last minute, so it's been something of a rush to get everything ready -"

"Get what ready?" Felix asks, and you watch them like a play, like a film, like a third party without any kind of say.

"I thought it would be best if Oliver stayed in the room attached to yours," Elspeth said, and it takes a moment, but you feel your stomach drop. This was worse than last Summer; at least then you had your own room.

"Y/N's room?" There's some victory to be taken in the way Felix seems ready to fight for you in this matter.

"Oliver is a guest, dear," Elspeth didn't even look at you in this moment, "we didn't want to have him set up, all alone, on the other side of the house." She smiles, and gives a fond, if condescending look over her shoulder to you, "you'll be alright, won't you sweetheart? It's just a bedroom, it's not a big deal." You try and smile, and nod, and be placating -

"They can stay with me," Felix insisted, "sleep over, like when we were kids." For a moment, he looks to you. The nod he gives is solid, is reassuring; it eases your heart.

"I don't know if that'd be appropriate."

Elspeth knows. Everyone fucking knows. No-one will say it, but it effects every damn thing they do. How they treat you. You know this, but no-one talks about it out loud.

Saltburn thrives on the unspoken.

"Why not?" Felix forces his mother's hand, "Y/N's my best mate, has been for years, we share a bed all the time." And Elspeth is too polite to do anything but concede, and lets you both know with a faint, awkward smile that your things will be moved to Felix's room before the day is out.

"And Y/N, darling," she does finally, properly acknowledge you, taking both your hands in hers, kissing you on both cheeks, "it's wonderful to see you, of course, so glad to have you home."

Home.

You smile warmly at her. After a beat, however, she casts a faint frown to the window.

"And I feel I'd be remis not to tell you that Venetia is refusing to get out of the pool until you go down and join her."

"Oh," there's an amused kind of warmth that blooms in your chest at that, at being sought after and missed; Felix rolls his eyes but it's fond, "how long has she been there?"

"Not long before you arrived," Elspeth gives a genuine, warm smile, clearly either wilfully or genuinely ignorant about the nature of your relationship with her daughter, "please just take it as a sign that we have all missed you dearly."

She leaves you both to it, reminding you of when supper was to be held, as if the time ever changed, and you and Felix quietly made your way into his room. Your room.

You watch from the doorway as your best friend breathes in familiarity of it all. His childhood bedroom, always left immaculate and untouched, a museum to him whenever he was away from the house. A place of so many of your firsts, yet never a place you'd really called your own. Felix falls onto the bed, face-first, swearing muffled by his expensive duvet.

"Every bloody person's determined to get on my nerves today," Felix sighed, flipping himself over, legs hanging off the end of the bed. "Not you, you don't count," he adds idly, flicking his wrist in your general direction, but still managing to warm your heart, "I'm glad Ollie's staying close by, but can you believe she thought you'd stay anywhere but here?" He sounded genuinely miffed, finally turning to look at you. When he sees the abashed way you're smiling at him, his frustration drops, "what?" He can't help but match your softness in this moment, and you shake your head, trying to tell him it's nothing. "It's not nothing, look at you," he insisted brightly; your smile widened, as if on cue, "you were getting teary thinking about Ollie just minutes ago; go on, what's on your mind now. Is it Venetia?"

"'s not Venetia," you insisted, finally joining him in the room, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed looking around.

Your room; the room you share with Felix, and so close to Oliver too.

"It's our room, isn't it?" It's like he can read your damn mind, practically giggling like a high schooler at the mere thoughts of what the two of you were bound to get up to.

"You were so insistent," you finally teased, grinning wide and leaning back against him, "it's almost like you like me or something."

"That's fucking lies and slander!" Felix crows, your head on his chest, "I'll sue you for that -" but you're already moving, straddling him, pinning his hands to the bed either side of his head as you grin down at him.

"Felix Catton's sharing his bed, call the tabloids!" You teased, leaning in, and when he captures your lips in a kiss, it's like he wants you to taste how sharp his amusement is. He bites and teases and frees his hands to pull you in. Quickly everything shifts and moves and there's something possessive about the way he kisses you, holds you, has you under him and pinned and breathless before you realise what had happened.

"You think I'd let mum kick you out like that?" His pupils are blown so wide with want you think they could swallow you whole in this moment; "never want you that far away if I can help it," it comes out as a breathless admission, almost like it escaped him, like he's caught up in the moment, and you never want him to stop talking to you like this, "can't say that at Oxford - fuck Oxford," he mumbles, his lips on your neck in the next instance. His teeth sting without breaking the skin, sucking with intent to leave an ache that would remind you of him every time you touched it for the next few days.

"Us and Ollie," his lips are gentle when he kisses across your chest, your collar bones, "I'm sure between the three of us we'll end up getting into proper tabloid trouble," you can feel his smirk, and there's something electrifying about the possibilities you find yourself considering.

"Us and Ollie," you agree with a roughish grin. Felix captures your mouth once more in a kiss, matching your energy, your enthusiasm, but adds, "Ollie tomorrow."

And at that, you remember; giddy laughter escapes you.

"Our room," you can't help but remind him, and Felix's grin stretches wider.

"Venetia can wait for you a little longer."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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cap-ironman · 4 months ago

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2024 Cap-Iron Man Exchange Gifts unveiled on December 26

It’s the second day of reveals! Each day we will be revealing gifts created by 2024 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts event participants. The gifts will remain anonymous until January 7, giving everyone a chance to enjoy the works and guess the identities of creators. (Remember, if you've got a work in the collection, please remain anonymous until after creator reveals!)

Here are today’s gifts!

★ Be Good (For Goodness' Sake!) for Cap Iron Man Community (MCU, 9152 words)

What does Steve Rogers plus a pair of glasses plus a beard plus a Santa costume add up to? Don't ask Tony, because he can't even math right now.

★ for "his safety and discipline" for XiaoSev (MCU, 3989 words)

After the untimely death of his father, Lord Anthony Stark learns that he must marry Sir Steven Rogers before his thirtieth birthday. How is this his life?

★ Ground Untread for KandiSheek (616, 5431 words)

Eve Rogers likes to put the Captain first in this time, a hero who has a duty, who this body was made for. It's easier that way, and besides, after Rebirth there's never been a place for them both to co-exist. But the world has changed and for Eve it holds possibilities she never could have dreamed of before. Up to and including Toni Stark, who seems to need no extra effort to send her spinning into a whole new kind of trouble.

To check out all of this year’s gifts (so far!), head over to the 2024 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange AO3 Collection.

When your gift is revealed, please be sure to comment and thank your gifter!

If you’re the creator of a gift that’s now been revealed, you can reply to any comments and stay anonymous — AO3 will automatically show you as "Anonymous Author" until the creator reveals.

Finally, you may want to change the publication date of your work to today’s date so that it shows up at the top of AO3's feeds. AO3’s guide is available here and we have a more detailed version here.

Happy holidays, and we hope you enjoy all of the revealed works!

♥ Your 2024 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts mods

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #capimevents #capimholidayexchange

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httpscomexe · 8 months ago

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No Way Home

Summary: After a stressful meeting with Peter Parker, you try to help Stephen Strange unwind a little.

Parings: Stephen Strange x Reader

Warnings: Spell use, language, No Way Home scenes (Actual Dialogue), Smut (Oral, p in v, unprotected, f on birth control), fingering, wound (no description), self deprecating jokes, choking, safe word, some aftercare, little fluff.

Word Count: 3989

“I’ve been practising magic for years, teaching you everything I know, and here we are.” you chuckle a little as Stephen sighs at your every comment.

“I asked Wong to cast the maintenance spell, he’s not the best listener.”

“Well Wong has more important duties as the sorcerer supreme.”

“He wouldn’t be the sorcerer supreme if I hadn’t blipped for 5 years.” The coffee machine made a bubbling sound as it filled the rest of his cup and he walked towards you. “I don’t really understand why they didn’t make you the sorcerer supreme.” He takes a sip of his coffee as he stares down at you,

“Because she tries escaping the sanctum. We all know she has very powerful that she can’t quite control yet and we need to keep her here until we know we can trust her.” Wong walks out of the kitchen, casting a portal and walking into it. “While I’m gone, you get babysitting duties.” You scoff, you know how to control your powers, you just choose not to listen to them.

“I don’t think she needs babysitting Wong.”

“Even if she doesn’t need it, she already follows you around like a puppy already anyways.”

“Yea I’ve noticed that…” He turns to look at you with his head tilted. “You have been clinging onto me like your life depends on it haven't you? Always by my side.” He smiles a little. You were surprised he’s only just now realizing it.

I only shrug.

“Well it’s cold down here, while you’re going back and forth between portals, Y/N and I are going upstairs where it's a little warmer.” He opens a portal to the upstairs, not wanting you to slip on the stairs… again…

“Alright. You keep an eye on that girl, she’s trouble.” Wong waves a finger and you smirk so he knows you’re already up to something as you all go through a portal.

“We are all in shock at this news today!” The lady on the TV talks and talks about everything boring as Stephen goes through some papers of research. “After this video was released from the now deceased Quentin Beck, also known as ‘Mysterio’ the entire world is shocked to see a teenage face under the famous ‘spiderman’ mask, a 17 year old Midtown high student named Peter Parker.” That’s not good.

“Oh boy.” You hear Stephen mumble behind you.

“How do you think he’s feeling about all of it” you stand up from the couch and walk towards Stephen who’s now looking at the TV as a clip from the video Mysterio recorded plays behind you.

“Well I’m sure he’s gonna find a way to make things worse. He’s on his way here right now actually.” He reaches to his right and his cape flies onto his back.

“How would you know that?”

“Y/N sweetie, I know everything.” He whispers softly into your ear, sending small butterflies through your belly as he walks past you and begins down the stairs. As you always do, you begin to follow behind him.

At the bottom of the stairs you hear a high pitched voice and Wong speaking back, and you see Stephen speaking as well. As you get halfway down the stairs, you see Peter Parker.

“The most famous person in the world, I know.” Wong enters through a portal, setting down several suitcases. “Wong.” He introduces himself quickly. “Try not to slip, we don’t have liability insurance.”

“Is all this for a holiday party?” You see Peter take a few steps forward, examining the sanctorum filled with snow and ice.

“No, one of the Rotunda gateways connects to Siberia. A blizzard blasted through.” Stephen leaves your side at the center of the staircase and floats down the steps with a coffee mug in his hands, slipping a little when he lands.

“Because someone forgot to cast the monthly maintenance spell to keep the seals tight.” He speaks as he reaches the last step.

“That’s right, he did, because he forgot I now have higher duties-”

“Higher duties?”

“The sorcerer supreme has higher duties, yes.”

“Wait, I thought you were the Sorcerer Supreme-” Peter breaks their conversation and Stephen looks back at him.

“No, he got it on a technicality cause I blipped for five years.”

“Oh.” He looks at Wong. “Well, congratulations.”

Stephen starts back up. “If I’d been here, then I would have-”

“Burned the whole place down.” Wong walks in front of Stephen. “You two! No one said ‘stop shoveling’”

“So, Peter. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Stephen begins to walk to the fireplace.

“Right umm… I’m really sorry to bother you, sir, but-”

“Please, we saved half the universe together, I think we’re beyond you calling me sir.” You started to walk down the stairs to them, smiling softly at Wong as he helped the two people shovel snow.

When you enter the room, you see Stephen lighting the fireplace with some magic.

“Okay, uh, Stephen-”

“That feels weird. But I’ll allow it.”

“Uh, when, um… when Mysterio revealed my identity, my entire life got screwed up.” You stood at the entrance, staring at the fireplace with Peters back to you as he spoke. “And, I was wondering… I mean, I don’t really know if this would actually work, but I was wondering if… maybe you could go back in time and make it so that he never did?”

“Peter, we tampered with the stability of spacetime to resurrect countless lives. You want to do it again now just cause yours got messy?”

“This isn’t- It’s not about me. I mean, this is really hurting a lot of people. My uh… my Aunt May. Happy. My best friend, my girlfriend… their futures are ruined. Just because they know me and they’ve… done… nothing… wrong…?” Peter pauses randomly as he finishes his sentence, you assume his spider sense is catching onto something so you use your own magic to summon some knives.

Suddenly, he quickly turns around and a string of white liquid shoots out at your left hand, sticking it to the table next to you.

“Y/N?!” Peter walks towards you when he realizes who it is. “Oh my God, I thought you were dead!” He gets closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Yea, hey Pete.” He hugs you tighter and you use your free hand so gently hug him back.

“Have you been here the whole time?” He finally pulls away from you, both of his hands gently rest on your shoulders. “Sorry I shot a web at your hand, I guess my spider sense still recognizes you as Black Bee.” (Your villain name) You took a deep breath when he said that name. You haven’t been Martyr for a long time. Just as Bucky hasn’t been The Winter Soldier for a long time, but yet you both still have to be locked up in separate places.

“Well that’s unfortunate isn’t it Peter?” you mumble and Peter lets go of you, easily ripping the web fluid off my hand. “Good thing I’m not anymore, or I swear I wouldn’t be stuck in the sanctum right now.” Peter looks down at you confused. Then he looks up at Stephen.

“Why isn’t she allowed to leave?”

“Because she’s not completely safe yet. Last time we tried bringing her to the store so she could get something for her drawings, she lashed out on a random civilian because they accidentally ran into her backside with their shopping cart.” He sighs and looks at you. You were smiling, clearly proud of yourself. “You should’ve seen the look of fear on that poor womans face as Y/n-”

“Okay, I think you and Peter were talking about something more important before he almost attacked me, Strange.” you cut him off, not wanting to relive the embarrassing memory.

“Right, I am so sorry Peter, but even if I wanted to… I don’t have the Time Stone Anymore.” Strange drops the subject quickly and refocuses on Peter.

“That’s right.” He groans a little. “I’m really sorry if I wasted your time.”

“No, you didn’t-”

“Forget about it.” Behind you, Wong picks up his suitcases and joins the conversation again.

“Oh, he will. He’s very good at forgetting things.”

“Wong, you've actually generated a good idea…”

“What?”

“The Runes of Kof-Kol?” Peter looked at Strange questionably.

“The Runes of Kof-Kol?”

“Oh, it’s just a standard spell of forgetting. It won’t turn back time, but at least people will forget that you were ever Spider-Man.”

“Seriously? That would be-” Your heart beated quickly when Peter's interest rose in Kof-Kol. You and Wong both spoke at the same time.

“No, not seriously!” Wong turns from you to Strange. “That spell travels the dark borders between known and unknown reality. It’s too dangerous.”

“We’ve used it for a lot less. Do you remember the full moon party at Kamar-Taj?”

“No…?”

“Exactly.” Strange waits for a moment before speaking again. He doesn’t even bother addressing you since you weren’t anywhere near being allowed to tell him no. “Come on. Wong… hasn’t he been through enough?”

You watch as Wong's face softens, behind him, another portal opens to Kamar-Taj. “Just leave me out of this.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Wong enters the portal and it closes quickly behind him. Then Strange turns to Peter and has a friendly grin on his face.

The scene in the ancient chamber plays. Strange attempts to cast the spell, Peter keeps changing it mid spell, Strange gets mad at Peter.

Upstairs, everything starts shaking and you look over as a relic falls apart when one of the apprentices tries to hold onto it for support. You quickly make your way down to make sure everything is alright.

“Did it work?” Your voice shook as you looked around and saw Strange visibly angered.

“No. He changed my spell six times-”

“Five times.” You both looked over at Peter who now looked nervous again.

“You changed my spell! You don’t do that! I told you-” He looks at the trapped spell in the centre of the room. “And that is why!” You all look towards the orb with the tiny spell inside. “That spell was completely out of control. If I hadn’t shut it down, something catastrophic could have happened!”

“Stephen, listen, I am so sorry-”

“Call me sir”

Everything is quiet for a moment as you watch the exchange, already developing a way to talk to Strange who you felt was being way too hard on Peter.

“Sorry, sir…” Peter mumbled.

“You know, after everything we’ve been through together, somehow I always forget you’re… you’re just a kid.” You watch as Peter looks down, clearly feeling ashamed of himself. “Look, Parker.” His tone softens. “The problem is not Mysterio. It’s you.” You shoot Strange a daring look, he knows he’s already pressing too far on Peter. “Trying to live two different lives, and the longer you do that the more dangerous it becomes, believe me.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m so sorry about you and your friends not getting into college. But if they rejected you, and you tried to convince them to reconsider, there’s nothing else you can do.” We all stand in silence for a moment and we watch as Peter's face changes slightly.

“When you say “Convince them” you mean like I could have called them?”

“Yea.”

“I can do that?”

“You haven’t called the-”

“Well I mean, I got their letter and I assumed that that was-” You finally cut in.

“I’m sorry, are you telling us that you didn’t think to call and plead your case with them first before you asked Strange to brainwash the entire world?” you asked him more calmly than Strange would have.

“Well, I mean, when you put it like that, then-”

“I can’t believe that kid. He’s fought a giant purple goblin and he can’t think of calling a college and talking to them for reconsideration?” He speaks angrily and you follow him into his room.

“You know, I think I might be able to get into the college if I applied.” You watch as he sits on the edge of his bed. “I mean, I’m basically also twenty-three just like Peter, just a bit more complicated.”

“Complicated because you were frozen in ice at 12, then blipped at 17?”

“Yea complicated because of that.” You put your knees on his bed and make your way behind him. “But you’re way too hard on him, you’re hard on me too.”

“Not as hard on you as I am on him though, I could never yell at you.” You sit up on your knees and place both of your hands on his shoulders, starting to gently massage his muscles.

“You’ve yelled at me plenty of times before Mr. Strange.” you whisper close to his ear and continue to massage him.

“Yes but that was before we all fought a giant grape.” He sighs a little and tilts his head slightly to the side, taking a deep breath as your hands begin to relax his muscles. “And if I can remember clearly, you used your powers to heal Stark. And you also used your powers to find Thanos.” He leans back a little against your front. “Tell me, if it wasn’t your dad who used the glove, if it was someone else like Clint or Scott, would you still have used your powers to save them?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well because when you use your Saint, you're taking the pain out of their body and putting it into your own body, and you also move their wounds from theirs to yours.”

“Well, I still would’ve Sainted them. Maybe not you though.” You giggle a little as he turns around and grabs you by the waist.

“Oh really?” You reach down to try pulling his hands off of your waist, laying back as he presses forward on top of you.

“No of course not really.” You laugh as he lays on top of you with one of his knees between your thighs. “You should consider telling Fury that it’s safe for me to leave. I know how to control my powers…”

“Yea, you do, but the second you leave the Sanctum I won’t be able to find you again unless you come to find me for something.” He moves until he's stradling your legs, one of his hands is pressed onto your lower abdomen, and his other hand rests on his thigh as he sits back on his heels.

“Well yea, I like to have my freedom.” You sigh a little as he leans down slowly and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, making you smile softly.

“You have your freedom as long as you’re by my side.” He gently moves his hand down to the end of your shirt and slowly glides his hand carefully over your stomach. “You know.” His voice drops to a whisper as he pauses for a moment and runs his hand over your smooth skin. “You were 17 during the blip… does that make it still wrong for me to touch you? Or will you consider yourself to be twenty three for me?” He grins as he leans down again, his lips gently brushing against your cheek and gently trailing along your jaw and neck.

“I can be twenty three for now… If you want.” You feel your body heating up and you’re sure he could smell you.

“You smell so sweet…” He mumbles as he leans back to press kisses to your stomach and thighs.

Thanks to your powers and the way you were built, when you're turned on, people can smell your arousal no matter how heightened their senses are.

you could feel his tongue slowly trail wet licks between your thighs. His large hands caressing your thighs and gently moving up to grab your hips.

“You look so beautiful…” He lays one more kiss to your stomach as he leans back up and connects his lips to yours in a long kiss. You reach up to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close as he wraps one of his arms around the back of your waist to lift your body against his.

“You know you’re really pretty too…?” You whisper softly with a quiet laugh as he chuckles and lays more kisses to your neck, making you involuntarily arch your back up to get closer to him. Now you could really feel your body heating up. Your lips part slightly as you start to breathe more heavily, and he admired your breasts move slightly as your chest moved up and down. You blush when you see him lick his bottom lip like a starved lion and you were his prey.

“Are you feeling any better? Or do I still have to wait…” You look down a little as you watch him run his hand down to where you were stabbed while fighting Thanos.

“I think I’ll be fine, just be careful if you grab my waist.” With that, he wraps both arms behind your back and moves you until we’re both lying on the bed.

“Remind me of our safeword, my rose…” He speaks softly as he begins to unbutton your blouse and skirt.

“Jumanji.”

“We really need to work on your safeword…” As soon as he finishes speaking, you feel something wrap around your wrists and you look up to see a string of his orange magic attach both of your wrists to the bed.

Fuck

He admired how you looked. Strapped down on his bed as he towered over you.

“You are so fucking perfect you know that?” He growls a little as he grinds against your thigh, his hard length making you whimper a little.

“You don’t have to sweet talk me to turn me on you know…”

“I’m just speaking the truth.”

“That’s not the truth.” He reaches up and grabs onto your chin almost painfully and forces you to look into his eyes.

“Y/N.” His voice was daring. “You’re beautiful and if you ever start to think otherwise, I swear I’ll fuck you until you can’t even comprehend what the word ugly even means. I’ll have you screaming my name and telling you how beautiful you are then when you finally believe I’ll bend you over until you apologise for ever believing you’re not.” He stares into your eyes a moment longer before pressing a rough kiss to your lips.

You kissed for what felt like hours, and honestly you wished it had never stopped.

When he felt your legs open from under him, he couldn’t resist touching you. His hand slid down until he could feel your sensitive skin. “Fuck” He mumbled as he began to rub over your clit with his fingers, making your hips buck up in response.

“Please…” She breathes quietly as his fingers spread her lips, playing with your clit as you continue to buck against his hand, a quiet moan escaping your lips as he leans down, removes your panties, and roughly brings his tongue down to lick you from your opening to your clit. Repeating the movement two more times before diving his tongue into you, tasting your sweet hole.

“You always taste so fucking good…” He begins to lean back up your body, rubbing the bulge in his pants against your thigh before running his hand down and rubbing your clit again, teasing your entrance with one of his fingers before pushing two of his fingers into your hole. “Fucking perfect…” He curls his fingers to perfectly hit that spot inside of you that drives you wild while his thumb runs rough circles over your clit.

He began to plunge his two fingers in and out of you, causing you to moan in pleasure.

You began to moan more wildly as his movements became more urgent and you felt a familiar heat rise inside of your lower stomach.

The more you moved, the more he struggled to keep you still. He leans up a little, placing his free hand on your hip to hold you down as he adds a finger to your tight hole. “Cum for me little rose… cum on my fingers like a good girl…” His voice makes your head go foggy and your eyes flutter. You throbbed as you felt the pleasure course through you, rushing through you like a waterfall, and you whined at the feeling of his fingers leaving your hole. Making you lay there in breathy moans.

You watch as he brings his finger up to his lips and licks your arousal off his fingers, then he leans his face over yours, pressing a gently kiss to your temple, then pulling back and resting his hand over your throat before pressing down with his weight onto your throat, making you gasp. “Open.” He demands.

As you open your mouth, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your bottom lip, then leans back to spit into your mouth, moving a little with one of his hands still circling your throat and his other hand gently resting on your waist. “Swallow.”

And you did.

As much as you hated it when people saw you as vulnerable and weak, you swallow his spit. “Good girl..” He growls as he finally positions himself between your legs and you whine as you feel the tip of his cock against your hole, before slowly pushing himself inside of you. Stay quiet, he doesn’t like it when you’re loud during the day.

“Stay quiet…” He growls quietly into your ear before beginning to slowly move inside of you, easily brushing himself against your G-spot everytime he moves, making you arch your back off the bed, begging for more movement as you moan quietly.

“Shhh… M’not goin n’y faster n’til I know y’can take me slow…” He mumbles, continuing to move slowly inside of you, being careful not to grip your waist where you had been hurt.

After you stayed quiet for a few moments, he began to move more quickly, pulling out before slamming back into you.

“Fuck you’re so perfect…” He gently grabbed onto your hip with one hand, and squeezed your throat tighten with his other hand, making your moans become more desperate.

Suddenly you feel warm, and your body starts to shake as you feel yourself come close to another orgasm.

“Fuck, rosey, you feel so good… cum on my cock…” He squeezes your throat tighter, making you gasp a little for air. “Fuck, please tell me you’re still on birth control…” He leans up a little, releasing your throat and pressing both of his hands flat onto your waist, causing a wave of pain to shoot through your body as he accidentally presses his palm onto your wound, but it quickly numbs as it’s mixed with the next orgasm that tears through your body and you feel a warm liquid fill your hole as he carefully pulls out.

“Fuck I’m sorry if that hurt…” He gently runs his hand over the large bandage covering your wound.

“M’ okay…” You mumble. “M’ okay…”

“Okay.” He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then he stands up off the bed and walks into the bathroom, coming back out with a warm towel.

With the wave of his hand, the magic that was restraining your wrists disappears and he kneels next to you on the bed, gently cleaning both of your liquids off your thighs.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go Y/N” He finishes cleaning the mess and watches as you sit up.

“I don’t mind never leaving…” You mumble. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss on your lips, you smile and kiss him back.

“I love you, rose bud…”

“Love you too…”

#marvel #marvel smut #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #smut #x reader #stephen strange #doctor strange #strange #strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #I had to fix this #theres a possibility that you've read this before #no its not deju vu

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