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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Rough Ride | biker!Chris Evans x reader

summary: for a biker, chris is quite the romantic. for a small-town waitress, you’re quite the rebel for falling for a biker.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut!!, biker gang shenanigans, references to smoking, love at first sight, a touch of possessiveness, vaguely soulmate au?? (because of aforementioned love at first sight), kinda innocent reader, shy reader, essentially a very fluffy pwp

The gang had never really scared you, even if the other girls working here were intimidated by them. In your mind, having a motorcycle club frequent your hole-in-the-wall meant being more protected rather than more vulnerable. Most of them were nice enough, even if their glances were less than subtle and they brought in the smell of cigarettes with them. They tipped well, and what matters other than that?

When you saw Chris for the first time, though, you were intimidated. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t him that scared you at all, but the rush of feelings that overcame you. What scared you was knowing that, as absurd as it was, you were in love.

He sat at your table, as if he knew you’d be serving him, spreading his legs as he got comfortable and draping a leather jacketed arm over the worn pleather booth. You’d tried to keep your cool, taking his order in spite of those crystal blue eyes piercing right through you. Ink decorated his skin, peeking out from every edge of his clothing— unreadable words on his neck, abstract shapes on his wrists and hands, letters on his knuckles. You watched from the kitchen as those tattooed fingers wrapped around the mug of coffee you’d served him, his neck tattoo shifting a little as he took a long sip.

“Do y’all want anything to eat?” you asked quietly, waiting for a chance to hear his voice. His buddies answered first, ordering hashbrowns and bacon and their various usuals. With no one else left to ask, your eyes met his and you waited in tense silence for him to say something.

“You got pancakes?”

How stupid that those were the words that made your heart stop, slurred with a Boston accent, monotone to the point it barely sounded like a question.

You were in love with him. Before now you hadn’t been the type to dream about soulmates, to wait for your Prince Charming to come save you. But this guy had a noble steed you could ride off into the sunset with— except it was a Ducati, and sunset wasn’t for another nine hours…

“Hello?” he frowned.

Oh, had you forgotten to actually say something?

“Y-yes,” you finally blurted out, “we’ve got pancakes. Best in the county.”

“Blueberry?”

You nodded quickly. “Or cinnamon, or banana, or original…”

“Blueberry then,” he decided. “Thanks.”

You shuffled to the back, spinning behind the saloon door into the kitchen and leaning against the wall with a sigh. It was a miracle you remembered any of the other orders, since all you could think about was him and his eyes and his voice and those ridiculously lovely tats.

You passed the order on to the cook, taking off the apron part of your uniform so you could try to cool off for a second, only peering out to check that the table didn’t need anything every few minutes. As much as you wanted to hide away in the kitchen forever, you could see that a few of the mugs were empty at his table and you needed to give them a refill.

Sighing and grabbing a fresh pot from the coffeemaker, you ventured back into the dining area; of course it only took him a split second to lock his eyes on you, watching you come closer with a stare that made the silence so much more oppressive.

��Everything alright so far?” you asked, voice much shakier than you meant for it to be. One of the other bikers asked about getting a cup of decaf, another wanted more creamer, but he just sipped at the black coffee and kept his eyes trained on you over the rim on the mug. “Food should be out in a minute…”

You all but ran back to the kitchen; you could only take so much of him at once. Looking at him was like looking at the sun, and looking anywhere else was like a waste of your vision.

You made busywork for yourself in the kitchen, rearranging utensils and refilling ketchup bottles. You heard the kitchen door swing open behind you, the light shifting in the corner of your eye.

“Charlene, can you cover my table for a while? I can’t go back out there—” you began, but heavy footsteps stopping behind you made you realize it was most certainly not Charlene. You spun around to find him staring down at you, contemplating the way you shrunk into his shadow.

“Were you really gonna run so quick? Make Charlene bring me my pancakes?” he asked with a gentle voice, stepping slightly closer.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” you explained sheepishly.

“I heard we own this place,” he returned, raising an eyebrow, “and everything in it.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “something like that…”

Then he moved in so close— almost too close, even though you simultaneously wanted more— until you were clutching the cool metal table behind you, your eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips and back.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he whispered, “do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I’m starting to,” you admitted quietly. And he kissed you, so much more delicate and tender than he had any right to be. Maybe you should’ve feigned disinterest, but not even for a moment could you do anything but kiss him back, slipping your arms around his neck. But that wasn’t enough to keep him close, unfortunately, as he pulled away much too soon.

“How about now?” he pressed, and your eyes were a little delayed in opening again as you tried to process the fact that you’d just experienced the most perfect kiss of all time.

You nodded a little, looking back up at him and biting your lip slightly. “You never told me your name,” you realized.

“Chris,” he answered quickly. You started to tell him yours but he finished it for you, making your eyes go wide.

“How did you—?”

He smirked and tapped on the hard plastic nametag pinned to your chest.

“Oh,” you giggled, “right…”

He leaned in a little closer, one arm caging you in as it rested against the wall by your head, while the other was playing with the hem of your yellow uniform. “When do you get off?” he purred in your ear, his fingers brushing over your legs just under your skirt.

“Whenever you want me to get off,” you answered quickly, not even noticing the double entendre.

“Right now,” he decided. “Your shift ends right now, and you’re gonna get on the back of my bike and ride with me.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

You stood a few feet away on the gravel while he started the engine, enraptured at the way his fingers gripped the handles and pumped the gas and brakes to test them. When he guided you to get on the back, you tried not to notice the way the vibrations of the bike shot right through you, and just focused on his face as he turned back to look at you.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Your place.”

He chuckled lightly but revved the engine, kicking off and sending the bike spurring forward onto the highway. You clutched at his torso tightly, resting your face on the leather of his jacket and watching your tiny little town roll by.

Normally this would be the time to describe his apartment, but you didn’t even notice it; you were too busy grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him into you the second he’d unlocked the door. You’d never kissed anyone like this, or ever tried to, or ever wanted to, so you didn’t know if you were doing it right. But he sure seemed to like it considering he pressed against you and moaned a little into your mouth.

Maybe it was all a game for him, his chance to corrupt an innocent waitress who bought his crap because she was gullible enough to believe he loved her. You knew that was more likely than not, you weren’t stupid for all your naivete, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to believe it. It felt so real, the way he pulled you closer, the way he kissed you— it didn’t feel like he was rushing you, since you were the one who helped him take his jacket off before you started to unbutton your uniform, and pushed him back onto the mattress on the floor, straddling him as you moaned into his mouth.

“Baby,” he whispered against your lips, something like shock mixed with pride painting the tone of his voice.

“I need you,” you whimpered, “I’ve never— I don’t usually— this isn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he nodded, “I get it. I’ve never felt this way before either.”

He pushed your hands away from their task of opening the uniform, his thick and ink-decorated fingers taking over instead. Your face warmed as he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, revealing your practical bra— not very sexy, unfortunately, but he didn’t seem to mind as he ran his hands all over your newly-exposed skin.

Not that you would’ve been especially irritated if it took him a minute to unhook your bra, but of course he did it seamlessly. Faster than when you tried to do it yourself, even.

His palms were warm as they cupped your breasts, your nipples already hard but reacting further to being tweaked between his thumb and forefingers. A shiver danced down your spine, and you fought between looking back into his piercing gaze or glancing away to spare yourself the intensity of it all. You stammered out his name when he pinched a little harder, almost losing your balance but catching yourself on his chest.

He stopped and sat up to quickly pull his shirt off, and you bit your lip at the sight of his chest and torso littered in ink. You wanted to trace each one with your tongue, but that would have to wait for another time; instantly he pushed you off of him and flipped you onto your back, caging you in with his absurdly thick arms and grinning as he hovered above you.

“You are so goddamn beautiful,” he mumbled, “did you know that?”

You stammered, never really getting out an effective reply, as he reached down and toyed with the hem of your panties. His fingers tickled your skin while he started to pull them down, excruciatingly slow; his eyes bore into yours for the longest time, dark and brooding, until he finally glanced down and watched the fabric slide over your thighs.

With bated breath, you waited for his reaction to your nude body. He was silent as he pushed your legs apart, finally letting out a low growl as he spread your folds. “Fuck, baby…” he sighed just under his breath.

The moment his fingers made contact with your soaked folds, you gasped; he gathered the abundant slick he found there and spread it over your clit, drawing relaxed circles over it as you fought not to buck your hips up already. That was impossible, though, when he slipped a finger into your soaking entrance, and then another.

“Oh—” you gasped, sitting up to watch him work as if you couldn’t really believe it was happening otherwise.

Watching his tattoos disappear inside you was… indescribable. Your head fell back as those fingers curled inside you, his thumb rubbing over your clit roughly. “Fuck,” you groaned, “Chris, don’t stop…”

He didn’t, in fact he only pumped and twisted his fingers faster until you clutched at the sheets beneath you and arched your back. You couldn’t exactly keep track of what you were saying, or how long it had been going, but you were pretty sure that you were doing lots of begging and that it had not been long enough to justify the fact that you were already right on the edge of coming. When his fingers moved a little faster and a little rougher, you moaned his name before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah, you gonna make a mess all over my hand, baby?” he growled through his teeth.

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, I’m so close.”

“Then do it,” he encouraged gruffly, “come for me.”

You must have reached up and grabbed him at some point, because your nails were digging into his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark if it weren’t for the marks already there— hard to see a bruise on black ink. Hard to see anything when you’re coming so hard that your vision goes a little spotty. If you had realized the intensity of your involuntary convulsions in that moment, you would’ve likely been self-conscious about it, but you didn’t really notice since you were too busy gasping and moaning and writhing for him— and he didn’t even stop until you reached down and grabbed his wrist. You weren’t strong enough to push him away, of course, but it was a clear signal, and he thankfully slowed down to a stop. You whimpered a little when he pulled his fingers out of you; he hummed as he brought the digits to his lips and sucked your flavor from them.

Any other day and one orgasm would satisfy you, especially one like that. And in a sense, you were satisfied; but in another (and stronger) sense, you needed more— you needed everything. You just hoped that sitting up and fumbling with his belt would get the point across.

He didn’t help you this time, happy to sit there breathing heavily and watching you work on his belt, then his fly, then his boxers until you were gasping as you revealed his thick cock. Maybe it was just going to go straight to his ego, but you had no interest in hiding your shock at the sight of it, a drop of precum forming at the slit; a picturesque vein running up the underside. “Fuck,” you groaned, wrapping your hand around it and giving it a few slow strokes.

You yelped a little, in a good way, as he pushed you back onto the bed and kissed you deeply: it was needy, but not quite rough.

When the tip of him prodded at your entrance, you gasped against his lips, and yet you were still a little disappointed when he broke the kiss and pulled away, his eyes rapidly scanning your expression.

“You want it?” he asked— not a taunt, a genuine question.

“Yes,” you nodded, “more than anything.”

“This isn’t a fling,” he told you sternly. “This isn’t a one-night stand. We do this, you’re mine, you understand?”

“Yours,” you agreed with a breathless nod, and he finally pushed the tip into you. He stopped when you winced, but you didn’t mind the sting so much— you wanted to feel everything, even the pain, as long as it was him. You wrapped your legs around his hips and tried to push him in deeper, but he resisted. “I want it all, please,” you begged weakly.

“Not sure you can take it,” he admitted nervously.

“I can, please, just need you inside me,” you whined.

He sighed a little but relented and pushed all the way in, still maintaining a measured pace; you sighed with relief when his hips were flush against yours. The sting was nothing compared to the perfection of his body nestled in yours, the way he looked down at you before he kissed you again. It was less rushed than before, less desperate as he savored every inch of you, like you had all the time in the world— it certainly felt like you did.

He didn’t pull out very far, focusing instead on grinding his hips against yours, which not only served to keep him so deep inside you that you could barely breathe but also pressed some very hard part of him right into your clit. It was nearly overwhelming, but his kiss kept you grounded, along with his arms slipping under you so he could hold you tight. You clutched at his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, kissing him back and moaning against his tongue. It helped you relax a little, until your body opened up to his size and he could thrust a bit harder without resistance. Even then, he kept it slow and steady, waiting until you whined and pleaded for more to start really fucking you.

You couldn’t keep up with the kiss anymore when he pounded into you like that, your head falling back and giving him perfect access to gently bite at your neck. It only made you wetter to imagine that while he wore his tattoos on his neck, you could bare whatever marks he made on your skin with his lips and teeth and tongue. Too bad yours would be less permanent.

“How’s it feel?” he asked you darkly, his voice rough but warm against your ear.

“So good,” you panted, “you feel so good.”

He reached down to grab your parted legs and hold them open wider, and you hadn’t realized that it would send the tip of him spearing straight into your most delicate spot. Your back arched instantly and you made a somewhat embarrassing noise, but he grinned and nibbled at your jaw, thrusting a little faster and repeating the motion.

“F-fuck,” you shuddered.

“You’re— shit, you’re squeezin’ on me,” he groaned, and you took pride in the way pleasure affected his voice. “Can feel you tryin’ to milk my cock.”

Lewd talk like that had never turned you on so much before, but it was different the way he said it. Then again, everything was different when he did it, especially the way his fingertips were sure to leave little bruises on your legs from how tight he was holding.

“Look down,” he instructed as he sat up slightly, “look at how good you’re takin’ me, baby.”

You did, and sure enough, it was hard to believe that every time he pulled back, his massive cock was somehow going to fit back inside you again— or that it ever did in the first place. But with every stroke he filled you to the brim, and when you looked back up, he was already staring down at you with those damn eyes that kept you frozen in place every time.

He pulled out suddenly, making you whimper at the loss as he stared down at you. “Flip over, get on your hands and knees for me.”

You surprised yourself with how quickly you obeyed, arching your back as his rough hands gripped at your hips tightly. When he pulled you back and speared you on his cock, it was like an entirely new sensation. His cock was even deeper, stretching your walls in new ways as you keened and whimpered beneath him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” he groaned, already setting a new and much more aggressive pace.

“So good,” you cried, “it’s so good, you’re so good…”

“You like how I fuck you?” he pressed, like your mouth hung slack and your hands struggling to hold onto the mattress weren’t enough to make it obvious that you did.

“Love it,” you moaned, “please, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t, thankfully, not even close; he held your body and pulled you back onto him in time with his own thrusts forward, the sound of skin on skin rivalled only by your constant stream of moans and cries.

Another orgasm was well on its way, though this one felt different than the first— coming on slower but stronger, making your legs shake as they fought to hold you up your weight.

When the coil finally snapped, you didn’t feel the need to tell him you were coming again, because it was so obvious from the way you moaned and how your walls rippled and tightened on him harder than ever. And just in case it wasn’t clear that he noticed you hitting the height of your pleasure, he leaned down a little and mumbled right against your ear: “Feels so good when you come for me, baby.”

You whimpered and let your upper body collapse onto the bed; the dramatic arch in your back was slightly uncomfortable, but your orgasm had made your whole body a little numb so you didn’t notice.

“Want you to come too,” you sighed, desperate to make him feel even a fraction as good as he’d made you feel.

“Fuck, I will,” he warned you, “god, you feel so good, gonna come inside you.”

“Please,” you sighed, “want it all in me, Chris, please…”

He followed through on his promise with a stuttered gasp, stopping his thrusts to stay buried deep in you as you felt his cock swell and flex against your walls. Warmth spread within you as you hummed contentedly, his heavy breathing slowly stabilizing before he gently pulled out and guided you to lay beside him on the bed.

For a moment, you feared that he’d gotten what he wanted and would either toss you out or just slowly disappear from your life. After all, he was him, and you were you, and there was something oil-and-water about it all, right?

Wrong. He wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you into him, and kissed you one more time. You reciprocated quickly and tried not to smile too hard.

“If I say something really stupid,” he whispered when he pulled back slightly. “will you promise not to freak out? I mean, I know it’s impossible and it doesn’t make any sense and we just met but—”

“I love you too,” you interrupted, and he smiled back at you, letting out a sigh of bemused relief.

“Bein’ a biker’s girl isn’t easy,” he warned you, “but I’ll keep you safe, I can promise that.”

His words were just that; words. But the way he held you tightly and kissed you deeply made you sure that he would keep his promise.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans rpf #chris evans biker au #biker!chris evans x reader #chris evans smut

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nokkusu · 4 years ago

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Sukuna X Fem!Reader - I killed them all

Type : One Shot

TW/CW : smut, blood, murder, submissive!reader, blood play, monster kink, suggested torture, degradation kink, slight mention of abuse, orgasm denial, dacryphilia if you squint

You’re sent to the King of Curses as an insult. You’re determined to make this act of rebellion backfire.

—————————————————————

Sukuna was resting on his side, one of his four hands holding his head, another grabbing a glass of wine. He looked properly annoyed and nobody around knew why exactly. His piercing gaze didn’t miss a single movement around him, looking like a snake ready to strike and kill instantly.

« Your highness » said a man, visibly uncomfortable.

« What ? » Sukuna spat.

« Where... where are the girls? »

The King of Curses groaned and threw his glass away carelessly. The object shattered on the floor, leaving nothing but sparkling shards and a puddle of deep red.

« Dead »

Silence. Absolute silence.

He snorted and got up, readjusting his white kimono lazily.

« I killed them all. They were all so incredibly annoying, the only interesting thing they could do was die. Find me someone else. I’m bored, and you will not like seeing me bored. »

The man left the room in a hurry, looking desperate. That expression filled the king with contempt as he laid down again, impatient to meet his next victim.

A few hours later, the servant came back.

« Your highness, she’s here » he said.

Sukuna looked at him, terrifying red eyes scrutinising the silhouette hidden under rich silk robes and jewellery.

« Leave » he ordered.

The servant turned away in a hurry, slightly bowing down as he walked out of the room. The heavy wooden doors slammed against each other, and silence took back its rightful place.

The curse took a step forward, hunter lurking over his new prey. He felt it, the cursed energy oozing out of you... It was rough and uncontrolled. Sukuna laughed realising they sent him this little wonder of a woman hoping that it would scare him.

You, on the other hand, didn’t laugh. You knew what was coming and you couldn’t wait. You never understood why all these girls were terrified of the King of Curses. Actually, you hated them for that. He was all you ever wanted to be : feared, powerful, respected. You knew nobody would send you to him because of your abilities if something didn’t happen, but you were determined to change this act of rebellion into their biggest mistake. They sent you to him in hope that he’d murder you too, because you were a shame to the rest of the villagers. But you knew you had potential to make the King of Curses yours. You felt his fingers grab your chin to force your gaze into meeting his. You didn’t resist, too happy to look at him. He was as gorgeous as you expected him to be.

“Now...” he hissed.

You didn’t say a word, waiting for his next sentence.

“Why the fuck did they send you, hm?”

“They thought you’d regret killing all the other bitches if they sent you a cursed toy” you replied, completely honest.

Sukuna’s face went limp for half a second, not expecting you to be so... Shameless. A wide grin split his mouth open on his sharp fangs, twisting his blood red eyes.

« My, my... What a filthy mouth you have. »

He pressed his fingers harder around your chin, sharp black nails digging into your skin.

« I suppose you’re not so scared to be here, aren’t you? »

« Not at all, my King » you replied.

Sukuna sighed, his expression turning immediately into one of pure sadism.

« Well, it’s about to fucking change. »

Your wrists were sore from being restrained so tightly, but you didn’t complain. Completely naked, covered in sweat, cum and blood, you’ve never felt happier. Sukuna tied you up against a wall and fucked you for hours before leaving you there, alone, while he was taking a hot bath. You waited for him patiently, forcing your brain to replay the last hours in front of your eyes, calling back the feeling of his cock inside you, summoning his lips against your skin... You were already wet again. Sukuna probably wanted to test your will and ability to resist him, but you showed nothing but perfect obedience and he loved it. You opened your eyes when you heard him come back inside, and discovered with great pleasure that he was still naked and dripping wet.

« This bathtub is too big and too empty. I have to take my new fucktoy in, don’t you think ? »

You smiled shyly, bursting with joy.

« Yes, Master » you whispered when he was close enough to hear you.

He opened the metallic bracelets around your wrists and you felt yourself fall to the floor on all four. One of his hands grabbed your long hair to wrap it around his fist while another smacked your ass.

« Lead the way, slut »

You crawled, rolling your hips slowly, fully aware of his gaze on your bruised ass cheeks. Your knees against the cold marble floor was the only sound in the room until you reached the bath. The tub itself was a gigantic pool made into the ground and surrounded with candles, filled with hot scented water. You could smell cinnamon, and something more... Familiar. Blood. You turned your head to the side and saw them all. Fifteen bodies, slaughtered and laying in a pool of red sticky liquid, already turning brown from the coagulation. Fascinated by the view, you stopped crawling.

« You like that? » the curse asked, resting a feet on your ass.

« A lot, Master. »

His grin only got wider and filled with pride for his new plaything.

« Good girl » he said, releasing your hair.

« Get in, and wash me. »

You obeyed, way too happy to get another opportunity to touch your King. As you got in the water, you saw the dry blood around the cuts on your hips and arms dissolve, turning the water light pink near you like an aura. Apart from his calloused palms, Sukuna’s skin was soft and warm to the touch, smooth and velvety. You gently rubbed a cloth on his arms and across his chest, your other hand following it closely to caress him, scratching dried chunks of your own blood off of him from time to time.

« I thought you’d pass out, to be honest » he finally said.

You smiled gently, shrugging.

« I’ve seen worse. And as I told you, my King... I like it rough. »

« Good, then. I’m not done with you. »

« I hope so... »

He arched an eyebrow, staring intensely at you.

« Why do you like me so much, your bratty bitch? » he asked, slapping your hands away from him.

You laid back in the water and started washing yourself, thinking about your answer for a moment. »

« Hm... Because you have power. Everyone is afraid of you, and you know how to get what you want. You’re passionate. »

« Not passionate, cruel » he corrected.

« All the same to me. You’re passionate for power and destruction. I wish I could get it all so easily. »

Sukuna’s hand hit you across the face, harshly. Your eyes filled with tears from the pain, but strangely... you understood his gesture.

« You’re too powerful to pity yourself like that. I don’t want a pathetic toy, like all of those corpses » he spat as he pointed them with a finger.

« I want a powerful toy. Someone who will make sure everyone does whatever the fuck I want, and will kill anyone trying to get away. You have that power, I can feel it. You’re literally covered in it. You can get it all. Obey me, and I’ll show you how. »

Your skin felt heavy. For the first time, you understood where that feeling came from. You were glowing blue, a thick coat of cursed energy pulsing in your veins, wrapping you tightly into a blanket of raw power.

« That’s it, sweet girl » he praised. « That’s how you do it. »

Sukuna’s lips crashed onto yours, sending electricity between your legs.

« I’ll show you power » he groaned against your mouth, biting your lip until the rusty taste of blood covered your tongue.

« I’ll show you fear »

Two of his hands lifted you to the border of the pool while the two others cupped your breasts, and the coldness of the marble made you shiver exquisitely. When his thumbs rubbed the hardened buds, a soft moan escaped your bruised lips. The curse shoved his face between your legs, his tongue sliding relentlessly against your wetness until you were just a screaming mess, begging for release.

« Are you going to cum for me? » he asked teasingly, looking up at your twisted face.

« Yes, yes please ! »

« What if I don’t want you to, hm? Will you hold as long as I want you to? »

« I’ll do anything for you, any-... Anything! »

You felt a clawed finger make its way into you, rubbing against your walls until it found that sweet, sweet spot. Sukuna couldn’t stop looking at your face as you tried your best to keep your orgasm to crush you entirely, appreciating your obedience and his name on your lips.

« Fuck me, please! » you repeated again and again, begging for more of him, as much as you could take.

Tears were rolling down your cheeks but you didn’t care. You just wanted to satisfy your king, the only man who ever saw your value.

« Beg again, whore » he grinned, another hand grabbing your throat so tight you almost passed out.

« Oh-please, p-please » you whimpered, shaking uncontrollably.

The cursed let a claw slide between your breasts, opening a thin cut that bled instantly.

« You look so fucking pretty covered in blood... Wait. »

His hands left your body, and all of a sudden you were cold. Nothing more than cold and wet. Sukuna got out of the bath and rang a bell in the other room, yelling at you to stay where you were. After a minute, he came back with the servant who came to your house to bring you to the temple.

« Is he the one who got the stupid idea to send you to me as revenge? »

You nodded.

« No !! No it wasn’t... Please your Highness I didn’t mean to offend you with her, she’s just a whore we found somewh- »

Sukuna hit the man so hard his jaw cracked and went limp. A muffled scream escaped from his injured mouth, quickly silenced by the king’s hand around his throat.

« I’m the only one allowed to call her a whore. She’s mine now and everyone will know it soon enough. You will die for her if I command so. »

He dragged the servant next to you, and asked you to lay down on the floor. You did, waiting patiently. Suddenly, the wet sound of flesh followed by an uncontrolled flow of blood resonated in the bathroom, and you felt it all crash onto your naked body. As you looked up, you saw your King ripping out the servant’s heart with a joyful smile, admiring your body covered in blood.

« So fucking pretty... » he whispered.

He threw the body next to the others and bent over, handing you the bloody muscle.

« Have you ever touched a heart? »

You shook no as you grabbed it with both hands. It was hot, and slippery. The flesh had a lot of different textures that truly fascinated you. Your thumbs pushed against the flesh, turning it to look at the veins, following their trail absentmindedly. The king rubbed your cheek lightly, smearing red all over it.

« I’ll fuck you covered in blood » Sukuna said. « The only right way to do it, don’t you think? »

He smashed the heart on the floor and forced himself between your legs. Your thighs found a perfect angle to wrap around him, just like your arms around his neck, hands grabbing his hair tightly as he pushed his cock inside you. You winced but took it all without hesitation, waiting for the pleasure to come through. And it did, faster than you expected. The curse’s thrusts were harsh and fast, fucking you deeply, burying his length as far as possible inside your creaming pussy, making you feel every vein, every inch of him. The sounds coming out of your mouth were so obscene you almost felt shame for half a second but remembered that being fucked by the King of Curses himself was nothing to be ashamed of. Instead, you locked eyes with him, not missing a single piece of his pleasure and he kept fucking you stupid, making you lose control over and over again, until your throat was sore from screaming so much.

« Cum around my cock, whore. Now » he panted.

Finally, you thought. It wasn’t hard to be submerged by your orgasm, with a cock inside you and your king expectantly waiting. It came in waves, making you shake and squirm, your slick mixing with the blood. Two of Sukuna’s hands cupped your face as his thrusts became less organised and finally... you felt his cock pulsing, releasing his seed deep inside, coating you in it as his shaft brushed against your cervix. A victorious scream climbed up his throat and out of his mouth until he fully unloaded, before crashing his lips against yours again, his tongue asking for more. The kiss left you panting, breathless. It was everything you ever wanted. Power, fear, and respect. Sukuna was right... You can get it all.

—————————————————————

End note : ...okay I’ll admit it I have a bit of a blood kink. Idk I feel like Sukuna has one too? I can totally imagine him fucking anyone in the middle of a pool of blood honestly. Totally makes sense. He’s kind of out of character but I mean... I don’t really care. I hope you enjoyed reading this 👀🖤

Edit 2 : YALL THANKS FOR THE AMOUT OF LOVE JFC

i also apologise for the typos, I think it’s all good now, but since English isn’t my first language any constructive criticism is welcome, I’m really trying to improve my writing 🙇🏻

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redapecinnamon35 · 8 months ago

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Heavy Metal Test Cinnamon

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wkemeup · 4 years ago

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Start Again

summary: A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath pairing: steve x reader word count: 5k warnings: SMUT (18+), sex pollen (dub/con), a very slight dom!steve, angst, absolute filth ok dont shame me a/n: first sex pollen fic, first steve smut. felt right. and hot.

“Rogers! Watch your six, dammit!” you shouted, hair whipping into your face as you lunged at a stray opponent aiming a gun directly at the back of Steve’s head. Roundhouse kick to his hand and the weapon flung halfway across the room; another blow to the man’s temple and then, he collapsed to the ground in a heavy thud.

“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” Steve chuckled from the doorway, turning back with a smirk over his shoulder as he nudged his way into the vault with the edge of his shield. All confidence and charisma and still, his ears were a little pink, his eyes flickering down at the floor by your feet when he held your gaze a moment too long. A hesitancy in his teasing. A sincerity nestled in pale blue eyes.

You chewed on the edge of your lip, unbothered by the coppery taste left behind by the hit of a Hydra agent unconscious at your feet, and you side stepped your way into the vault. Steve stood with his arm extended, gesturing you to lead the way, smile creeping up the left side of his mouth before he followed behind.

This was how things were between the two of you. Flirty banter. Quiet moments. Poking at the tension in the air with the blunt edge of a knife. Careful, but still pressing. Lingering. Waiting in agony until the moment it snapped.

“What is this place?” you asked, covering your nose with the crook of your elbow as a lingering burning sensation filled the air.

The walls were lined with chemicals placed neatly in organized vials, within enclosed glass tubes, and refrigerated syringes. Beautiful bright colors to dull, dreary shades, big and small, carefully sealed, with hazmat suits hanging from the rack at the corner of the room. At the center sat a single metal table with restraints hanging down off the sides.

You stepped closer to it, carefully examining the cuffs made of leather where it cracked along the outside from years of use. You shuddered to think of the men they laid strapped on this cold unforgiving surface, injecting god knows what into their veins.

“This is sick,” you exhaled, dropping the restraint and watching as it swung over the edge of the table.

“It’s Hydra,” Steve replied tensely. “Whatever they have in here, it can’t be good. Let’s just get what we came for and get the hell out.”

You nodded, walking closer to the shelves in search of the small vial Dr. Cho described. Blue in color, almost translucent, a liquid of only a few milliliters in total. If you were lucky it would be labeled NR-829. You didn’t know what it was for, but you weren’t one to ask questions. Steve went along with the mission without hesitation and you followed his lead. You trusted Steve enough for that.

It took a while as you filtered through dozens of unknown chemicals until you found the vial. Tucked in the back of the shelf, hidden behind a series of test tubes and a particularly large glass bottle with a large ‘X’ scribbled in black marker over the cap, the light blue serum sat in wait. You grinned, gently pulling the tube from its stand and holding it up for Steve to see.

“This is why I keep you around,” Steve teased, a sigh of relief etched into his tone.

“Thought you needed me to watch your six, huh?”

“That, too.”

Steve hung his head with a smile so wide on his face it made your stomach twist into knots. Hands planted firmly on his hips, stealing careful glances up at you from under long, thick lashes, you couldn’t help but admire the tenderness he carried. Even under pounds of muscle, a super soldier’s strength running through his veins, and the weight of the world on his shoulders, he still managed to carry an innocence, a lightness, and he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

“We should go,” Steve said after a moment and you nodded quickly, hoping he didn’t notice your staring.

You were just about to place the vial into the small pouch at the edge of your hip when a movement at the edge of the vault froze you dead in your tracks.

A flicker of metallic.

The click of the safety unlatching.

The grunt of a man in vengeance.

Laying on the floor, mouth covered in blood as it drenched down from his broken nose, the man you’d rendered unconscious now aimed a gun in your direction; a sickening grin pealed up along his cheeks to reveal yellowed teeth soaked in red.

Steve’s arm jutted out in front of you, yanking your body quickly out of the line of fire, but the man only smirked. He didn’t attempt to follow in his aim. Instead, he narrowed in on something beyond your position. Something on the shelves.

The gunshot rang out, echoing painfully within the small confines of the vault enough for a violent ringing to pierce in your ears, and still, you heard the glass shatter.

The air filled with the sudden sweet smell of candied apples and caramel; a scent specific to the night Steve dragged you out to Coney Island in efforts to relive his old memories, when you’d spent nearly half the night sitting on the docks prying sticky caramel from your fingers and laughing until your stomach hurt. The way he’d looked at you that night, like maybe all these feelings stirring deep in your chest might not be unrequited, how he’d smiled just enough until it pressed dimples to his cheeks.

No ordinary chemical could produce a smell like that. Not something so specific. Nothing but—

“Oh God.”

Steve was at the doors to the vault, desperately trying to pry his shield between them as the chemical spill must have set off emergency protocols and sealed you inside, but it was no use. He let out a visceral groan as he used all of his force, and still nothing.

“Steve,” you crocked, already feeling the sweat dripping at the nape of your neck. Your eyes glanced back at the emerald green liquid fizzling on the cement floor. The smell was intoxicating, burning almost to the point where it physically ached, and you closed your hands tight into fists.

“What is that?” Steve grunted, finally turning away from the doors. He brushed at his nose, confused, as tried to find the source. “It... it smells like... coffee and—and cinnamon sugar.”

The bakery down the block from the tower. Where you’d taken Steve in the early hours of the mornings when he’d find himself standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, shame lingering in his features and a redness in his eyes. It was a safe haven. An escape. The smell of a pleasant memory.

You’d heard that this chemical had the ability to manifest individually to those it effected, but it still took you by surprise. Drawn on the desires of its host, different to each in its unrelenting path. There was no time to wonder what it meant, why it smelled like the bakery around the corner and the nights you spent with Steve when the nightmares woke him in a blinding panic. There was no time because your eyes kept flickering down the lines of Steve’s body, tracing him hungrily, like a woman starved.

You choked back a moan, squeezing your thighs together as a sudden all-encompassing emptiness tore through you.

“Steve, listen to me,” you tried again, voice a little dry as you stretched your neck away from the collar of your suit, tearing your stare from his body as you focused on the wall in front of you. You zipped down the edge of your suit to your sternum and it only provided an ounce of relief. You were suffocating under it, burning, and you swore if you didn’t get it off soon you might collapse.

Steve didn’t seem to hear you though as he walked towards the exposed chemical on the floor, examining it. “Why expose us to this chemical instead of just killing us? What’s the point? What the hell is this stuff anyway?”

Your legs were crossed at the ankles, thighs pressing tightly together in an effort to relieve some of the ache at your core, but it did nothing. Not when you knew what you needed. Not when he was standing right there.

“Steve, please,” you whined, close to tears, hands gripping tight at the edges of the metal table.

Steve whipped around at the sound of your voice, panicked by the urgency, the desperation in it. His shoulder tensed, eyes darting wide at the sight of you.

The chemical had taken its effect quickly. Your hairline was drenched in sweat, heart pounding so painful in your chest you were certain he could hear it across the room, but what surprised him most was the slight tang in the air, a sweet kind of smell that was only and entirely yours; one he only dared allow himself to notice once before, under the cover of night when he’d walked past your bedroom in and heard the soft whimpers beyond the door.

Your legs were shaking under you, ready to collapse, and Steve darted forward. His hand gripped at your waist, trying to hold you steady.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he cooed sweetly, though there was a panic in his voice as he turned to look back at the sealed exit. He exhaled a heavy breath, pulling you in closer. “I’ve got you. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

The pressure of his hands was unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was exhilarating, like the touch of lightening to your skin and still, feather soft. It was a jolt of desperation that only worsened the pulsing at your core, the agonizing emptiness you felt between your legs.

You whimpered, shaking terribly in his arms, and then, his hands moved slowly up along your body to cup at your cheeks. He pushed away the damp hairs on your face, sky blue eyes searching yours, trying to understand what was affecting you like this, so concerned, so full of worry, but it was too much.

Your skin was too sensitive; every touch heightened beyond what you’d ever experienced and each rub of his thumb over your cheek bone, each pressured dip of his fingers against your neck, was almost unbearable. Your cunt clenched around air, waiting eagerly to be filled and used and — fuck — you were going to die if you didn’t get that damn suit off now.

“Y/n?” Steve called, though it sounded far away, like a lingering semblance of an echo long carried through a tunnel.

Unable to take it, you tore Steve’s hands away from you, stumbling back until you hit the table with a painful corner to your spine. You whined, shaking, whimpering, and as Steve tried to take another step closer to you, you held up a desperate hand.

“It’s not effecting you as quickly because—because of the serum,” you gasped, trying to find your breath as a hand slipped under your collar, pushing down at the zipper on your suit in search of relief, “but it will. It will, Steve, and we—we have to—God, we’ll die if we don’t, but—”

“What are you talking about? What’s happening to you?” Steve demanded, trying to step closer to you, to reach out in comfort, but you flinched away. You still had some semblance of control, even if your dignity was in pieces. You wouldn't dare let him touch you again until he understood what this was, until he could have some kind of choice.

“The chemical,” you shuddered, pointing to the shattered vial on the floor, “it’s the extract of the pollen Tony warned us about in Brussels.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. Brussels was almost three years ago but he remembered it well. They’d been tasked with infiltrating a Hydra base attempting to create an army of enhanced super soldiers by pairing the gifted with their knock off experiments. Creating offspring artificially wasn’t an option, it seemed, and well, Hydra needed to convince their participants to engage.

Realization hit Steve like a truck and he stumbled back, eyes wide. “N-No, it’s can’t be. That stuff should have been destroyed when we blew up the base...”

“Should have been,” you repeated, nodding slowly as you shrugged your shoulder out of the suit. The cool air touched your skin and it was instant relief. Teeth clenched, lump in your throat, you looked at Steve. “We don’t have a lot of time. I—I have to get this off. I feel like I’m burning alive...”

“Okay, okay,” Steve nodded, rushing towards you to help. You choked back a whine as his fingers touched over bare skin, slipping under your suit as he helped peel away the skin tight fabric until it dropped down over your thighs and was left in a pile on the floor.

Left only in your sports bra and panties, Steve started to evert his eyes, even as his breathing started to pick up in pace. It was affecting him slower than it did you, but it was still in his veins, it was still coming for him.

“Steve,” you gasped, your hands fumbling with the band of your bra, trying to pull it over your head. Your nipples were pebbled hard, the touch of the fabric agonizing against the buds. Your thighs squeezed tight together and you could feel how soaked through the thin cotton between your legs had become. You could smell it yourself, so you knew Steve could, too.

“Steve, please. I—I need you. It hurts so much…”

Steve swallowed, eyes gazing up at your body as you stripped clean of the remaining material. He tried desperately to hold your eye, but as your hand slipped down between your legs in search of some relief, he followed.

Your fingers dipped in between the folds, swirling in the wetness that dripped down your thighs, and even as you circled in rushed movements, sunk two fingers deep inside you, it did nothing to relieve the ache. It couldn’t be relieved on its own, not without help.

In a surge of pollen-induced confidence, you carefully reached out for Steve’s hand, letting your fingers hook around his as hooded eyes gazed up to a startling pale blue and the bite of teeth over pink, swollen lips. Slowly, you guided Steve’s hand closer to your core and when you were met with no resistance, replaced your fingers with his own, pushing his touch to the heat between your legs.

He shuddered as the wetness dripped over him, fingers moving of their own accord and circling sweetly at your clit. It was like fire through your veins, rendering you outside of yourself, and still, you needed more.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, running a free hand through your hair, but you could only whine in response, resting your forehead to his shoulder.

Hands curled into the thick fabric of his suit, dipping into the muscle in his arms as you tried to focus on the pressure on your clit, how his fingers swirled and circled and pressed and flicked at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but that emptiness lingered. It screamed at you, tore through your body and consumed you, begging to be filled, to be abused and used.

“More,” you begged, too far lost to the effects of the pollen to feel shame for the tremors in your voice or the neediness with which you rolled your hips to his fingers. “Please, Steve. I—I can’t. I need—”

“Okay, I’ve got you,” he said quickly, a softness in his tone as he helped ease you up onto the metal table. It was cold against your exposed skin, though it supplied no relief to the fever lighting like flames within your veins.

You called his name again, a desperate cry, and Steve gently ran his hands down your curves, slipping over your hips and thighs and gently returning to where you needed him. It was like he was trying to hold onto some kind of semblance of romance or affection amongst the intensity of the pollen igniting dangerous levels of dopamine and oxytocin in your brain; like maybe he could fool himself into believing it was real.

“It’s okay. I’m here, sweetheart. Just try to relax for me,” he whispered, sinking two fingers into you, and then a third. It was relief unlike anything else. The slight sting of the stretch, the rub of his knuckles by your entrance, the curving of his fingers deep inside your walls, pressing up against the spot that made your back arch up from the table.

“Fuck, Steve,” you gasped, eyes closed, overwhelmed in the sensations, in the pumping of his fingers and his thumb circling at your clit, the high that started to take over completely and render you in a mess on the table, open and exposed. “Yes! Ah—don't—don't stop!”

Even through your haze, you felt the slight touch of his lips on your forehead. Something so tender, so soft, in stark contrast to the heat of the pollen’s chemical amplifying your senses.

“That’s it,” Steve urged, his breath warm on your skin as your walls began to clench around him. Tighter. Tighter. He pumped his fingers faster, the sounds filling the room enough to draw heat to your face if it wasn’t for the heightened bliss produced by the pollen.

You rolled your hips against his hand, meeting him at his knuckles, begging for more.

More, more, more—

“Let go, doll,” Steve whispered against your ear, breath hot to your skin, “come for me.”

Closer and closer and rising to the very edge of the peak and— nothing.

You whined, a sob breaking through you as the crescendo faded out just before the highest note. Your body collapsed, sinking into hardened metal, exhausted, desperate, aching.

“What is it? What happened?” Steve questioned, panicked.

“It’s not enough,” you gasped. “I need you.”

Steve froze, slowly pulling his fingers from between your legs to find them dripping in your wetness. He closed his hand. “Y/n, I—”

“I need you to fuck me, Steve.”

He shook his head, backing up. “You don’t-- You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. Please, Steve,” you begged, your own fingers circling back at the head of your clit, swirling in the drench of your juices at your core and still, it wasn’t enough. It won’t ever be enough. You needed thick veins and a pulsing heartbeat, rushed thrusts, hands digging to your hips, and the labored pants of a man above you.

You needed him.

“You don’t want this,” Steve argued, determined, though you could see the pollen starting to take its effect. His pupils were blown wide, sweat dripping at the nape of his neck though he tried to brush it away. His legs were trembling.

“The pollen is only enhancing desires that already exist,” you urged, breathy and in gasps as your fingers worked tiredly at your clit and still—nothing. In your haze, you didn’t notice how Steve’s eyes widened at your confession. He stared at you for just a moment longer before he shook the thought from his mind, unwilling to let himself go there.

“Steve, I’m begging you. I gonna—I'm gonna die.”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let that happen.”

He could feel the pollen starting to take it’s hold in his own body and the longer he looked at you, exposed and ready for him, dripping, the sweet smell of your cunt filtering in the air, the closer he came to the losing edge of control.

The serum kept it at bay for a while, but he could feel his cock aching painfully hard under layers of Kevlar. The fabric rubbed against it, creating an almost burning sensation, and he understood why you were so desperate to rid yourself of your clothes.

Jesus – it was a miracle he kept it together as long as he did. He could still feel the squeeze of your pussy on his fingers; the heat, the wetness, the softest most vulnerable parts of you. His hand was sticky in your slick as he clenched his fist, nails digging painfully to his palms.

“Steve, it’s starting to affect you, too.”

He shook his head. “I can deal with it. I’ll handle it on my own.”

“You can’t, Steve. It won’t be enough.”

“It has to be!” he snapped, harsher than he meant to, but the pollen was pushing him towards an edge he wasn’t certain he’d ever come back from. “I can’t-- I won’t let that fucking chemical turn me into a monster!”

Steve groaned, raking his fingers through sweat damped hair and ridding himself of the shield and weapons strapped to his suit. He was panting long before he started shouldering the vault doors again, desperate to lodge his way through.

You closed your eyes, tears slipping past your temples as you laid on the metal table. Shaking, dripping at your core, aching. Your fingers doing nothing to relieve the painful, empty feeling left in Steve’s wake. Chills swept up your spine, like a fever, and you stared up at the ceiling, watching as the tiles swayed over one another, melting and twisting into a blur of grey cement as you listened to Steve’s labored breaths, the grunts in anguish, as he tried to break out of the vault.

But suddenly, it came to a stop.

A heavy exhale. A pained groan. And then—

“How certain are you?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, vision blurring, dizzy, but you could still see how desperately Steve was trying to hold himself back. His arousal was thick and prominent against his thigh, a wet spot growing at the head, as he rubbed himself through the outside of his pants.

“Y/n,” he asked again, tenser, strained. “How certain are you that it’s only enhancing existing desires?”

“Certain,” you choked out. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Steve. Since Coney Island.”

Steve gritted his teeth, and you could tell there was a part of him that lingered, wanting to know more, wanting to say something meaningful in return, but the pollen had taken a hold of him and he wasn’t the one in control anymore.

“I can’t hold back.”

You shook your head, heart racing in anticipation. “You don’t have to.”

“You don’t understand, Y/n,” Steve groaned, sliding his hand under his belt in search of some relief, unabashedly stroking himself in full view as his pants circled around his ankles. “I can feel this shit taking over and— I won’t be able to— I can’t hold myself back. Do you understand?”

He took a step closer to you, pulling his jacket off as well until he was naked before you. He paused at the edge of the table, hesitant for a moment, before slowly, he set his hands on the tops of your thighs. You moaned at the sensation, arching up for him, though he didn’t touch you where you needed him most. Instead, he let his hands travel along your legs, sliding all the way down to your ankles before he yanked hard enough to pull your body right to the edge.

You met him with a gasp, hands landing on his chest as you looked up to darkened eyes.

“It’ll be rough,” he gritted out.

You were panting, heart stammering. “I can take rough.”

“I might hurt you.”

“So hurt me, Captain,” you begged, voice low, hands snaking up around his neck.

“Say it again. Tell me you want this. I need to hear it,” he demanded, darker than you’d ever heard him, and still, there was a soft kind of pale blue in his eyes; a lingering piece of that tender, hesitant man you knew who kept his distance, who flirted and teased with shades of pink in his ears. He practically growled as his fingers dug deeper into your thighs.

“I want this,” you said firmly, your left hand raking through his hair, your right slipping down his stomach until you reached his cock. Circling your grip around his shaft, you slowly began to pump him and spread the precum down the throbbing vein underneath. His breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed as he sucked in a harsh breath.

“I want you, Steve,” you whispered against his neck, your lips pressing a kiss to his pulse point before you licked a stripe along his jawline, up to his mouth, where you paused. You caught his eyes for a moment, laced in lust and thick in desire, and you mewled against his lips, “fuck me, Steve. Use me. I’m yours.”

It was hard to tell what was the pollen and what was inherently you, but when it was Steve standing in front of you, his erection sliding at your folds, his eyes gazing hungrily into yours, you couldn’t find it in you to care where the words came from. They were real desires, a real longing, a real desperation you carried deep inside you, hidden under lock and key, and the vial shattered in the back of the room only released them from their cage.

Suddenly, Steve yanked you from the table, spun you around, and held you firmly against him, his breath like fire against your neck. Your back was only kept pressed up against his chest for a moment before he pushed you flush onto the table. The cold of the metal ice against your skin, your cheek pressed onto the surface as he kept you still with a hand on the mid of your back. Your toes barely touched the ground, but Steve had a good hold on your hips with his free hand.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his hand on your back nestling along your spine, pressing like the keys of a piano. You shuddered under him, trying to squeeze your thighs together but he kept them propped open. “Be a good girl for me, won’t you, baby? Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” Your hands gripped onto the edges of the table, your toes lifting off the ground.

“Gonna let me take what I want from you? Gonna let me use your body how I want? Fuck your tight little cunt? My sweet girl...”

“Yes,” you whimpered, shaking, as the painful aching between your legs grew stronger. “All for you. Just you. Steve... please...”

Steve’s hand gripped to your hips, painful enough to leave bruises but your whole body was stripped to the bare edges, sensitive unlike you’d ever been in your life, and the divots he dug were sweet relief. You ached for more. Whatever he would give you.

You felt the tip of Steve’s cock edging at your entrance and you let out a desperate whine. You tried arched up for him as much as the position would allow, even with Steve’s hand keeping your upper body flattened on the table as he came up to you from behind.

He slid into you with ease, bottoming out in one harsh thrust that nearly jolted the entire table. You gasped, holding onto the surface, reveling in the ache of the stretch, how thick he was pressing you open, stretching you.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Steve grunted, adjusting his grip on your hip. He pulled out, just to the tip, slowly, agonizingly, before he slid back in with a shuddered breath. “So fuckin’ good, baby. Your cunt’s fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Shit.”

You’d never heard Steve curse like that. It was foreign in his voice, but God, it was like pure sin. Pieces of him he kept hidden, desires he wouldn’t dare allow to the surface broken free by the pollen littering the air and seeping deep into his veins. A man without boundaries or confinements. A man unleashed.

“Fuck, yes, Steve,” you moaned, gripping so tightly at the edges of the table, you wondered if you might be strong enough to crack it. “God, Steve, don’t stop! Just like that—Just like—ah, fuck—”

He was relentless. Rushed. Desperate. Quick and harsh thrusts of his hips snapping against your ass, his cock throbbing and dragging against clenched walls, spurring on that twist deep in your stomach, bringing you closer and closer to release, to relief.

The noises he made only urged you on, filling the room with cries and screams, his name and yours, uncontained, unfiltered. Through the gasps in his breath, through your name exhaled low in his voice, he muttered praises and curses, his grip tightening, your skin burning against the metal surface with every drag of your body. It was a rush, a high, every thrust, every bruise he pressed into your skin, every inch closer to the peak that left you screaming his name over and over again until finally—

The ground fell out from under you, mountains crashing down, and you cried out through the free fall; impossibly sensitive, withering and desperate to hold on as he chased his own release, prolonging the longest, most intense orgasm you’d ever had, one that left you in near tears, until he came into you, releasing against your walls.

There was a moment of relief, of a comforting stillness. The labored pants of your breaths filling the room and the sticky sweet smell of sex overpowering the long faded scent of the pollen. The dizziness cleared from your mind, the high of the orgasm pulling you fully back to your senses, and you were shocked to find how cold the room had become.

And then the silence started to carry an unease within it.

Steve’s hand released its grip on your hips, on your back, unpeeling away from skin he’d colored under his touch and you tried not to wince at the sting of it because you knew he was watching you. Then, he pulled his softened cock from inside you, slipping out slowly and leaving behind a kind of emptiness that pierced straight through to your chest.

With the desperation gone, the heat of the pollen absent from your veins and a chill in your spine, you turned to find Steve, hoping for something as tender and sweet as the man you knew to offset the bruising on your body and the new kind of ache between your legs; pains you eagerly agreed to and even in your clearest thoughts knew with certainty you had wanted. Still, there was a need for more, something of the man you know Steve to be.

“Steve?”

He was scrambling to put his suit back on. Hands fumbling with his pants until he covered himself, then, quickly began to search around the room. Shaking hands yanked open drawers, throwing around papers and supplies until they covered the floor.

“Steve, hold on a moment...”

“I don’t-- I don’t have anything for you to--” he exhaled harshly, rubbing at his eyes and you realized what he meant. The sticky residue between your legs, his release and yours. He swallowed thickly, and it didn’t slip your notice that he couldn’t meet your eye. “Just-- just give me a second. I’ll-- uh—I'll find something.”

“Stevie, it’s okay,” you tried to tell him, but he couldn’t hear you.

You bent down and grabbed your suit from the floor, stepping into it as his cum had dried along your thighs. You could wash it away later. There was no concern for pregnancy. SHIELD provided all agents with standard birth control. Steve should know that and he should know that Sam would still be waiting on them in the jet, concerned that the coms hadn’t been working for the time you and Steve were trapped down there.

You crossed the room, coming up behind Steve and placing a hand on his bare shoulder. He flinched the moment your fingertips grazed his flushed skin and you pulled away, curling your hand to your chest. He turned to face you, but his eyes were focused on the floor by your feet. Even clothed, standing in front of him as the woman who had loved and adored him for years under the guise of friendship, he couldn’t bear to meet your eye.

A crack nestled in your chest, straight through your heart. God, you just wanted to hold him.

“Steve...”

The vault doors sprang open with a thunderous echo, a clear mist expelling from the ceiling.

A sudden darkness came over Steve’s features, the soft outline of his face turning hard as a growl brewed in his chest. He grabbed the gun from his waistband and bounded toward the exit. Without a moment of hesitation, he fired a single shot at the Hydra agent who had broken the vial of pollen in favor of killing either of you; still laying on the floor, barely even enough time to react to defend himself.

You gasped as a bullet lodged through the man’s head and he slumped over. Deep red pooling around him.

Steve stomped back into the vault, slipped the top of suit back over his head, ran his fingers through his hair to tame the mess. With his back turned to you, he paused.

“You have the vial we came for?” His voice was cold, detached, incredibly unlike the man you knew.

“Y-yes,” you replied, feeling for the small test tube securely placed in the container at your hip. You zipped up your suit to cover the exposed hills of your breasts; even with Steve’s back to you, it left you feeling exposed.

His back straightened, a short nod to himself, and he stepped over the body of the Hydra agent. Boots imprinting into the mess of blood, leaving a trail in their wake as he quickly made his way back to the jet.

You waited until the echoes of his steps disappeared down the hallway and you were left with a deeply unsettling silence. There, you allowed yourself to cry.

part two

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers one shot

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1engele · 4 years ago

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daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 8. solo

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[warnings: underage drinking, smoking, weed, near death experience?, crying]

"never have i dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul." — You leave the roof late in the night. Sal had gotten up and retreated into his apartment a little while earlier—but you'd decided to stay and make sure he didn't come back there.

Three days pass. They all consist of fleeting glances and irresolute tension. Things remain the same with the group dynamic, except for between you and Sal. Neither of you seem to know how to continue from that conversation on the roof. No one else notices, though. They'd never suspected anything from the beginning, it seems.

The beginning of your involvement with Sal involved a little bit of buildup and then a snap which resulted in a sexual encounter (or two).

Now it was a bit different. Now things were a little less lighthearted.

It's a Saturday—you'd planned to spend it inside as usual. That's until your phone starts ringing.

You flip your phone open, read over the contact, and answer the call.

"Hi, Ash."

"Y/N," she starts. You hear the excitement to continue in her voice. "There's a party tonight."

"Oh?" You get up from your seat on your bed.

"Some stoner Larry has connections with invited him and said to bring friends. He wants to bring us—save for Todd. He doesn't do parties."

"Wait," your eyebrows furrow. "Me?"

"Yeah!" She says from the other end of the line. "It'll be fun. Cmon."

You bite your lip nervously, anxiety knotting in your stomach. "I don't know. I've never really.."

Ashley is momentarily silent on the other line. She must be contemplating what to say to convince you. "Sal's coming too. Parties aren't necessarily his thing, either—so maybe you guys could try it out together?"

You open your mouth and then promptly close it. Something inside of you suddenly really wanted to go to this party. "Um... alright. Okay."

"Cool! What're you gonna wear?"

You look toward the drawer that contained your clothes and bit your lip. "Not sure yet. I'll update you on that."

"Okay, don't forget to text me! See you at eight."

The call declined from the other line. The phone that held the phone to your ear slipped into your lap. You pressed your lips together and tried to ignore the familiar feeling of sickening nausea and anxiety.

You don't rush yourself on getting ready for the party, because the time you're due to be done won't be for a while.

You take your time with the hours you have. You shower, take your time on eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss—and finally decide on what you'll wear.

You decide on a square neck white cropped tank with short sleeves and your nicest pair of light blue, slightly washed out jeans. You slid on your favorite, sort of chunky white sneakers over white socks.

It isn't long after you finish when Ashley calls and informs you she's arrived at the apartments and Larry and Sal have already joined her out in the car. You give yourself a once-over in the mirror and then leave the apartment.

Your mother was nowhere to be found. She's either at work or drinking with her coworkers.

Once you've opened the door and climbed into the Ford Fiesta, you immediately realize your predicament—Sal is the only person in the backseat with you.

The drive there is decently long and painfully tense. Neither you nor Sal know how to speak to each other, so no words are exchanged beneath the heavy metal music emitting from the radio.

When you finally arrive at the party, it's recognizably crowded, drunken teenagers are flowing from the front door, in and out, and there's a good amount on the lawn. The newest radio hit is playing on a considerably loud speaker, and the vibrations are notable even from a distance.

"Woah," Larry says, staring at the house as Ashley pulls onto the side of the road. "Didn't realize he was so popular."

You all exit the Ford Fiesta and cross the road. You cringe as you watch someone vomit onto the grass, and another person ripping from a bong in the wide open.

Smoke flies into your face and your eyes as you enter the home. You cough, waving a hand as you blindly follow after your friends.

Eventually, the four of you find yourself on two couches directly facing each other. You on one, Larry and Ashley on the other. Sal is stood to the side.

Larry materializes a bottle of Fireball that you guessed he stole from someone on the way in, opens the cap with his teeth, and takes several gulps.

"Where did you get that?" Ashley laughs over the music, pulling the sleeves of her lavender sweater over her hands.

"Stole it," he looks to Sal and directs the bottle toward him. "Want some?"

"Sure," Sal replies, to your surprise—taking it from Larry's grasp and walking away and in your direction.

"You're drinking that?" You ask him, testing the waters.

"No, actually," you watch Sal round to the other side of the couch to linger behind you. "I'm limiting him. He'll thank me later."

Once he's out of your field of vision, you tip your head back and gaze up at him—your perspective on him being upside down. Your gaze zeroes in on the bottle of Fireball he's clutching in his hand.

"Hey," you say, meeting his eyes. "Give me some."

It was time to give him that excuse—the excuse to break the ice.

He leans in a bit, gesturing toward you with the bottle. "You want it?"

A grin pulls at your glossed lips. Instead of reaching for the bottle, you open your mouth and tilt your chin up.

Sal looks on for a moment but laughs once he realizes what you want. Everyone else at the couches seem decently distracted with each other and the overall environment—so he doesn't seem to worry about it too much.

He reaches his hand around and towards your neck, gripping your jaw in his fingers and holding you firmly. You feel his cold rings press into your skin when he tips your head further back just a bit—and then steadily pours a shot-amount of Fireball into your mouth with his other hand.

Sal stops at the right time, looks on as you pull back and sit up, and cautiously watches the back of your head as you assumedly swallow the whisky. But when you turn a bit in your seat to peer at him over your shoulder, you're holding your mouth closed and pressing a closed fist to your lips while soundlessly giggling.

"What?" He laughs, a hand moving to the top of the couch. He leans in a bit. "Can you not swallow it?"

Your shoulders shake slightly as you continue to laugh. You shake your head up and down.

"Do you need to spit it out?" Sal asks, his tone warming into concern.

You shake your head from side to side. You meet his eyes and swallow, gasping as the liquid slides down your throat and burns all the way down. You cough, the flavor of cinnamon and what tasted like Big Red gum overloaded your senses.

"God," you breathe out, giggling all the while. The alcohol is gross but you're feeling good. "It's not great."

"Yeah, that's why I'm holding Larry off, so he won't be puking his guts out later."

You look up to the boy, who's sat on the arm of the couch opposite to you. He's busy talking to some equally stoned guy, so you can't manage to catch his eye—but you catch Ashley's.

She had this look of astonishment on her face.

Had she been watching what happened? When Sal poured Fireball in your mouth?

Your face grew hot thinking about it.

Sal wanders away from you again, and you find yourself drinking more than you should. Eventually, your rationality disappears.

It's been a few hours and Sal hasn't seen you for a while. So when he hears about a girl wearing a white crop top walking across the roof of the house, he feels like he's going to vomit.

It takes him a record time of 6 seconds to get out of the door and onto the lawn. Upon looking up at the roof, his suspicions are confirmed. He shoulders past multiple people to place himself near the front of the crowd and gazes up in horror.

"Sal!" You yell, gesturing toward him with something between a wave and a point. "I'd recognize that hair anywhere!"

Multiple heads within the crowd turn away from you and towards him. He puts aside his social anxiety and the wave of unease that washes over his body and tries to focus on you. "Please come down," he rushes out, raising his voice just enough for it to be audible over the crowd.

You laugh like he's told a hilarious joke and he quickly realizes his mistake. That's the worst thing he could've told your intoxicated self. You move toward the edge of the roof, shaky and uncoordinated. "You want me to jump?"

"No!" He exclaims, his hands flying up, fingers splayed. "No. Don't do that!"

"Holy shit!" He hears Larry shout from somewhere closer to the front door of the house. Sal guesses he's just now catching wind of the current situation. Moments after, both of his brunette friends are at his side.

"What the hell is going on?!" Ashley yells, verdant eyes glued to the sight before them.

You lost your balance once again, but this time a bit worse—your foot catching on a shingle on the roof and effectively knocking the red solo cup out of your hand. It dropped onto the downward slope of the roof and the liquor inside of it spilled down the side.

Whenever Sal witnessed the toe of your white sneaker catch onto that shingle, he felt as though his very soul had been ripped from his body. Immediately after he watched you regain your footing and stable yourself, though—his heartbeat calmed to a steadier pace.

"I'm going up there," he stated beneath the chatter.

Both Ashley and Larry's heads whipped toward him.

"You'll kill yourself!" Larry exclaims incredulously. Ashley opens her mouth to assumedly second Larry's statement, but Sal cuts her off by walking away.

"Not before she does," he mutters, pushing his way through the density of bodies and forcing his way through the front door. His senses are disoriented like he's been submerged beneath water as the volume of the music scratched at his eardrums and pulsed the innards of his skull. Adrenaline courses through his blood like a drug whilst he shoulders past both mindlessly drunk and carelessly high teenagers.

Sal doesn't spare them a second glance, but their unconcern does remain in his mind. The fact that they're continuing their lives while he feels as though something that's growing into something of importance in his is about to be taken from him... it's mind-numbing.

He's never been an optimistic person, he's always tried to view things in the way they're most likely to happen—and all that's beneath that two-story house is a long drop and concrete. If you fall, you'll break your head open and you'll die.

He finally makes it to the stairs. He makes a break for it then, tripping over his own feet multiple times. Anything could happen in this amount of time, and he knew no one else was going to help him.

Sal's thoughts grow more and more disordered as he navigates the dark halls of the house. The music seems to have only grown louder, the deafening mixture of guitar and drums taunting him.

He remembers the window on the outside of the house. Sal estimates which room it would be, locates it, and approaches the door. He turns the knob, but it doesn't fully rotate.

The door is locked from the inside. Of course. Who would have a party and leave the bedroom unlocked so people could fuck all over your comforter?

He bites out a curse only he hears and prepares himself to force the door open.

Sal grabs the doorknob tightly, prepares himself, and rams the side of his body into the wood. He doesn't even feel the pain, just does it again, and again.

He goes until that half of his body is numb.

The door finally budges, and he wastes no time entering the room. He doesn't hesitate when he reaches the double-hung window he'd been seeking. He grips it at the bottom and pulls it up and open, clenching his teeth together painfully.

Sal stares out at the vastness of the night, the golden streetlights, and how they shine down on the crowd of people below him. They all seem to be looking at the same place, up, but not at him—and he can only swallow thickly.

Carefully, Sal moves to sit on the windowsill, gripping what was above him tightly, his legs outside. He then ducks to leave the room and shivers as cool air hits the front of his neck.

He starts walking the roof, steadily—like his life depends on it. Because.. it does.

Or yours. Yours depends on it.

"Y/N!" Sal calls as he finally reaches a point where you're in his line of sight. Momentarily, he's worried he'd scared you. But you turn your head, meet his eyes, and smile. Despite that, your face spells fear all over it. Something must have sobered you up a bit while he'd been inside.

"I'm going to come to you. Do not walk towards me!"

You blink lazily, because you were drunk, and nodded. You shivered, hugging yourself. It didn't seem to do much, though. Your arms were bare.

"Fuck," he breathes, gazing down at the fall that could await him if he misstepped and immediately reverted his gaze. Blood rushes between his ears as he steadily makes his way towards you.

"Please don't fall!" You suddenly exclaim, your hair tussling in the breeze. A strand blows over your face, so you quickly raise a hand to move it back in place.

He looks up from his feet and stares you in the eyes. "I won't," he affirms, you and himself, continuing across the roof. "Just stay put, okay?"

It doesn't take long to get over to you. He's mostly sober, so it isn't hard on that part. What's difficult is calming his steady heart.

He's not scared of falling. Not necessarily scared of injury or death. But he is scared of not making it to you.

Once he's at an arms reach of your shaking form, he reaches out a hand, palm facing the darkness of the sky.

You seem to read his mind, slowly grabbing his hand. Sal maneuvers your joint hands to where your palms press together and your fingers are interlaced. He doesn't know if it's the blood rushing through his ears or the distance from the ground, but it's as if everything below becomes very quiet.

You meet his gaze, your pretty eyes glossy with tears. The eyeliner you were wearing had just begun to collect beneath your lower lash line.

He squeezes your hand and leads you to be in front of him.

It's not long after that that he's gotten you off of the roof. Sal watches you slip through the open window before turning toward the density of people beneath him on the ground. He breathes in as he catches both Larry and Ashley's eyes—he can't read their expressions, but he wouldn't be surprised if there was shock written all over it—and then ducks back into the window.

As soon as the window is shut and it meets the windowsill once more, Sal whips his head toward you. "Y/N-"

Before he'd saw your face, and the language of your body as you were sat on the edge of the bed, he was going to scold you, and then go downstairs and find you some water and sober you up—all of that falls down the drain when he sees the stream of tears falling down your face. Every time you blink, more drop—quickly staining your cheeks with black makeup.

"Oh," he breathes, suddenly speechless. "Y/N-"

You attempt at taking a breath in, it seems—but it's a failure because it hitches and turns into a shoulder-shaking sob.

"I'm sorry," you cry, roughly dragging the tips of your fingers beneath your eyes. This only smears the running mascara further. "I'm just drunk."

Sal momentarily feels like breaking down in tears himself, that's how much this entire ordeal stressed him out. He approaches your trembling body and crouches down in front of you.

"Hey," he says, softly. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're intoxicated. Your feelings still matter, okay?"

You sniffle, still attempting to wipe your tears away, and reluctantly nod. "I'm sorry," you try again.

He places his hands on your knees and squeezes them firmly. "It's okay."

You jerk into a sob, leaning forward and pressing the side of your face on his shoulder. You slowly tuck your arms beneath his and cross them over the expanse of his back, palms flat on each shoulder blade. The convulsive gasps were hard to stop, making it hard to breathe.

Sal breathed out softly against the prosthetic, raising his arms and encasing them around your torso.

He didn't wonder about the reason for your tears. Assuming things wouldn't help you anymore.

"I don't know why I did that," you whisper, quieting yourself to swallow your saliva. "Maybe I do. I think I was trying to prove something to myself."

He finds himself holding you tighter, your chest pressed to his, feeling your heartbeat through the fabric that separated you both—oddly enough, even at this moment, it reminds him of that night in the car. You had been even closer to him then, though.

"It was stupid," you murmured. "Why would I do that, after what we had talked about last night?"

"What if we jumped together?" he remembers saying.

"Some things can't be explained," he replies earnestly. "You don't need to know why you did what you did. It was stupid, though. I'd probably walk across the roof of a two-story house for you again, but.."

You pull back and meet his eyes, your face wet. The majority of your makeup had been cried off and your lipgloss had been smudged.

You must've sensed his examination, breaking the visual contact and sniffling. "I know I look ridiculous right now."

Sal smiles. He knows she can't see it, but maybe she'll hear it. "I don't think so," he murmurs, looking off to the side. "I think that's a bathroom. You can clean up in there if you want."

You follow his gaze and then return your eyes to his and laugh a bit. You still sound drunk, he notes. Obviously. He'd poured a good amount of Fireball into your mouth and watched you drink plenty of other things.

"Feels kinda weird using a stranger's bathroom," you laugh, your breath hitching from the earlier crying.

Sal rolls his eyes humorously, gripping your knees tighter as he pulls himself off of the floor. "The guy who lives here is Larry's friend—and a stoner. I doubt he'd mind. And if he does get mad, I'll take responsibility for it. I forced that door through, anyway.."

Your gaze swivels toward the door, which is not shut but mostly closed. When he glances to where you're looking, he notices it seems a bit.. crooked.

He inwardly cringes. "I'll pay for it. Come on."

Sal follows you into the bathroom. You seem reluctant to enter first, so he does, opening the door and reaching to the side to turn the lights on. They do what they're supposed to—eventually. They're momentarily unresponsive before becoming alive—the illumination brightening the room with a dull yellow hue.

You step onto the tile and began to search for whatever it was you needed. You kneeled at one of the cabinets below the sink, opened it, and ducked your head lower.

"Oh!" You exclaim quietly, reaching in and pulling out two things. A bottle of half-empty makeup remover and a bag of some cotton rounds.

"Maybe he has a girlfriend?" He hears you say to yourself, standing up, nudging the cabinet closed with your foot, and placing the things you found beside the sink.

Sal reaches over and closes the door. He'd rather not have to witness the sight of some drunkards wandering in and fooling around on the bed.

"Lock it," you say. "I'd rather no one- no one see me like this."

His hand was already on the doorknob, so he just reaches down a bit and locks the door.

He watches you struggle a bit with the bag of cotton rounds, trying but failing to open it, so he reaches forward and delicately plucks it out of your grasp.

Sal slides the makeup remover over and pats the place on the counter it was previously. "Sit."

You peer into his eyes inquisitively but waste no time hoisting yourself up and onto the cold surface.

After that, he plucks the bottle of makeup remover off of the counter and douses the cotton round in the liquid. He reaches forward from the distance that your knees created between the both of you, but you spread your thighs and press the heel of your shoe into his lower back, pulling him in so he's between your legs.

Sal doesn't see it suggestively, because you're drunk—but he's glad you asked him to lock the door because, with his luck, Larry or Ashley would find their way into the bathroom and get all of the wrong ideas.

The firmness just beneath his navel presses into the edge of the counter as he cups one side of your face and began wiping away at the eyeliner and mascara and everything it messed up.

"Thank you," you say sweetly, blinking at him with appreciation in your eyes. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

He remembers a silhouette. Her back was turned to him, golden hair cascading just past her shoulder blades. He remembers blue eyes that looked a lot like his own staring into a mirror, a hand which adorned a wedding ring wiping away makeup from the day.

"Read it on the label of the bottle," he replies, meeting your eyes and looking away.

As he's finishing up, he hears a rapping of knuckles against the locked door. He tosses the used cotton rounds into a trash bin in the corner and then locks eyes with you curiously.

"Occupied," he calls out, still looking at you. The knocking only gets louder, which makes you laugh.

"He said it's occupied!" You yell over the unintelligible music downstairs, your words breaking into a giggle. You press your knees against his waist, and he doesn't even realize it when his hands meet your thighs.

The knocking ceases, fading into a voice. "Is that you guys in there?"

Fucking Larry. Speak of the goddamn devil—that's what he would've said if he'd come knocking sooner.

The both of you seem to be thinking the same thing, locking eyes in terror. You quickly get off of the counter, and Sal unlocks the door and swings it open.

Sure enough, he's standing there—in all of his glory and highness. Larry blinks, the whites of his glossy eyes tinted red. He looks between the both of you before speaking. "Why were.."

"I had to pee," You choose to deadpan.

Sal feels himself grow even paler than he already is. "I came in.. after.. that."

Larry intakes a mouthful of whatever is in the red solo cup he's holding in his tan, lanky fingers, and swallows thickly. "Okay," he croaks, instinctively cringing as the alcohol passed through his chest. He gestured the cup toward you. "Uh..crazy stunt you pulled up there, huh?"

Sal saw your face shift in his peripheral vision. "Huge lapse of judgment," you reply.

"Nobody could tell who you were, so don't worry about that," the brunette smiles a bit. He returns his attention to Sal. "They've started playing country," sure enough, Sal hears the sound of a banjo from the speakers downstairs, effectively punctuating Larry's statement.

"Yeah.." Larry mumbles, sipping his drink and looking up and through his eyebrows. "Ash said to come find you guys so we can leave."

It doesn't take much, after that.

As you're leaving, Larry pulls the door open and furrows his brow at the condition of the hinges. "Wow. How old is this thing?" He mumbles.

Sal hears you snort.

The three of you descend the stairs, skirting past countless teenagers standing on the steps drinking or smoking. Sal makes the mistake of letting you fall behind and feels you stumble and smack him in the back. It's easy to steady himself, quickly gripping the railing—but he's concerned about you, so he turns around.

A guy with a cigarette balancing in his teeth is eying you with frustration pulling at his features. His gaze pulls from your face and down your body absentmindedly.

"Watch it," he murmurs.

"Sorry," you breathe, jerking your head away and meeting Sal's eyes worriedly. Keep walking, you express in the hues of your eyes.

Sal reaches forward and interlaces your fingers with his as he'd done on the roof. He makes a show of it, too—so the guy with the cigarette sees the rings on both of his hands. Sal gives him a distinct look when they lock eyes, rolls his jaw, and lets you lead him down the stairs, instead of the other way around.

By the time you're all nearly shot from weaving through the multitude of sweaty bodies and navigating through plumes of smoke thicker than fog, the three of you find Ashley petting what he'd assume is the host's dog.

No one questions it.

"You good to drive?" Larry asks, placing his cup on a nearby surface.

"Oh, yeah," she rises from her crouch beside the dog. The animal walks away, his golden tail wagging excitedly at the next person who would give him pets. "A gross sip of something put me off of drinking tonight a while earlier. And, uh.. the whole roof thing dried me out."

You sigh. "I'm sorry about that. It sobered me up, too."

She shakes her head, a wispy strand of light brown hair falling over her face. "It was stupid, yes, and I hope you don't do it again, but all that matters now is that you're safe."

Ashley blinks kind green eyes at you and smiles, reaching forward, taking your hand, and leading you away. Sal hears you laugh and follow after her as both of you head for the front door.

He turns to look at Larry once he loses sight of both of you in the crowd. He examines Sal with bleary dark eyes and looks as though he's about to say something, but he doesn't get to.

Even over the blaring country music, Sal hears a yell and then some fearful shouting. He whips around toward the sounds, which were toward the front of the house.

Red and blue flashing lights shine through the windows.

"Shit!"

"Ah, fuck," Larry groaned, nimbly wrapping his fingers around Sal's wrist and dragging him into the density of the panicked crowd. "Did you see where they went?"

Sal shakes his head. "No," he knows you're intoxicated. Panic settles in. He chews his lip, his eyes desperately scamming for a girl wearing a white top squared at the neck—you. "Y/N's had a lot to drink, Larry. If the police-"

"Don't worry about the Five-O, let's worry about the girls," Larry replies absentmindedly, keeping his firm hold on Sal.

"They must've gone to the Ford," Sal shouts over the music, which, for some reason, is still playing. "We were leaving anyway. I'm sure they're in the car."

Larry releases Sal and motions toward the back of the house. "There's a back door. I'll text Ashley and tell her to drive down the block and we can meet them on foot."

It was an agreeable plan. Waltzing out of the house and walking straight up to the car wouldn't be wise.

Larry does what he'd said he'd do. Turns out, Sal was right, they had made it to the car moments before the police had rolled up. Ashley informed him it was two squad cars and four officers. Seemed like overkill for a house party—but he wouldn't know. He didn't do this often.

When Larry was on the phone, Sal was very tempted to ask about Y/N, but refrained.

On the way to the back door, they crossed through the kitchen. Larry snatched an unopened bottle of alcohol of a brand Sal didn't recognize and carried it along with him for the road.

As soon as they made it out of the house, they both made a break for it, running between houses and into multiple different backyards on their way.

They slowed down once they were at a measurable distance from the party, gasping for air. Sal panted against the prosthetic, placing his hands on his knees and slowing his gasps into slow breaths, attempting to calm his racing heart.

They stood on the side of the road, the music in the distance (albeit a lot quieter) still pounding into the night.

Sal lowered himself down onto the curb. Larry joined him, raising the bottle he'd chose to bring with him to his mouth, and opened the steel cap with his teeth. He spits it onto the road and gestures it toward Sal.

"Bottoms up," he said, bringing it to his lips and taking several gulps.

Sal rolled his eyes playfully, eyebrows rising as Ashley's Ford Fiesta cruised down the road and slowed to a stop in front of them. He stood up from the curb and pulled Larry off of it as well.

They entered the car, sliding into the backseat. Larry continued to down the beer he'd found as Ashley turned around in her seat.

"The night's still young," she says. "Any ideas of what we could do?"

It's really not. Sal's a bit disoriented so he doesn't know what time it is but he wouldn't be surprised if it was 3 AM.

You then turn around in the passenger seat and grin mischievously. "Let's go to the lake."

Oh, great.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

174 notes · View notes

shelikestv · 4 years ago

Note

cookies :)

Dean drained the sink, watching the swirl as it disappeared. Cinnamon air wafted through the kitchen.

"I tested it. No salmonella," Cas said, reaching around Dean's waist and producing a large spoonful of cookie dough.

Dean scowled at it.

"You bribing me with dough so I'll leave some cookies for Sam?" Dean said.

Cas ran his nose along the crest of Dean's ear, breathing on his neck, contentedly. "Yeah. Mmmm. You smell like cookies."

Dean laughed. He melted into Cas. "Turns out I kind of like making cookies with you. Who knew?"

Dean licked the spoon clean, then dropped it in the sink, the clank echoing. Cas slotted his hands on Dean's stomach from behind, giving the dip in his shoulder a kiss.

"I guess I'm just trying to make the most of this. I've never really celebrated the holidays before," said Cas.

Dean turned around to make eye contact. The bunker's lights crested Cas's hair in an orange halo.

"You aren't the only one," Dean breathed. He looked into Cas's eyes, knees weak. He'd wanted to wait, he really had. He'd planned to wait until Christmas morning to give Cas the real holiday experience. But Cas was covered in flour, wearing Dean's clothes, looking so fucking domestic it made Dean's chest hurt. He really didn't have any self control when it came to Cas.

"Stay right there," Dean said, pulling Cas in with a hand around the small of his back. He kissed Cas with a peck before walking, no jogging, down the long hallways to his room.

He pulled a crudely wrapped present from his drawer no bigger than his palm and beelined it back to Cas who stood obediently with furrowed brows, squinted eyes and hands stuffed into his-no Dean's jeans.

"I got you something," Dean said, running his hands though his hair, heart beating fast.

Cas stared at it as he took it, eyes glossy, biting his lower lip.

"No one's ever..." he started, and swallowed.

God, the way Cas's voice hitched brought up something protective in Dean. He'd give Cas the world if he could.

Slowly, Cas started to tear at the paper. Dean watched for a moment before groaning and helping Cas to speed up the overly slow and dramatic unwrapping. Where Cas had tried to keep the paper in tact, only opening at the taped edges, Dean ripped a line straight through the middle with a finger. Cas rolled his eyes.

Then, the box fell out. Small, wood carved, and handmade.

Cas ran a finger across the intricate flowers carved on the top.

"This woodwork is beautiful," he said. "Did you make this yourself?"

Dean tapped his toe, anxiously. "Yeah, yeah, I'm Michaelangelo. Shake it."

Cas did, and he furrowed his eyebrows as the object inside rattled around.

Dean bit back a smile. "Open it up."

Opening the latch, Cas's mouth fell open.

"Dean..." the words caught in his throat. He picked up the silver metal freckled with imperfections, the mouth of the ring not quite circular, but almost. Clearly Dean had made this one, too. A tear streaked down Cas's face.

"I'm not one for traditions, or holidays or kneeling for that matter, but I want this. Us, well, I basically want it forever."

He inched in closer, Cas overwhelmed, but he was already slipping the ring over his finger.

"What do you say, Cas? Wanna do this with me forever?"

Cas pulled Dean in suddenly and forcefully, letting his hand grip a handful of golden hair. He kissed him deeply licking cinnamon from his tongue. When they pulled apart, they both breathed heavy smiling, foreheads touching.

"Do I wanna make cookies with you forever?" Cas asked, smiling the whole sentence through.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I guess you could put it that way..."

Cas laced their hands together and damn Dean loved the sight of that metal band ringing his fiance's finger way more than he'd anticipated.

"Yes. Of course, yes," said Cas kissing him again, the smell of Christmas, cookies and home filling up the room.

Dean smiled, tracing the silver stripe with the pad of his finger.

He was suddenly very glad he didn't wait until Christmas morning for this.

#prompt #ask #destiel #my drabble #one word prompt #thank youuuuu!!!#💕😘😘😘#destiel drabble #christmas prompt

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stealforreal · 3 years ago

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Midoriya Izuku - Future kids I

Midoriya Izuku's day just got turned upside down. MIdoriya is slightly ooc, and I'm dissapointed with the quality of this work. I lost inspiration sorry, but here you go anyways.

Midoriya Izuku x f!reader

Warnings: none, maybe slight cussing

It had been a normal day, so far. Class 1-b and 1-a had a joint training session, and everyone was giving it their all. Iida was using his recipico burst against their team's opponents, giving Midoriya time to think up a new plan now that they had been discovered. They had previously planned to use Aoyama's navel laser to lure their opponents to a specific spot, before using Iida to get him away so Midoriya and Todoroki could apprehend them. The plan had unfortunately backfired, since they had captured Aoyama before Iida could get to him. The solid air user from 1-b had gotten him in his hold, and only after Todoroki had gotten him back did they realise how much the rest of the plan would fail. So now Midoriya was tasked with coming up with a new plan.

Todoroki was occupied with holding the others at bay, and Iida was running out of fuel so they wouldn’t be much help. Aoyama was on the brink of his usual stomach ache that followed with overuse, so he was also pretty useless. Even if he wanted too Midoriya knew he was out matched, a 4 v 1 would not end well for him, besides he had to look out for Monoma and his copy quirk. He was so in his head planning that he didn’t see the Copycat sneaking up on him, not before it was too late. He should have felt an impact, Monoma had pointed one of Bakugou’s explosions towards him. But the impact never came, instead he felt himself float in the air hovering over the remaining smoke from the explosion. “Don’t you dare hurt my daddy” A loud girly voice proclaimed, effectively gaining everybody nearby attention.

Turning his attention towards the girly voice, he felt himself freeze up. In the middle of their training field stood a girl around the age of 10, if he had to take a guess. But that wasn’t what caused him to freeze up, no not the fact that this young girl had somehow managed to bypass UA’s security. Which should have been impossible, considering all the improvements that had been made to it after all the villain attacks that had happened. No, what caused him to freeze up was the fact that before him stood this girl, who looked like a carbon copy of him. It seemed that way from this distance. “Who is responsible for holding Midoriya in the air?” Aizawa’s gruff voice rang out. “Oh right, I forgot about that,” The curly green haired girl exclaimed, catching the attention of the slowly increasing crowd. Slowly Midoriya could feel himself being lowered to the ground again, once his feet hit the cement the quirk that had previously held him in the air deactivated making him feel 10 times heavier.

“Who the fuck disturbed the exercise, I’m gonna kill who ever did it” a familiar angry voice yelled out, making Bakugou’s presence noticeable. Everybody was a little on edge, they had enough experience with villains to not foolishly blindly trust anybody. It didn’t matter that it was a 10 year-old girl, or that she looked like a carbon copy of the resident green haired cinnamon roll. “Man, Uncle Katsu you really were loud back in the day” This statement from the green haired girl left everyone speechless. ‘Does she have a death wish’ was the thought on most of 1-A’s minds, nobody was so casual with Bakugou because it was a serious health hazard.

Well everyone except maybe his two best friends, Kirishima and y/n. It was common knowledge in class A that Bakugou had a soft spot for his two best friends, they had honestly been shocked the first time they met her. She had walked into the classroom, blank faced, walked over to Bakugou’s table, smacked him upside the head with a book before leaving it on his desk, and walked out the door with only a quick “don’t forget it next time, Idiot”. Miraculously she had lived, and Bakugou hadn’t even begun yelling. An impressive feat in itself. Not long after Midoriya had begun noticing you around school, and found out you were a part of the support course. He came to know you a bit, his observation skills made that almost too easy. Slowly but surely he began falling in love with you, the way your hair frames your face, your sharp tongue that never held back. How you would stand up for anybody, it didn’t matter if you knew them well or not if they were in trouble you would help them.

“Hah, what was that you brat?” Bakugou’s loud yelling and heavy footsteps approaching snapped him out of his thoughts, and back to the situation at hand. “ W-wait a minute Kacchan, I’m s-sure that there is a logical explanation” He found himself saying before he could even register what happened. Midoriya was hit with an immense feeling of protectiveness, similar to when they had rescued Eri, but stronger. Without knowing he had subconsciously stepped in front of the girl, pushing her behind his back. “Don’t worry dad I can handle myself, besides it’s only uncle Katsu” she spoke up behind the protective cinnamon roll. “Explain now” Aizawa cut in before they could get side tracked again. It was like the fact she hadn’t introduced herself, only hit her now.

“ Right, allow me to introduce myself” Bowing slightly she continued. “ My name is Midoriya Izumi, I am 10 years old and from the future” Aizawa sent her a raised eyebrow, wanting an elaborated answer. “ My friend was being teased by the others in class about how he was quirkless” Izuku tensed slightly but continued listening to Izumi “ Since my friend’s parents each has a quirk related to time, his mom could speed up herself for only a couple of minutes and his dad could slow down others a bit. This made it really hard for my friend to know if he had a quirk or not, so I helped him research and test different theories. Our last one must have worked, which is time travel by the way, but I have no idea how long his quirk will last” Izumi rambled slightly, reminding them of another curly green haired individual. Difference is Izumi talked loud enough for them to hear, and a bit slower making it understandable.

“Wait, you said your name was Midoriya Izumi. Does this mean that you are Midoriya’s daughter” The ever stoic, conspiracy theory thinking, dual haired boy pointed out. “ Yep, sure am uncle Sho, Don’t tell me you don’t see the resemblance.” She stood next to Izuku hugging his waist with one arm, before continuing” I’m dad's younger copy but female, mom always says there is more wholesomeness in him than there is in her. I remember her asking dad one time why his genes were so damn strong. Luckily for her Haru looks a lot more like her, he’s her younger copy but male” The people present looked between the two Midoriyas, it was true nobody could deny that she was her fathers daughter. The only thing that was different was her eyes, they had specks of y/e/c instead of being fully emerald like Izuku’s were. Also she talks a lot, just like their classmate. They shared the same green hair, both were curly in texture and the classic Midoriya freckles. Though it seemed that she had gotten more of her mothers personality, at least they assumed so. I mean she stood up to Bakugou, without even flinching at his tone.

“Oi, squirt what’s your quirk. And quit rambling like shitty Deku” Bakugou asked, interest evident in his tone. “ Right, my quirk is called Telekinesis, so I can move stuff with my mind. It was also how I was able to keep daddy in the air” Izumi responded, puffing her chest out comically in pride. “Huh so it skipped a generation, and your quirk is stronger than my mom’s. But you also have a different approach so maybe that helps. I wonder why yours is stronger, is it because of your mothers quirk. But then again my quirk is also powerful maybe an aspect of it ties to the genes maybe that’s why your quirk is stronger than moms” The older green haired individual began mumbling on, and he probably would have continued if he hadn’t been cut off by his lowly daughter hitting him in the head. “ Daddy stop mumbling,” Izumi stated sternly.

Bakugou grinned, he liked this kid's spunk and she seemed to have a strong quirk, even if she was shitty Deku’s kid. “Oi squirt fight me” He loudly proclaimed, earning all his classmates attention. Almost everyone began yelling over each other, what the hell dude and she just a kid another one was so not manly bro. Instead of being happy her dad’s old classmates were defending her, stopping her uncle from fighting her she got annoyed. So what if she was a child, this wouldn’t be her first time fighting her dad or her uncles. Before everyone could attack Bakugou even more a voice piqued up “ Sure, if that is alright with you sensei” she directed her attention towards Mr. Aizawa.

It wasn’t rational to challenge a child to a fight, but he couldn’t deny she had a great fighting spirit in her eyes. So he allowed it, he was curious himself to see how it would end. The control she displayed earlier was phenomenal, and she was only 10 but she had a lot of potential in his book. He shooed everuýone a bit away from the hothead and the young Midoriya, and so then created a ring of sorts acting a the line of confinement.

3…..2…...1…...GO!

Bakugou charged straight in with his usual right hook, only to have it swiftly caught by Izumi. She grabbed his right hand, squatted down a bit, then swiftly pushed her shoulder into his rib. The momentum of that allowed her to, even with some difficulty, flip his much larger body over her shoulder and into the ground. There was a small second of silence where Bakugou just laid on the ground in shock, a girl over 5 years younger than him just flipped him over her shoulder like it wasn’t even that hard. However Izumi didn’t give him time to think as she sent metal bars towards him. They had been fried earlier, before her arrival. Bakugou used his explosions to evade the metal projectiles, sending another one straight towards her face. Die squirt die, his colorful vocabulary re-entered the scene. She used her Telekinesis to command the explosion to change course and hit Bakugou square in the face instead. Slightly dazed Bakugou didn’t have time to move before a heel connected to his temple, effectively knocking him out.

Everyone who bore witness to this fight was shell shocked, Bakugou lost. The fight lasted only around 8 minutes before the winner of the 1 years sports festival got knocked out by a 10 year old girl. “Huh, that was easier than expected,” the panting girl exclaimed. Izuku could feel his chest swell with pride, that was his daughter. Strong and smart just like her parents. She walked over to Izuku and slumped against him “ I’m tired daddy, carry me” She looked up at him with those doe green eyes, and how could he say no to his little warrior princess. Blushing, he picked her up, and she let out a sigh of contentment. Using her quirk to command things on a molecular level, like Bakugou’s explosions always took a toll on her.

“Midoriya take Izumi to the dorms to let her rest, the rest of you come with me for our next exercise” Mr. Aizawa commanded the frozen teens and teacher. Izuku then began making his way to the dorms, asking his sleepy daughter a tornado of questions. Do you know about my quirk, how does your quirk work, how old is Haru, am I a good dad, who is your mom? Even in her sleepy state Izumi answered his questions to the best of her abilities, though she refused to reveal who her mother was.

When they arrived at the dorms he put her on the living room couch, and went to leave to grab her some old All Might merch that could fit her. Before he could leave she grabbed his cheeks rather harshly, looking him straight in the eye she said “Don’t worry about who mom is, she loves you for you so it's gonna be fine. Also don’t screw this up so I’ll still be born.” Izuku sweat dropped nervously, before getting out of her hold to go find that old merch of his.

When he returned to the living room after finding what he was looking for, he looked around only to find that it was empty. He walked over to the couch and coffee table where he found a note, picking it up and sitting down on the couch to read it. Dearest daddy, I felt tingly so I think the quirk is gonna wear off now. I just wanted to say that you are awesome and the best daddy out there, I love you so much. I’ll see you again in the future - hugs Izumi Midoriya. Izuku’s heart fell, she had only just arrived an hour or so ago and now she was gone. He didn’t get to know his daughter better like he had hoped, and he didn’t get to see her adorably dressed up in his old All Might merch. He read the note over and over again, trying to satisfy his heart. He would see her again in the future, and then it clicked. his heart swelled, yeah he would see Izumu again some day.

Yeah he would see her again when he was married and happy. Yeah he could wait for that, as long as he has too.

@rainypeachbakerygoth

#bnha #midoriya izuku #mha bakugou #shoto todoroki #mha #dad au #Izumi is badass

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ariel-seagull-wings · 4 years ago

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RUSSIAN HONEY CAKE

@princesssarisa

INGREDIENTS

1 ½ cups (18 ounces) wildflower honey, divided

¼ cup (2 ounces) water

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) sugar

14 tablespoons (7 ounces) butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

6 large eggs

2 ½ teaspoons baking soda

2 ½ teaspoons Diamond Crystal Kosher Salt or 1 1/4 teaspoons fine sea salt, divided

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

3 ¾ cups (16 ounces) all-purpose flour

1 ¼ cups (1 13.4-ounce can) dulce de leche

4 ¾ cups heavy cream, chilled and divided

PREPARATION

Preheat oven to 375. Trace circles around a 9-inch pie or cake pan onto 12 baking-sheet-size pieces of parchment paper. Set aside.

Make a water bath: Fill a small saucepan with 1 inch of water, and set over medium heat.

Place 3/4 cup of honey in a 2-quart saucepan, and set over high heat. Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to medium. After about 3 minutes, the honey will begin to foam intensely. Stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon, keep a close eye on the honey. Cook until it begins to smoke, then turn off the heat and carefully add water. Allow the honey to sputter until it stops bubbling. Whisk to combine, and pour into a heatproof measuring cup with a spout, then place in prepared water bath to keep honey liquid.

Fill a medium saucepan with 2 inches of water, and bring to a simmer. Combine 1/4 cup burned honey, 3/4 cup honey, sugar and butter in a large metal mixing bowl, and place over the pot of water.

Crack eggs into a small bowl, and set aside. Stir together baking soda, 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt or 3/4 teaspoon sea salt and cinnamon in a separate small bowl.

When the butter has melted, whisk the honey mixture to combine. Use your finger to test the temperature of the mixture. When it’s warm, add the eggs while whisking. When the mixture returns to the same temperature, add the cinnamon mixture, and continue whisking for another 30 seconds. The batter will begin to foam and emit a curious odor. Remove the bowl from the heat, and allow it to cool until it’s warm.

Place the flour in a fine-mesh sieve, and sift over the batter in three batches, whisking to incorporate the flour completely with each addition. The batter should be completely smooth. The batter will spread more easily when it’s warm, so pour half into a small bowl, and cover with plastic wrap. Place in a warm spot, such as atop the preheating oven.

Place a piece of parchment tracing-side-down on a baking sheet, and spoon in a heaping 1/3 cup of batter. Use an offset spatula to evenly spread the batter to the edges. It will seem like just barely enough batter; do your best to get the layer even and perfectly circular. Repeat with remaining layers until you’re out of pans, and then continue with remaining batter and parchment sheets, laying batter circles out on a flat surface. You’ll end up with 11 or 12.

Bake as many layers at a time as possible, for 6 to 7 minutes, until the cake turns a deep caramel color and springs back at the touch. For the first round, set the timer for 4 minutes to rotate pans if needed to ensure even cooking. Check the cakes again at 6 minutes. Do not overbake!

When each layer is done, slide the parchment off the pan to prevent overbaking. If reusing baking sheets while they are still hot, reduce cooking time to 5 to 6 minutes.

When the cake layers are cool enough to handle, examine them. If any spread outside the traced circles as they baked, use a sharp knife or pair of scissors to trim them. Before the cakes cool entirely, pull each one carefully from the parchment, then place back on the parchment on a flat surface, and allow to cool completely.

When all the layers are baked, reduce the oven temperature to 250, and allow the cake to cool for 30 minutes. Return the least attractive layer (or 2, if you got 12) to a baking sheet, and place in the oven to toast until deep reddish brown and dry, about 15 minutes. Allow it to cool, then use a food processor to grind into fine crumbs. Cover and set aside.

Place 1/2 cup burned honey, dulce de leche and 1 teaspoon Diamond Crystal Kosher Salt or 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt into a medium bowl. Whisk by hand until combined, then slowly pour in 3/4 cup cream and mix until homogeneous. Chill until completely cooled, about 30 minutes.

Pour 4 cups heavy cream into the bowl of a stand mixer, and affix whisk attachment. Whip at medium speed to soft peaks, about 6 minutes, then add honey mixture and whip frosting to medium stiff peaks. If your mixer holds less than 5 quarts, make frosting in 2 batches and then combine in a large bowl, or use a large bowl and a hand mixer.

Assemble the cake on a 10-inch cardboard circle or flat serving plate. Place a cake layer in the center of the cardboard, then spoon a heaping cup of frosting onto the center. Use an offset spatula to spread the frosting evenly, leaving a 1/4-inch ring unfrosted around the edge. Place the next layer atop the frosting, center it and continue as above. Don’t be afraid to manhandle the cake to align the layers as you continue stacking. If necessary, make up for any doming in the center by spreading more frosting to the outer half of each layer than the inner half. After you place the 10th layer, spread another scant cup of frosting over the top. Use any leftover frosting to smooth out the sides of the cake, but don’t fret if the edges of some cake layers poke through the frosting. Sprinkle the top and sides with cake crumbs.

Chill overnight. Serve chilled. Cake can be made up to two days in advance. Refrigerate leftovers for up to 3 days.

#food #recipes #culinary #inspiration station

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surveysonfleek · 3 years ago

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1620.

Can you tolerate children for a long period of time? it depends on the kid. if its a kid i know, i can definitely tolerate them. i love my friend’s kids! Do you splash in puddles? no Have you ever ate cotton balls so you would feel full? wow no, didnt know it was a thing Why are people so judgmental? society. upbringing. ignorance.

Have you ever lived with someone you felt thoroughly uncomfortable around? thankfully not. although im not a fan of when my sister’s bf is over. cool guy but i usually sleep in my undies and cant do that when hes around

Do you think people should be required to pass some sort of a test in order to become parents? theres no way that would fly in the world we live today, how would they even regulate that? Would you ever go coning? no idea what that is What would you do if someone gave you a miniature gnome at the drive-thru? ask what its for Do you have an animal hat? kinda. i have a goofy hat from disneyland. its basically a cap made of his face and the ears dangle lol What’s your favorite smoothie flavor? banana, honey and cinnamon Are you a cheerleader? no Have you ever been to Poland? no Do you listen to Portugal the Man? no Are you into dubstep? no but i dont mind it once in a while Have you ever seen a therapist? no Have you ever liked someone who wasn’t good enough for you? yeah haha Do you like The Beatles or do you think they’re overrated? neither. i just dont listen to them Have you ever punched a wall? nope Zelda or The Sims games? the sims for life! Are you into heavy metal? nope Have you ever heard of Agalloch or Wolves in the Throne Room? no Are you terrible at assigning bands their proper genre? i hardly listen to bands these days Do you dye your hair? no Are you an avid player of Angry Birds? nope Do you think the ’;)’ smiley makes everything look dirty? nahhh, we have emojis for that now Have you ever hid in a closet? nope Have you ever made out in a closet? no Would you ever make your boyfriend a break-up playlist? hahaha no Are you excited about Pottermore? this must be a really old survery... in saying that, im super excited for the harry potter rpg! Are you a Wal-Mart shopper? nope Have you ever been to a laser tag place? yes How do you wanna celebrate your next birthday? idk... i hate celebrating my bday. i dont have any ‘milestone’ bdays for awhile so probably nothing Do you tease your parents about them being old? hell no! im actually really sad theyre getting older Would you be offended if someone called something you liked ugly? kinda lol Do you have Pokemon Diamond? Or any Pokemon games for that matter? no Do you buy all organic foods? no Is anyone afraid of you? haha maybe Are you in love with someone? yes

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

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kyle-valenti · 3 years ago

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highschool milucho au drabble for @laufire

Lunch period arrives what feels like all too late after a hectic morning where Michael Guerin had punched Wyatt Long in the face for Maria. While she still thought he was an idiot for having done it, she downs a brownie for sustenance and brings Rosa along outside with her to go check on him. Unsurprisingly he was in the spot she had expected, clearly having ditched at least one class prior, and Rosa skipped over to him and roughly grabbed his hand to check on the bruise. Rosa scoffed, putting her hand to her chest with what was only half-kidding offense. “You fought him without me there? En serio? How dare you!”

Sitting up a little more against the metal bleacher column he had been leaning against, Michael gave a casual shrug. There’s still a smirk on his face as he does so. “Can’t help it if you’re always late to wake up, Ortecho.”

“He was dumb.” Maria said, a scolding look on her face that didn’t quite match her eyes. Both sat down without caring about chairs, Rosa too lazy and Maria liking to feel the earth underneath her. The shade provided overhead was just enough and while the teachers usually checked underneath here, the school was luckily short staffed due to a field trip. Also lucky was the lack of campus security in a small town.

“No, he was right.” Rosa huffed. “Fuck Wyatt Long.”

“Thank you,” said Michael, turning to Maria with a smug look in response. Maria rolled her eyes, but Rosa still looked angry and displeased at the idea of Wyatt Long being within feet of Maria, because she continued, “Are you gonna hate me if I run over and slap him?”

“Yes!” Maria exclaimed. “Stop with the violence, you two! He’s not worth it.”

Rosa made a disgruntled sound, muttering, “Pacifist.”

“I am a lover, yes.” Maria replied with a teasing tone; one that Michael couldn’t help but use to flirt with a sultry, “Tell me more.”

She hit his arm and although the other girl rolled her eyes, Rosa was still distinctly smiling as Michael winked Maria’s way.

“Gross, stop.” She huffed, no meanness in her voice. “Even Kyle Valenti thinks we’re dating.”

“Kyle?” Rosa laughed. “Kyle’s not remotely observant enough to think that.”

Michael made a noise at that. “He was just being an ass because I commented on how he was clearly in love with Alex Manes.”

Maria glared now. “Be nice to my favorite gay and the clearly repressed football jock.”

“Here I thought you were about to pick a favorite bi.” Michael joked.

“Why would she?” Rosa challenged with a smirk. “I’m right here.”

“Right,” Michael drawled sarcastically. “Just because you two have sleepovers--,”

“Oh my god, you two.” Maria snapped, but that was the wrong decision because the two mischievous partners-in-crime looked at her with sudden interest. Michael was the first to pounce. “We making you uncomfortable, Deluca?”

He’s all but grinning, not even hiding behind a smirk, eyes alive. Even Rosa is clearly amused and holding onto laughter.

“Why the hell did everyone have to go on that museum trip?” Maria huffed, trying to ignore both of them and the feelings that rose up when the direct attention of two people who hated the world but liked her was suddenly her way. She definitely needed more friends, or at least less nerdy ones. “I need Liz.”

“You’d really use my baby sister to get out of flirting?” Rosa asked, letting out the laughter now.

Maria could feel her cheeks heat and she folded her arms stubbornly. “I’m about to use Kyle to get out of this. Luckily I have tests to study for.”

“What test?” Rosa replied, one eyebrow arched. “We have all the same classes.”

“And you suddenly pay attention?”

Rosa gave in with a playfully exasperated expression. “Okay, okay, mi vida; we’ll stop.” Then, amending as she looked conspiratorially at Michael, she said, “Well. I’ll stop.”

“I’ll try.” Michael shrugged, pretending to look as thought it would be heavy work. “I have considerably less self-control.”

Quirking her head, Rosa retorted. “Challenge accepted.”

Michael raised his eyebrows in response, before laughing. “Yeah okay.”

“Why am I always babysitting you two?” Maria sighed. “Please, tell me.”

“You’re the one who brought the pot brownies to school.” Rosa pointed out.

She couldn’t say much to that. Home had been stressful with her mother’s sudden memory lapses when it came to finances and worrying about colleges after SAT scores was even more anxiety inducing. If she was rich and privileged like Isobel Evans, maybe she could afford some xanax, but in the meantime her anxiety attacks would have to be treated herbally. Childishly, she pointed at Michael. “He’s the one who brought the flask.”

Definitely unapologetic, he shrugged. “Less teachers, more fun.”

“Fun?” Rosa asked. “We haven’t had fun in a while.”

“True.” Michael added, lighting up even further. Maria groaned. “Is this another ‘steal the principal’s desk’ situation?”

“No, but that was fun.” Rosa said thoughtfully. “We should have more… teenage fun. We have the drugs, the alcohol, now--,”

“I am not having sex under the Roswell High bleachers!”

Rosa gasped before laughing awkwardly, and Michael’s grin took an even brighter turn. “Wow, Deluca, I see where your mind’s really at.” Then he turned to Rosa, who noticeably looked pinker, and paused. Slowly, he inquired. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Rosa replied. It wasn’t like she and Maria belonged to each other, true, but something about the mischievous Michael Guerin staying around after Maria’s slip seemed to create palpable tension. Fumbling, the beautiful brunette added, “I mean we’ve all kissed before forever ago, right? Why don’t you pick your favorite bi, Maria.”

“I’m not sure choosing favorites qualifies as fun.” She retorted, trying not to withdraw into herself. She was safe with them, she knew that, but it still felt dangerous somehow. She looked at Michael. “No sudden objections?”

Michael scoffed. “You actually think I’m going to object to being kissed by two hot girls? I’m only human, Deluca.”

Biting her lip after rolling her eyes, Maria tried not to think about how attractive her last name was every time he said it, because that was such a ridiculous thing to find attractive. Rosa had picked up on the habit, although used it far more rarely, and now she was stuck in between them.

“We don’t have to--,” Rosa began. Shaking her head, Maria came to an abrupt decision. “You decide who goes first.”

“Ladies first.” Michael declared congenially.

When Rosa turned to Maria she looked hesitant and unsure. Charged moments weren’t exactly new to them, but they didn’t exactly kiss outside of spin-the-bottle or seven-minutes-in-heaven games. Any heterosexual excuse to be made, somewhere between Rosa’s Catholicism and Maria’s fear of being vulnerable to someone.

Only two seconds pass before the hesitation is over and then Rosa’s lips are soft and inviting like Maria remembered, tasting of cinnamon gum and tajin mango suckers. It’s an addictive flavor, especially with the flood of emotions it foretells every time. At first it’s closer to chaste than not, given the company, but like many times before it deepens until they hear Michael shift and quickly break apart.

Maria expects some dumbass comment about not needing to stop for his sake, but either he’s too turned on to make it or he simply knows better for the moment. Shockingly, it seems like the second choice with the almost exposed look he has on his face now. For whatever reason, maybe because of his general outward mask, she had thought that while she’d be safe this would still be a fun game to him and not something where his eyes would be soft and his body language almost nervous.

More than anything else, that makes her choose to kiss him first.

With Michael she can only taste the cheap whiskey he’s been drinking all afternoon, but his skin smells like desert rain, and it’s quite possibly the most confusing contradiction for him she could ever conceive. The shape of his lips might be a contrast to Rosa’s but he still uses them quite well and by the time she pulls back out of mindfulness for Rosa, she’s breathless yet again.

“Obviously I’m not actually choosing.” Maria said primly, trying to cover the fact that she had to clear her throat.

“Well I feel used.” Michael teased, but a miracle had happened because it looked like he was blushing too. Michael Guerin. Blushing.

Rosa made an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “As if you’re not getting off to this tonight.”

“Rosa!” Maria snapped, actual hurt rising. It was silly to be upset about offhand humor from either of these two, she knew that. They both felt more than they would ever let on and jokes and sarcasm were their defense for almost everything. Rosa went to apologize, but the overwhelming feeling in her chest was too much. “Don’t. I’m just—I’m going to go sober up.”

They both called after her, but she ignored them both.

“I should really avoid weed, huh?” Rosa deadpanned sadly.

He raised his flask. “I can’t say anything. You gonna follow her?”

“You?” she asked without an answer.

“You’re her best friend.” Michael countered, and while it wasn’t technically sexist she still narrowed her eyes at the ‘you’re both girls’ vibe it gave off. Either way, it was still a painful statement and she muttered, “Yeah. Friend.” Michael went to say something—either an apology or a lecture—but Rosa shook her head. “I’ll give her a head start. You should check on her later too, though.”

Michael scoffed. “Come on, Rosa, she doesn’t want me. I’m just a guy she can use to pretend she’s straighter than she is.”

“Ay, you’re dumb.”

“And if she did want both of us?” Michael demanded, turning things back into their normalcy of confrontation and stubbornness.

“At least you’re not ugly.”

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails at least, but he did give her a look. “Glowing endorsement, Ortecho.”

She smirked. “And I guess you know how to kiss for a white boy.”

“That I’ll take.” He replied, chuckling despite himself and looking annoyed about it.

Rosa gave him a two finger salute as she got up to go after Maria.

#michael x maria x rosa #milucho #milucho fic #milucho au #rnm #My fic #drabbles #mutuals

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