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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

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

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well.

Until he showed up.

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences.

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you.

Well…externally, at least.

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame.

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there.

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan.

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.”

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass.

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage.

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips.

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast.

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior.

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that.

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed.

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face, recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down.

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?”

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it.

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.”

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face.

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing.

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion.

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words.

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips.

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.”

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship.

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought.

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable.

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side.

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.”

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go.

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away.

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.”

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead.

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.”

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows.

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.”

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips.

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?”

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart.

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this.

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists.

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.”

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?”

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.”

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes.

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh.

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes.

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?”

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else.

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation.

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before.

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part.

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?”

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand.

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.”

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful.

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy.

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting.

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.”

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket.

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man.

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?”

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him.

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due.

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on.

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker.

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow.

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence.

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that.

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant.

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head.

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.”

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours.

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you.

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this.

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat.

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.”

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.”

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.”

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth.

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him.

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back.

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?”

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air.

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone.

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat.

What in the hell is going on?

That’s when the bearded man speaks.

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other.

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat.

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?”

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.”

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression.

“I’d get on that, Son.”

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope.

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you.

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen?

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays.

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!”

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…”

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp.

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits.

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling.

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting.

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine.

But he remembered it.

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face.

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today.

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk.

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful.

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment.

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves.

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much.

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?”

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower.

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment.

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 months

Text

GASLIGHT - andrei svechnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)

Summary: A dance of desperation, destruction, and desire with the man who broke your heart.

Word Count: 5.4K

Author’s Note: This is about a year in the making thanks to the thirsty, depraved minds of @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech. Inspired strongly by gaslight by inji, I present to you: toxic, cocky ex Andrei.

Warnings: Toxic relationship, dubcon/drunk consent, infidelity. Alcohol use/mention. Smut (18+ ONLY): Unprotected sex, very public sex/exhibitionism, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), heavy degradation, Andrei has a filthy mouth.

Your media consumption is your responsibility. Do not proceed if any of the above warnings will trigger, hurt, or offend you. Masterlist / Moodboard

In all fairness, you knew Andrei Svechnikov was trouble as soon as your eyes locked with his at that fateful frat party, bathed in a deep blue light strobing on the ceiling. Even then, it was etched into his handsome face, his smile far too confident to be anything but a terrible, terrible idea. But you were young, dumb, and all too willing to fall for the broad Russian with the dimples and a body that looked like it was sculpted out of clay. He was way too hot to resist, and really, what’s a girl to do?

In all honesty, he was sweet at first, even genuine. He held the door open for you, walked you to class, let you wear his jersey. He swept you off your feet with an ease that should’ve had your radar beeping, but you were already in too deep to notice. Besides, you had no reason to believe that the handsome, charming boy with a toothy smile would be anything but wonderful.

Oh, how wrong you were.

When you look back on the chapter of your life regretfully titled ‘Andrei’, the pages stained with tears and spilled ink from all of the letters you never sent, you’ll remember the red flags that you didn’t notice (or maybe willfully ignored), heading straight into a myriad of heartbreak. You two were toxic together, in a seemingly endless cycle of hurt and betrayal.

But it was hands down, unequivocally, the best sex you’ve ever had.

And that’s what kept you coming back, even when he’d pull his shit and make his excuses for the hickeys on his neck that you didn’t put there or the purple thong on his floor that was a size too small for you. You’d turn a blind eye, pretending not to see, pretending that it didn’t sting after the sweet nothings he’d whisper to you after a night in his sheets.

The real turning point of your relationship was when you saw him leaving your sorority house the morning after a night out, a clear walk of shame—except you’d gone to bed alone. Seeing the bedhead and hickeys on your sorority sister, Callie, was all you needed to put the pieces together, your heart shattering for the first time.

So, after crying until you made yourself sick, drinking more tequila than you’d care to admit, you brushed yourself off, rose from the ashes, and did what any logical and sane girl would do in your shoes: fuck his teammate. And then another. And another. You took your rage and all of the hurt that simmered beneath your surface and channeled it into sweet, satisfying, addicting revenge. The orgasms weren’t quite the same, but you were surprised at how good getting even felt. Seeing the look on his face when he’d come down the stairs to find you in the kitchen, in a ratty old t-shirt of one of his friends… priceless.

From then on, you and Andrei were locked in what felt like an eternal battle at who could out-toxic the other. You thrived on knowing you were riling him up, getting under his skin, burrowing your way into his psyche to ensure he’d never forget you and would forever regret betraying you. You were the one who got away, not the other way around.

From the moment you stepped into the bar that fateful night, instantly feeling his eyes crawling over your legs, you couldn’t deny that you had voluntarily set yourself up for it. Unable to resist his charm, dripping in honey, trouble etched into the predatory gaze he held on you, there was no way you were getting out unscathed.

His white button-up is a size too small, hugging his muscles in a way that makes the fabric fight against the buttons in the middle. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the corded muscle of his forearms on display, the expensive watch sitting on his thick wrist. He wears it everywhere he goes, so you know he couldn’t have done it on purpose, but you can’t help but feel he knew you’d be there tonight, exposing it with the sole intention of driving you wild.

So, it’s only to be expected that you make your way over to a friend of his, slinking up beside him at the bar with a seductive smile and wide eyes, leaning into him and letting your hand rest on his bicep while you laugh at his joke. It feels over the top—because it is—but you’re fueled by the knowledge that Andrei will be fuming once he sees it. It’s the same old cat-and-mouse game that you always play, pushing his buttons even from afar.

It makes for the best foreplay.

Your new beau—Scott—struts off to the bar, smug at how easy his win tonight is. He barely had to work to have you hanging all over him, and the prospect of getting you into his bed at the end of the night is all but a slam dunk. Your eyes watch him, appreciatively admiring the broad shoulders and built back, envisioning what it’ll look like littered with angry, red scratches from your pristine, hot pink nails.

He saunters up behind you, and you feel his presence without even needing to turn around.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His words, heavily accented, are slurred—just slightly, but enough for you to know he’s been heavy on the vodka tonics. Part of you wonders if your antics with Scott have influenced his state of mind. Judging by the way his arms are crossed, revealing the curve of his enormous bicep and the thickness of his forearms, you’d wager that they have.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Andrei,” you say, tossing your hair back, dismissing him instantly.

“Cut the shit, sweetheart,” he sneers. His eyes drag shamelessly over your figure, heat lingering where his gaze travels. “That’s the third one of my teammates you’ve tried to fuck.”

“Fourth, actually.”

“Do you actually want them, or are you just whoring around my friends to get a rise out of me?”

“That’s rich,” you scoff, voice dripping with distaste. The absolute nerve on this guy. “Can’t handle the thought of your friend fucking me better than you?”

Andrei’s smile is sickly sweet. “We both know that was never the issue, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. Memories of late nights punctured by a thick Russian accent, bite marks that turned into bruises that lasted for days flood your mind, a phantom touch along your hip making your shiver.

“Where's your new bitch?” you pivot. “Let me guess, busy taking your Insta pics?”

His smirk grows, enough to reveal his missing tooth. The mockery in his tone drips from every word as he says, “That’s no way to talk about your sister.”

You bite back your grimace and the urge to say, “That’s not my sister,” but unfortunately he’s picked up your strategy of ticking off your friends on his bedpost one by one, and this latest iteration has landed him in bed with your suitemate, Jenna. When she broke up with her long-term boyfriend, you knew it was only a matter of time before Andrei swooped in with his handsome smile, dimples, and delicious muscles, sisterhood be damned. The fact that you two shared a wall was only the cherry on top.

With a glance at the bar, you see that Scott is stuck in line, your 3rd Mezcal margarita too far away. He sends you an apologetic shrug, gesturing to the growing crowd and signaling to wait for him. Your lips curl into a forced smile, blowing a kiss and offering a cheeky wave.

Andrei shifts on his feet, amused at the overzealous act that his idiotic linemate seems to be buying. With another glance across your figure, doing far more than just undressing you with his eyes, he sidles back up to you. With the way you look, he supposes he shouldn’t expect to resist.

“Seems like your man is gonna be a while. Dance with me?” he whispers into your ear. You ignore the way the heat from his breath travels down your spine, arousal instantly pooling through you despite every nerve in your body trying to fight it.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Andrei.”

“Doesn’t mean two old friends can’t have a dance,” he counters.

You resist the urge to snort at the label, as if you were ever friends. It’s the same look in his eye as always, the one that got your heart broken a thousand times before, but you find your hand slipping into his—ignoring the sheer size of it compared to yours—and letting him lead you into the throng of people anyways.

The way Andrei’s firm body slots up behind yours is far too easy, his hands all too familiar on your hips as he pulls you into him, forcing a slow and steady grind to the beat of the music. It should be shocking the way that Jenna—and Scott—completely slips from your mind, replaced by the feeling of his groin pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Look so fucking hot tonight,” he purrs in your ear. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but your body reacts involuntarily when his praise goes straight between your legs. “Made my dick hard just looking at you.”

“Wouldn’t want your girl hearing you talk like that,” you manage to retort, shaking away the arousal that threatens to warm your entire body.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“That what you said about me?” you ask, ignoring the pang of hurt that strikes your heart. It’s the first—and only—glimpse of a real emotion, hidden beneath snark and quick remarks.

“Aw, baby, let’s let the past stay in the past,” Andrei says, deflecting by pressing your ass against his groin, allowing you to feel the firmness beneath his zipper. The flash of any serious conversation disappears when the tips of his fingers graze against the underside of your breast, fostering the spread of goosebumps over your body. It’s a diversion, and you hate that it works; his hands have always been a source of weakness for you.

Heat simmers in your core, gradually growing until it’s bubbling; his hands crawling over your body while your hips move in sync with his. The chance of rekindling whatever you had before is long gone, and you’re well past any apology or reparation, so you might as well have fun with it, right?

His hands trail fire down your sides, over the bare skin between your top and skirt, to your bare leg. You’ve lost the ability to speak, to protest—not that you would—when you feel his fingers curl under the hem, tugging it up until you're all but entirely exposed, challenging you to resist. The air, though warm from the crowd, feels heavenly on your hot thighs, cool against the damp fabric of your panties. Your body gives an involuntary shiver when one large hand splays possessively over your hip, the other creeping over to the inside of your thigh.

You know what Andrei’s up to, and as much as you hate him, there’s not a single ounce in your body that wants to stop him. Your legs fall open against your will, making more space for his hand.

“Fucking soaked,” he sneers, laughing at the way you shudder when his finger barely grazes your clit, pressing against the wet scrap of fabric covering your modesty. “Knew you would be. You can never get enough of me, can you?”

Refusing to give in so easily, you reply by slowing the roll of your hips, pressing further against his groin to grind against him. His chuckle is low in your ear, amused at your attempt to keep the playing field even. The pad of his middle finger runs over your pussy, collecting the wetness that’s seeping through the cotton.

Andrei’s hand stays gripped on your thigh while the other comes up to press his finger against your lips. You can taste your own essence on the tip of his finger, coating your lip with the moisture. It presses into your mouth, pushing against your tongue in a display of dominance; though you want to push him away, your body betrays you and your lips close around his digit, sucking hard.

The sound of your moan when he roughly tugs your panties to the side is covered by the heavy bass pumping through the room. The lights are dim enough, strobing around to hide the way Andrei plunges a thick finger into you, though admittedly you wouldn’t notice or care if someone were to spot you, the thought making you even hotter.

“Always so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs in your ear, shifting his hand to add another finger. “Dripping all over my hand like a fucking whore.”

“Andrei,” you whisper, fruitlessly, the sound of your voice swallowed by the electronic wobs of the remixed rap song overhead. Your resolve is slipping quickly, with each deep twist of his fingers inside of you, knees losing strength with every passing moment. Maybe it’s the cocktail, or maybe it’s just him; either way, you’re intoxicated.

His marriage and middle pump their way into you, the slick between your thighs making it all too easy for him to slide them in and out. Your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back slightly when he strokes you perfectly, even despite the awkward angle of his wrist, shoved between your legs in the middle of a sweaty, crowded room. So far, no one’s seemed to notice—or perhaps, if they did, they just opted to ignore it.

“Fuck, kisa,” he murmurs, and the heat in his voice makes you clench around his digits. It’s rough, deep in your ear, followed by what you presume is cursing in Russian. Andrei grips your hips so tightly you’re certain there’ll be fingerprint-sized bruises on them tomorrow. “Such a desperate whore for me, you’d let me take you right here in front of everyone, wouldn’t you?”

His finger presses against your g-spot in a way that has your resolve completely melting; suddenly, all you can focus on is the feeling that’s blooming in your core, flooding pleasure through your veins. Fuck it.

“Fuck yeah, give it to me.”

You’re not really serious, at least not entirely, but your stomach flutters with excitement when you feel one of his hands fidgeting behind your ass, fishing out his erection to press it against you. He’s hard, and you can feel the way he throbs against you through the thin material of your skirt. Admittedly, you had missed that specific part of him. No one, not even his linemate Scott with the big dick, could replicate Andrei.

“This what you want, huh? Want it deep in that little cunt?” he says, tapping himself lightly against your ass in the limited space he has between your bodies. “Guess my dick doesn’t know how much of a bitch you are.”

“Probably because your dick has been inside way bigger bitches than me,” you bite back, the throb between your legs not enough to cull the sass and bitterness that lingers just beneath the surface. If his fingers weren’t just buried between your thighs, you probably would’ve had more to say about the matter.

When you feel the curl of his fingers tugging the material of your skirt up farther, you arch into him, your senses ablaze with adrenaline. You can’t help it, giving into the way you throb, empty, waiting for him to soothe the need with the harsh thrust of his cock.

Andrei is slow, drawing out your torture. He keeps his hips pressed against your backside, shielding his erection with your ass, because you are still in public, after all. His large hand grips your hip while the other reaches between your bodies, and you let out a whimper when you feel his tip lining up with your entrance.

He pushes in, slowly, mainly to avoid attracting attention. His hands flex against your waist, pulling you into him and encouraging you to resume the grind of your hips; only this time, his dick is buried deep inside of you and he’s pressed directly against your g-spot. He hasn’t been inside you for 5 seconds and your legs are already shaking, trying desperately to steady your breathing while heat floods through your body.

Even through the loud music, you can hear the way Andrei grunts lowly in your ear, and you’re pleased to know he’s just as strung out as you, fucking you in the middle of a dance floor. His hips begin to push forward, subtly, forcing you to feel each inch and ridge of his cock dragging in and out of your soaked pussy. Large hands crawl over your hips, guiding them to gyrate against him and using your body to drive himself deeper inside of you.

It shouldn’t feel so good, getting blatantly fucked by your sworn enemy in the middle of a sweaty crowd, grinding shamelessly on his dick. But the beat syncs with his thrusts, heat flooding your system as he hits the perfect spot at the perfect pace to have your legs squeezing tightly around him.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” he whispers in your ear, and you can hear the smug smirk on his face. “Think about you while I’m fucking Jenna sometimes. She’s hot, but her cunt isn’t as tight as this one.”

“You’re—” you gasp when he delivers a hard thrust at the beat drop of the song that’s playing, “—such a fucking dick.”

“Aw, but you love it, don’t you?”

You hate him. Him and everything that he’s done to you—breaking your heart, picking up the pieces, only to shatter it again. There had been more nights spent crying over him than nights with him, screaming into your pillow until there were no tears left in your body. Worse than that, he’d turned you into someone you barely knew: someone who takes the low road and stoops to his level when you know you deserve better than all of it.

But damn, if you don’t love the way he fucks you.

It happens before you even have a chance to think about how you’ll mask it, instead crying out as your body goes limp against Andrei’s. His strong arms hold you in place, stilling his hips to feel the way your cunt clenches around him as your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. The sound of your moan is swallowed by the bass, evaporating into thin air before it has the chance to make its way to any of the club’s patrons around you.

“Fuck,” Andrei husks in your ear, breath heavy against your skin. Your walls flutter around him as he lets the waves siphon through your shaking limbs. “Barely had to do any work for you to fall apart on my cock, huh? Comin’ for me like the pretty little slut you are.”

The retort you want to snap back doesn’t come out, mind still completely blown from the force of your climax. Your heart pounds in your throat, pussy clenching weakly around his thick cock, and you know you have no space to try and pretend he didn’t feel the way you came all over it.

“You gonna give me another one, dorogoy?”

“Drei,” you choke out, a wave of clarity splashing over you. “Not here.”

He hums, the vibration in his chest pressed against your back, so deep that it travels down your spine. “Unfortunate. But I suppose getting arrested for public indecency probably isn’t very good for my career.”

Behind you, you feel him tucking himself back into his pants, using your body to shield the way he adjusts before he’s gripping your arm and dragging you with him. “C’mon. M’not done until your face is painted with my cum.”

He doesn’t bother to fix your skirt, and you’re frantically tugging it back down to cover yourself as he leads you through the crowd. The next thing you know, you’re being pushed into the dark, dingy bathroom before his hands are pushing your crop top up, exposing your bra. Your eyes glance to the unlocked door when he tugs the cups of your bra down.

“Nah, a slut like you doesn’t need privacy,” he purrs, like he’s reading your mind. His eyes glitter as he follows your line of sight. “I wouldn’t even bother charging anyone who walks in for the show. S’a free for all.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s roughly pushing you against the countertop, growling when he pulls your skirt back up your hips. Your mouth opens to protest, but he speaks over you. “It’s so cute when you act all modest, but we both know you’re a cheap whore, huh? Pretendin’ that you wouldn’t like an audience. Like you wouldn’t let me bend you over one of those cocktail tables out there.”

“Think you wanna get caught, Svechnikov,” you tease, pressing your ass back against his pelvis, grinding on him in the same movements as earlier—only this time, you’re an orgasm deep, and you have at least some semblance of privacy, so you have no reservations. Your eyes lock with his in the reflection, holding his gaze. “Looking for an excuse to end things with Jenna, are you?”

“Nah, I think I’ll keep her around,” he says with a smile, pushing at your back to press your breasts against the cold countertop. “She’s a good fuck.”

“You gonna fuck me, or you just gonna talk about her? I can go get her, if you want. Catch her up on the details.”

With a laugh, Andrei tsks. “So impatient. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about manners?”

“More than yours ever taught you, that’s for sure,” you spit back. If only his mother knew the things he’d done and said to you; you’re sure she’d have plenty to say about her son’s behavior.

Andrei pulls himself out of his pants, fisting his dick before he’s dropping a wad of spit on the tip, running it through your folds. In the mirror, you see him watching the way it melds with your slick, coating the head of his dick. “I love when you talk dirty to me. Makes me so fuckin’ hard.”

He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of having the last word, shooting back whatever sassy comeback is lingering on your tongue, instead pushing into you so quickly a gasp is ripped from your throat. His hips press hard against your ass, buried to the hilt so you can throb around the entirety of him. “So tight, ‘specially for a cunt that gets used so often.”

The degradation pours out of his mouth, a hot wave of arousal trailing up your spine with every word. He’s the only one that can pull it off, igniting the blue flame inside of you with filthy whispers, paired perfectly with each precise thrust. His hands dig into your hips, pulling you back against him roughly, loud slaps of your ass against his pelvis echoing around the room.

A large hand makes its way up your spine, slipping into your hair and tugging you back until your spine is arched and his chest is pressed against your back. You take in your own reflection in the mirror, cheeks growing warm at the sight: hair mussed, makeup smeared, clothes disheveled across your frame. At the apex of your thighs, you can’t help but stare at his thick cock driving into you, glistening with your slick.

Andrei hums lowly in your ear. “Look at you, filthy fuckin’ whore with your tits out, getting this slutty little cunt destroyed by my dick.”

“Andrei,” you gasp out—whether at the filth spewing out of his mouth, or from the way he’s driving into you, relentless, you aren’t sure.

“Yeah, baby, you gonna come?”

Your reply is a choked cry. “No–”

“No? Yeah, you are, can feel the way you’re gripping my cock. You’re gonna gush all over me.”

Your hand betrays you, slipping from the edge of the counter to paw at your clit. His chuckle makes your cheeks hot, burning even hotter when his breath fans against your neck. “Say ‘please.’”

The last shred of dignity you have left lodges in your throat, and you glare at him in the reflection, refusing to take his bait. His eyebrow raises, and a moment later, his hips cease their movements.

An involuntary whine claws its way out of your throat, feeling the way your pussy flutters helplessly around him. You know he can feel it, too, judging by the way his eyes glitter as he looks at you. His voice is deep, rumbling lowly in your ear, “We both know you want it. Need it. Scott wasn’t gonna give it to you, was he? Not like this. Not like me.”

You purse your lips, shaking your head. You’re not quite sure what game you’re playing, not when he can read you like a book, can feel the evidence of your pending release, pulsing desperately around him. Begging.

When you don’t answer, still stubbornly clinging onto your last, desperate piece of humility, his hand slithers up to roughly grope at your breast. He massages, then pinches your peaked nipple between two large fingers. “Use your manners.”

Your hips cant backwards, attempting to goad him into moving—all you need is just a little bit, and you’ll be falling off the cliff into oblivion. He chuckles, hips moving quickly to avoid being sheathed fully inside you; you’re reprimanded with a slap to your breast. No words are necessary; he isn’t going to bother repeating himself, so you steel yourself and say with a shaky voice, “P-please, Andrei.”

A satisfied smirk curls onto his stupid, handsome face as he releases your breast, knocking your own hand out of the way to rub at your clit as he resumes the same brutal rhythm as before. The warmth of his finger sends a spark up your spine, heightening the pleasure that surges through you.

“C’mon, kisa. Come on it.”

You have no choice but to obey, the world shattering around you after freezing entirely for the briefest of moments. You swear your soul leaves your body in the middle of that dingy bathroom in the city’s hottest club; one set of fingers pressed against your throbbing clit, the other gripping the edge of the countertop, holding on for dear life. The sound of Andrei’s groan of satisfaction is deep in your ear, approving of the way your hips twitch in his hands.

“You’re so pretty when you come,” he says, patronizing, nipping affectionately at your shoulder. You don’t have it in you to roll your eyes, but you sigh loudly when he pulls out of you; the empty void in your pussy is devastating. “On your knees, sweetheart. Gotta clean up the mess you made.”

He isn’t rough, but he isn’t entirely gentle as he encourages you to your knees; you do your best not to imagine what is on the sticky, tiled floor of the bathroom—or the last time it was cleaned. Andrei smirks as he tilts his head down to look at you. “Knew I’d get you back here someday.”

“You want me to suck your dick or not?”

“I do,” he says slowly. “But I know you want that even more.”

Now, you do roll your eyes, ignoring him and leaning forward to take him in your mouth.

“Ah ah ah,” he stops you. You hate that he makes you feel like a greedy child going for a piece of candy before you say ‘thank you’. “Want you to say it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out.

“Already did, sweetheart,” he winks, and you scowl in response. He’s the worst when he’s right.

“Wanna suck your dick, Andrei,” you say reluctantly, the words tasting awful in your mouth. You’re tempted to slap the smug look on his stupid, handsome face.

Your eyes draw to the way he takes his length in his hand, stroking it slowly. “Want it in your throat, hm?”

A glare, burning hot, shot in his direction. He watches you, expectant, and you know he’s waiting for you to repeat his words. The sooner you say it, the sooner it’ll be over. “Want it in my throat.”

“Want me to spill my cum all over that pretty face?” he smirks. You swallow, hot from the inside out.

“Want you to come all over my face, Drei.”

It sounds so sincere he pauses to stare. Then the smirk returns. “Aw, baby, all you had to do was ask.”

His dick meets your lips and you whimper as soon as it presses into your mouth. The weight of him is familiar, almost comforting on your tongue, though the width of him is something you never got used to. He’s big, and he knows it.

“Forgot how much I like the way you look with my cock stuffed in your mouth,” he says, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his unzipped pants to snap a photo of you. “Should I post on my private story, you think?”

“You post and I’ll never suck your dick again, Svechnikov.”

“Don’t worry, kisa,” he coos. “Want to keep that for my eyes only. Now, put that pretty mouth to work, yeah?”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and part your lips again—reluctantly. You can’t explain why, but there’s an inexplicable urge to have him back in your mouth, to deliver the pleasure he never fails to offer you.

To keep him addicted to you the same way you are him.

He presses in, doesn’t give you the time to adjust before he’s hitting the back of your throat, nor does he bother to hide his dark chuckle when you choke, tears brimming in your eyes. With a groan, his thrusts grow quicker, drool spilling out the side of your mouth.

“Not sure what I like fucking more: your cunt or your face,” he drawls, accent thick as he draws closer to his release. Thick fingers card through your hair, securing a hold at the back of your head and you blink away the stream of tears pooling in your eyes. A string of broken Russian falls from his mouth, eyes squeezed shut while his hips increase their pace. “Fuckin’ love when you gag on it though, baby.”

Andrei lets out another loud groan and a frantic series of thrusts before he’s pulling out of your mouth quickly, wrapping his fingers around length and stroking himself. He jerks a few times before releasing another curse in Russian before he spills onto your face, dripping thickly over your skin.

“Fuck,” he says, this time in English. “Now I gotta get a picture of that.”

When he tugs his phone out, you do your best to scramble away, but you hear the telltale click of the camera anyways. Andrei’s hum is smug as he admires his artistry. “M’sure Scott will love this preview of you for later.”

“You are the worst,” you huff, glaring at him as you clean up your face. Still, you can’t help the heat that creeps into your cheeks.

“What? All I was doing was warming you up for him. Think about how much dick you can take now that I’ve stretched you out.”

Not bothering to even waste the energy arguing back, you opt to flip him off. The effect is much less powerful given that you’re tossing out the paper towel that wiped his cum off your face. He raises an amused eyebrow, eyes raking over your figure before stepping beside you to grab his own paper towel.

While he’s cleaning himself up, you adjust your skirt, ensuring you’re properly covered. A glance in the mirror renders your reflection less than stellar, but you clean up the smudged lip gloss and wipe away the runny mascara from under your eyes. When you look back at Andrei, he’s distracted by his phone, so you seize the opportunity to take his wallet and pull out two crisp hundred dollar bills, fresh from the ATM.

Rubbing the bills together catches his attention, and he grimaces as he lunges toward you. Holding them just out of his grasp, you offer a big pucker of your lips, pressed to his cheek with a loud, “mwah!” before tucking the bills into your top, snug against your breast. With a wink, you walk out, feeling his gaze hot on your ass as the door swings shut behind you.

#andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #andrei svechnikov smut #andrei svechnikov x reader

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Note

Hiiii wanted to request Dark Aemond x Mermaid reader.

Reader is from house Manderly [ their flag had a merman in it ] and Aemond finds our her secret so he blackmails her father into marrying her.

Also some smut too maybe breeding kink of sorts.

even the whales fall prey to men.

pairing: dark!aemond targaryen x fem!mermaid!reader

warnings: very much nsfw. explicit language. blackmailing on aemond's part. forced marriage. dubcon. breeding kink. allusions to violence and death. mentions of pregnancy.

notes: dark & obsessive!aemond targaryen makes my head go brrr. also this smut will totally suck and i take full responsibility for it.

masterlist

The sea is much colder than usual, and across the winter sky hangs a thick blanket of clouds, dark as smoke.

It will snow soon, your mother had said at breakfast, bundled up in all her warm furs while you broke fast together. Today may be the last day we are able to swim for a while, so do make your peace and say all your goodbyes to your grandfather.

You sit on the jagged rocks that stand strong in the waters, watching as your mother and sisters finish with their own wreaths. Yours lays draped across your lap, weaved from rosemary and sea kale and the pretty blackthorn that bloomed on the nearby cliffs. The whales were making one final visit to White Harbor before leaving for warmer waters, and it was tradition to see them goodbye, and to flower them with the newly made wreathes and long garlands. It would not be until the early summer months that they would return.

“Little fish,” your mother calls out for you, already knee-high deep in the bitter sea waters. Your sisters did not wait for neither you nor her, deciding on a small race between each other. “Lost in thought, my little love?” Her face is soft and sweet, with two dimples on both cheeks, “Come or we’ll miss them!”

You were born a Manderly, under the cold moon, on the White Knife. On your first nameday, a great storm wailed outside the New Castle, crushing your lord father’s fleet to kindle and drowning the port city. Some said it was the Stranger waging war against the Father and the Warrior, high in the heavens, while others claimed the old sea god Caraxes was celebrating the birth of a new granddaughter.

Your father claimed direct descendance from the First Men, while your mother was of the true goldenblood of Old Valyria, a daughter of Caraxes himself. His mermaids, women with silver crowns and dark violet eyes and a fish’s tail for legs. The seamen swore you existed, but the rest of Westeros refused to believe.

Perhaps that was why you never strayed far from the White Knife, and from your mother’s side too.

Then again, your lady mother never faltered in warning you and your elder sisters of the myriad of dangers that came with your blood, and of people finding out the truth of such. She was a protective woman, prideful and beautiful, and a great warrior too. The magic she practiced since girlhood allowed for her to shift her appearances, and when you grew of age, she taught you the different spells and rituals, the small incantations to mumble under your breath, and the ways of honoring your grandfather.

“Be smart about it,” she cautioned, though not sternly. With a gentle palm resting over your cheekbone, she kissed the tip of your nose, smiling down at you, “always be mindful of one’s eyes and ears, my little one. The whales know no true safety, not even in their own home.”

Oh, how you wish to go back and believe her words a little more

It came as a great surprise that, while you were gone, your lord father had welcomed in a guest.

You had not been made aware of such, and neither was your mother, who took it as quite the insult. She immediately sent you and your sisters to your personal chambers, to wash up from the heavy sea salt that clung to your skin and hair, and to dress nicely. “The blue velvet, please,” she said, with a smile that did not reach her purple eyes. “We must look our best.” You had not the slightest clue of who the guest might be, and you ask your eldest sister if she caught a whisper. But she just shrugs. “A Stark, maybe? Or perhaps a Baratheon.”

“But what would they want with us?”

“Maybe a marriage pact is finally being proposed between our houses,” she replies with a sigh, a stupid lovesick grin twisting on her pink lips. She is a maiden of twenty and two, tall and slender and beautiful like your mother, and beyond ready to become a lord’s wife. You make a face at that but say nothing more. Would your mother even allow for that to happen? Perhaps for your sisters, but not for you.

You were still too young, a pretty daylily not yet ready for plucking.

In the Merman’s Court, you find your mother pacing by the castle’s throne, biting at her nails. She looks nervous, with eyes darting between the doors and the households that stood around the hall, cloaked in wools of blue and green. When she finally takes notice of your presence, she drops her hand and draws you into a hug. “Little fish,” and she studies you over, at how you brushed out your silver hair till it shone, and wore your nicest silks. “Very pretty, my little one. Very pretty, indeed.”

You remain by her side, clutching tightly her hand as your sisters soon step inside the hall, all clad in their prettiest gowns, in bright colors of green and navy and white, and giggling amongst themselves. Then come the court ladies and lords, the few maesters that lived in the New Castle, and your father, the Lord Manderly, followed by-

“Prince Aemond of the House Targaryen, son of King Viserys II and the Queen Alicent.”

Your eyes grow wide at the sight of Aemond One Eye, and you subtly shift closer to your mother. He was terribly handsome, you think, shrouded in black riding leather and a long cape that pooled around his dark boots. At his waist hangs a sheathed long-sword. Both his hands are tucked behind his back, shoulders straight and proud, and he wears a smirk. And his hair, every bit the same silver as yours, long and straight and neatly combed.

“Ah, Prince Aemond,” your mother greets. She curtsies, low and graceful to her knees, and you do the same. “Your visit is quite the unexpected one, but we welcome you into our home. Is White Harbor to your liking, my prince?”

He hums. “There are many seamen that dock themselves at King’s Landing, and almost all of them have spoken of the White Harbor, and the beauty that it possesses, particularly during these winter months.” His voice is deep, almost a purr, with a crownlands accent. “Although, my lady, now I cannot help but wonder if your daughters are the reason for that.”

Your mother clicks her tongue, and ever so slightly her eyes narrow. “You honor me, my prince,” she said, “and my daughters.”

Prince Aemond grins at that.

It was your father who spoke next. “My love, the Prince Aemond has arrived with a most equitable offer from the King and Queen themselves.” He sounds quite proud, and incredibly happy at whatever that offer might be. “They are asking for an alliance to be made between our house and House Targaryen,” but he pauses, holding his gaze on your mother, “-through marriage. Prince Aemond is here to choose one of our daughters to wed.”

Your face snaps to your mother, who stood speechless.

“Our eldest is twenty and two, and a fine lady,” your father adds, nodding to your sisters that stood to your left, “and our second-born daughter just celebrated her twentieth nameday. She has no current betrothed, though she is not without suitors, of course.” Your mother holds her tongue, it seemed, choosing to keep you tucked by her side.

But Prince Aemond shakes his head. “Your two daughters are very beautiful, Lord Manderly, I speak nothing but the truth with that, but I have no interest in having their hands,” he says, before focusing his one eye on you. “It is your youngest I wish to have.”

Your mind goes blank.

“My youngest?” Your father sputters. “Forgive me for my words, my prince, but we have not planned to wed her off yet.”

Aemond shrugs. “I do not care about that; it is she who I desire the most.” He looks at your father, tilting his head, sounding curious, “Did you not promise to me any choice of your daughters, for an alliance with my family?” Lord Manderly appears nervous now, and embarrassed as well, with cheeks and a forehead flushing a bright pink. “Well…I suppose so…”

“Mama?” you whisper, tucking yourself behind her. Your fingers tremble greatly, and it soon feels too difficult to breathe. You could feel your sisters’ eyes on you, along with your father’s and the eyes of the many court lords and ladies, and the household guards too. They all feel too judgemental, pitiful and sympathetic. But your mother, she fought back. “No,” she says, loudly. “No, you shall not have her.”

“You deny your own prince?” Aemond asks, incredulous. “Such boldness, my Lady Manderly. But alas, I came to retrieve my bride, and I shall leave with her, make no mistake in believing that.”

“No,” your mother repeats, much louder than the first. Her voice, strong and willful, echoes across the Merman’s Court, sounding every much a crack of thunder, or perhaps even a roar of a she-dragon. “She is still too young, my prince, you must understand that. I will not be separated from my youngest, she is not ready to become a wife-”

“She has celebrated her eighteenth nameday, has she not?” Your mother stays silent, and Aemond grins. “She is well old enough to be my wife.”

Your mother shakes her head. “Please, you can have my two other daughters, but not her. I refuse it! I refuse it!” She turns to your father, “My love, see with reason! She is not ready! The ocean still needs her, I still need her! Refuse it! I will not allow it! No, I will not-” But Prince Aemond cuts her off, “Refuse it?” He laughs, and you flinch at it.

“You have no power to do such a thing, least you wish to die of treason, a bloody traitor to your crown. To your King and Queen!”

He takes a step forwards, to you and your mother. “I know you, Lady Manderly,” he says, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild forest beast, “I know the sort of mother you are. It is very honorable, very admirable, and I thank you, from the bottom of my own heart, for raising my new bride well. But I also know you are very protective of them, and I understand.” Prince Aemond then leans his face close, until his lips linger over your mother’s ear, “-after all, dangers do tend to follow the daughters of Caraxes, do they not? And his granddaughters too. His pretty mermaids.”

He pulls back, a dark grin curling on his lips, his tone seeping in false concern. “What might happen if the world found out the truth of you? And your daughters? How you are not just liars, but neither full humans as well. The creatures the seamen lust after, alive and flourishing on the White Knife…”

Prince Aemond then peers at you from where you stood, his face softening. You timidly meet his eye. “Come, my lady, allow me a better look at you.” You swallow but do as he asked, moving to stand in front of him. “Look at you, a vision of pure beauty. You are so much lovelier than what I imagined when coming here,” and you could not figure out what hurts more: his grip on your upper arm, or the way your mother did nothing.

When you turn to glance back at your lady mother, she looks more a stranger than the woman you knew- weak and humiliated and defeated, almost in tears. It reminds you of something she told you, so many moons ago, back on the beachside. There was a dead whale carcass, fat and bloated, drifting back and forth in the harbor. In its side was buried a harpoon. Your mother shook her head at the sight.

“Even the whales fall prey to men.”

Five days later, Aemond One Eye claims you as his wife.

He allows the wedding to partake on the beach, alongside the ocean where you grew up and loved so dearly. Your mother had pleaded with him to agree on his part to wed you in the customs of Old Valyria, and he could not say no.

I, too, am of the blood of Old Valyria, he said, quite proudly. It will be an honor to both our ancestors, may they bear down on us as we continue our bloodline.

But afterward, he was quick to whisk you away to King’s Landing, to the Red Keep where he swore you rightfully belonged. You only caught a short glimpse of the Queen Alicent Hightower and her father, the Hand, before you were locked you in his royal chambers. And now, you lay across his bed, a flood of whimpers and moans spilling from your pink lips as he squashes his face only deeper between your thighs. “You have the sweetest cunt,” he groans, sucking on your clit as your head thrashes around, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“I knew I had to have you,” he says, while running his tongue along your wet folds. Your taste, it is like no other, and he swears himself a new and addicted man. He will spend the rest of his days worshipping you if the gods allow it. “The moment I saw you, you were mine. The gods could not even deny me of you. Your lips, my sweet girl, they looked so sweet, and I wondered if your cunt would be the same.”

Both your breasts sit in his hands, and he palms at them, sliding his face up to yours, peppering kiss after kiss across your hipbones and stomach. You are so beautiful, he thinks, while pressing his face against your belly. It should be a sin that you are not with child. “I cannot wait till our firstborn sleeps here,” he mumbles, kissing it, “I will make you the most beautiful mother known to the world, and men will envy me for the rest of their damned days.”

His words make you whimper, chewing on your bottom lip as his mouth soon hovers over yours. “Tell me you want my seed,” he demands in a whisper, gripping your chin between his fingers. “Tell me how bad you need it…and I promise you, my love, you will have it.”

“Please…”

His eyebrow raises, and he chuckles. “Please, what?”

He wishes for you to beg for him- for his seed and his love and soul, to plead with him for everything, to come undone and submit yourself- as his woman and wife and the mother of his children.

But you shy away, choosing to hide your face within the pillows, a bit too embarrassed to answer him properly. It is cute until Aemond grows too impatient. His craving for you spanned over too many moons, ever since he took first sight of you swimming in the waters of the White Knife. He toasts to both the Mother and the Maiden, perhaps even the Crone, that you never saw Vhagar flying in the sky above.

“It does not matter,” he says, kissing your forehead softly before moving to your lips. The kiss leaves you breathless, trembling and hungry for more. He flings your legs over his waist, pulling you down to where you lay completely underneath him, “I do not need your permission to seed my wife, and to make her a mother,” and against your lips, he mumbles, “you belong to me, do you understand? You are mine, from this day till the end.” And within a minute, his cock is stuffed deep inside you.

“It is too big…!” you cry, grasping onto his shoulders as he fucks you hard and deep, his thrusts seeming too unforgiving.

Perhaps he is punishing you, though you had not the smallest idea as to why.

“Please! Please, husband- please, slow down!” You bounce beneath him, fingers finding your own nipples as you twist and tweak them. It felt right in the moment, having remembered him doing it only several minutes ago.

“I do not give a shit,” he grunts, his hands resting on your hips, “you were fucking made for me. This body was made for my seed, for my children, now you will take it.” Sweat beads along his forehead as he moans and grunts some more and whines, feeling the way your cunt tightens around his cock. It is perfection, a feeling that was made just for him. “You have evaded my hands for too fucking long, now you suffer the consequences.”

You feel as if your eyes might roll to the back of your skull. Your pants are heavy and hot, and you cannot help the shriek when his fingers pinch your clit, before rubbing his thumb over it. He laughs, quickening his thrusts. “And to think, your mother would have kept this from me, kept you away from me. Ah, should I speak to you the truth, my love?” It is a cruel taunt, as you cannot answer, too overtaken by this pleasure. “I would have burned the White Harbor to the ground if I was denied you. Burned your entire fucking family to ashes if they dared keep you from me. House Strong has gone extinct because of me, maybe they will come up with a new nickname for that. Aemond Targaryen, kinslayer. Aemond Targaryen, house-destroyer.”

He shakes his head, snickering, “No, those are too silly, are they not, my love?”

Your face twists up, all in utter pleasure, and your body tightens too as you cream all over his cock. Soon after, he fills you with his cum, so much it trickles down from your cunt, staining the bedsheets along with your blood. But Aemond is quick to gather it with his fingertip, though, and shove it back in you. “Every bit of it matters, my lady, especially if we wish for you be with child by the next moon.” You try to smile, but you are so exhausted and ruined and all you yearn for is sleep.

“Did…did I do good?” you breathe.

Aemond smiles, and kisses your lips, soft and sweet and loving. He strokes your hair, twirling a silver strand around his finger. You are gorgeous, his beautiful wife, this sweet granddaughter of Caraxes. All his. You and the babe that you will carry soon.

“You did perfect, my little fish.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #request #vic writes 🧸

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ophelia-writes-fics · 5 months

Text

i like when you get mad (i guess i'm pretty glad that you're alone) [kilgrave x reader - 18+]

You're a dancer at a club, and your shift just took a weird turn.

Tags (please read!): fem!reader, degradation, some mild praise, spanking, oral sex, face-fucking, cum swallowing, penetration, choking, erotic asphyxiation, unsafe/unprotected sex, face slapping, clit slapping, masochism (reader), sadism (kilgrave), humiliation, biting, scratching, bruising, some minor blood, threats, condescension, painplay, pain kink, minor bondage, edging, orgasm delay, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, mind control, mention of voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight dacryphilia, overstimulation, hair pulling, posessiveness

Word count: ~7.7k

CWs/TWs:

super dubious consent (reader likes him and consents to everything/is into the things they're doing without being compelled to, but some orders are given that can't be resisted and it's not pre-negotiated, so proceed with caution)

un-negotiated kink and unsafe choking/breathplay (i know you guys know but please don't choke anyone like this and please ask for consent in general but especially with kinks)

it's kilgrave. he's a walking red flag.

i'm not condoning anything irl, but this is fiction and i'm a kinky bitch, so i'm sexualizing this absolute maniac and i am having a lot of fun doing it lmao

You were leaning against the bar, scanning the crowd as you took your first shot of the shift. It was Friday night, with most of the crowd being well-dressed men who looked like they’d just finished with a long day of work, which meant you’d be going home with enough tips to pay your rent early.

The most eager members of the crowd were seated near the stage, where your friend had them utterly captivated with an elaborate pole routine, so you began to search the back of the house for customers who might want something more private. A group of college girls already drunk off Red Bull and vodka, cheering and shouting compliments at the dancers with the kind of unbridled joy and solidarity that only drunk girls can summon…a man who’d clearly been dragged there by his friends, his eyes glued to his phone, his blush visible even in the dimly lit club…a bouncer pulling a particularly belligerent customer towards the door…

There. On the other side of the room was a tall, sharp-featured man in a dark purple suit, sitting alone, looking thoroughly bored with the performance onstage, glancing over at you every now and again with what appeared to be a look of interest. Perfect.

You quickly ran a hand through your hair, took a deep breath, and plastered on your most winningly seductive smile before strolling towards him with as much ease as you could muster in six-inch stilettos.

“Hello there, love,” you purred, leaning forward against the table he was seated at. “Is there anything I can do for you tonight?”

You thought you’d gotten every possible response to that question before. You’d seen everything from polite rejection to aggressive groping to desperate requests for friendship or conversation, but what you’d never experienced and certainly weren’t expecting was a glance up and down your body followed by a discontented sigh and a slight frown, then a “Fine. You’ll do.”

You opened your mouth to tell the stranger off, but before you could, he held up a finger to silence you, then leaned in closer.

“Take me to your most secluded room. Don’t ask any questions, don’t stop to talk to anyone. Go.”

Your head immediately began to spin. Your brain felt cloudy, as if someone had swept every thought from your mind and replaced them with a thick, impenetrable fog. Before you could try to shake the feeling away, your body was already moving, walking briskly towards the back of the club, seemingly completely independently of your own will. Get to a private room echoed over and over, clouding all the other thoughts that you were desperately trying to muster. You felt wrong, like a puppet with your limbs being jerked around by some unseen controller, no free will of your own to be found. No, not a puppet, your mind vaguely registered. A doll.

You heard one of your friends calling you, asking something or maybe just saying hello, but when you tried to turn your head to respond, don’t stop to talk to anyone pierced your skull like a shard of ice, ringing in your ears like an intrusive thought. You didn’t stop walking even for a second. You didn’t even look at your friend. Something was very, very wrong.

Your stomach was in knots by the time you got to an empty room, your heart racing against your ribcage like a trapped bird against a windowpane. You leaned against the wall, trying desperately to steady yourself as the strange man followed you inside.

“Lock the door,” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand. The door was closed and bolted shut before you even realized you’d moved.

You tried to say, or even think What did you do to me? But the same cold, cloudy pain overtook your head. Don’t ask questions. You shut your eyes tightly and clenched your fist as your body swayed, shaken by the unfamiliar sensation, feeling your breath grow shallow with panic. When your vision refocused, you stared at the stranger, who was tossing his suit jacket aside, reclined lazily on the couch like he hadn’t a care in the world. He fixed you with an annoyed look.

“God, don’t grimace like that. The least you could do is give me a smile.”

Your face rearranged itself into the same winning, seductively charming smile you’d had on earlier, but you could tell that your eyes weren’t engaged. He didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he didn’t seem to have noticed your fear at all, grinning back at you like the devil himself.

“That’s more like it. Now, kneel for me. Arms by your sides, hands in your lap, chin up. There you are.” His smile widened as he watched your body automatically follow his orders.

He stood up and began to pace in a slow circle around you. You felt his dark eyes piercing you, evaluating you, examining your body for any minor flaw or imperfection, even though your vision remained fixed straight ahead and your smile remained in place. The carpet dug into your knees, your stiletto heels stabbing the backs of your thighs. But still, you knelt, unmoving and obedient as he stroked your hair like you were a well-behaved pet.

It felt good, you thought, feeling a knot in your stomach form at the realization. He was incredibly handsome, with fingers as long and slender as the rest of him. You might have invited him back here on your own even if he hadn’t performed what you were growing more and more sure of was mind control. The thought made your blood run cold, but at the same time, you could still feel how red your face was under his gaze.

Your pulse quickened as he moved back around to face you, still with that same analytical stare. His eyes lingered on your chest as he bent down slightly, moving his hand to caress the side of your face. His thumb brushed your lower lip, still frozen in place from where he had ordered you to smile.

“Open your mouth,” he said, and you obeyed, with another rush of arousal immediately followed by shame. He pressed his finger against your tongue, eyebrows raising as you moaned at the touch.

He pressed harder, still keeping his hand firmly on your jaw. “You like this, don’t you? Tell me the truth, don’t hold back.” His voice was low, his tone vaguely threatening in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You nodded, mouth still agape. Your face flushed at the eagerness of your response, the embarrassment at finding pleasure in being controlled so thoroughly sinking deeper and deeper into you. You’d never felt anything like it, and the adrenaline from the initial terror of being manipulated was quickly turning into an aphrodisiac when combined with your attraction to him.

He scoffed - a short, mocking laugh. “My god,” he grinned, straightening up. “Then you can consider yourself a very, very lucky girl.” The swell of pride in your chest wasn’t at all hindered by the way his tone darkened; you couldn’t even tell if you were genuinely delighted at having impressed him or if you were just following his orders and “considering yourself lucky.” From the way your brain clouded over and the way your cunt tightened onto nothing, it might have been both. You groaned slightly at the feeling, then quickly bit down on your lip to try and suppress the sound.

If he noticed, he gave no outward expression. Instead, he reclined back onto the couch, his legs falling open slightly, and he beckoned you forward with a wave of his hand.

“Come here. You can kneel at my feet where you belong.” The way he said it was so light, so casual that you could tell he wasn’t trying to be dominant or turn you on. He just genuinely believed it. God, the ego on him. Still, you started to climb to your feet to walk over.

However, before you could even stand all the way up, he raised a hand to stop you. “Ah-ah-ah. No, none of that. You can crawl. You look ridiculous walking around in those shoes anyway.”

You collapsed back to your knees, cringing slightly at the bruises you knew you would have tomorrow as you crawled towards him.

“Good girl, so you do know your place,” he said, his tone taking on a thick layer of condescension as he patted your head. “Tell me, how often do you sleep with your clients here?” He barely even looked at you as he asked, staring off into the distance as if you were boring him.

“Never,” you replied immediately.

“Never?” He raised his eyebrows, sparing you a quick, scrutinizing glance. “Then what exactly do you do in little rooms like these?”

“Private stripteases. Lap dances. I let some touch me if they pay me enough,” you answered truthfully, realizing only after you’d spoken that he hadn’t ordered you to do so. You prayed silently that your answer was good enough. A voice in the back of your head questioned why you were so desperate for his approval, but it was quickly overcome by another wave of lust.

Despite the work you did, it had been far, far too long since you’d been fucked, especially by a man as pretty as the one seated in front of you. And as much as you hated to admit it even to yourself, whatever power he had was one that you desperately wanted him to use on you. You’d never been so scared or so turned on in your life, and your deep masochistic streak was begging for more.

The man snapped his thin fingers an inch away from your face, snapping you out of your thoughts. You blinked hard, realizing you hadn’t heard a single thing he said since you answered his last question.

“Hey,” he reprimanded sharply, punctuated with a hard slap to the side of your face. “Snap out of it. God, what’s the point of sitting around here with you if you’re not even going to listen?”

“No, wait, I’m sorry, I just—“

He cut you off with a disgusted roll of his eyes. “Don’t grovel. If you’re sorry, find a way to make it up to me.”

You swallowed hard, nodding your head, mind racing. Your eyes flicked down to his lap, then back up to his face.

“May I…well…I mean, would you like me to…” you stammered, mentally kicking yourself for how timid you sounded.

“What? Spit it out,” he snapped.

“Can I please suck your dick, please?” The request was out of your mouth before you even had time to process it.

He laughed again, the same sharp mocking laugh he’d given you earlier, fixing you with a self-satisfied smile. “Oh, you really are desperate, aren’t you? Fine. Hurry up and start. Make it good.”

Of course, you followed his orders. The ice-cold feeling that came with trying to resist felt entirely foreign to you now, and the brain fog that set over you whenever he gave a command barely had time to take hold before you obeyed.

You started slowly, gently licking the tip of his dick before gradually working your way down, letting your mouth adjust to the length, pressing your tongue against him as you gently bobbed your head.

While you were still struggling to take even half of his dick in your mouth, he roughly grabbed your hair, and without warning, shoved your head down to the base of his cock.

You choked hard, tears immediately streaming down your face, but you couldn’t get even a second of relief with the way he held you firmly in place. You took a deep breath in through your nose, but the air was immediately knocked from your lungs as he pulled your head back, then shoved you back down, thrusting forcefully into the back of your throat. You gave a stifled cry and frantically grasped at his leg, trying to get leverage to break away, but you felt him slap your hand away before pinning it against the couch cushion.

“You can take it. You want to impress me, don’t you? Stop struggling and let me fuck your throat.”

Your body went limp, all reflexes to break away and gasp for air vanishing in an instant. You could feel yourself choking, your face dripping with spit and tears, but you didn’t care. Both his hands were twisted in your hair, pulling hard, shoving your mouth onto his cock over and over again like you were a toy. You moaned desperately, half from pain and half from delirious pleasure. After what felt like ages, he ripped you away, forcing you to look into his dark eyes.

“Put some fucking effort into it,” he hissed, releasing your hair from his wrenching grasp. “Show me why I shouldn’t get rid of you right now.”

You immediately set to work, taking as much of him as you could in your mouth and stroking what you couldn’t take with your right hand. You didn’t know what “getting rid of you” would entail. You didn’t doubt for a second that he could kill you. You felt briefly concerned that this didn’t turn you off in the slightest before your thoughts were pulled back to the task at hand.

You sucked hard, running your tongue against the most sensitive places you knew of, gently teasing him, just enough to hopefully make him feel as desperate as you did. Your efforts were immediately rewarded with a low moan that became an almost feral growl, feeling him thrust upward involuntarily. You doubled down, relishing in every sound you could draw from him.

He exhaled sharply when you pulled back, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock and flicking your tongue, tasting the pre-cum that dripped from him. He reached out, hand tangling in your hair again, but not quite as hard as before.

“Right there,” he sighed, holding your head in place, eyes shut tightly. “Fuck, there you go, right there, just like that, harder…oh, god, what a good fucking girl you are…” As you felt him get closer and closer, listening to the way he moaned for you, you felt yourself grow hot all over, more and more desperate to feel him let go, to cum down your throat.

You whined sharply, pushing even further, your body aching all over with unfulfilled desire. You took every single inch of him, swallowing hard around his cock, pressing your nose to his stomach, ignoring the way your throat tightened and instead focusing on how badly you wanted him, how terribly you wanted to impress him…

Your efforts paid off immediately when he forcibly pinned you where you were, grabbing your hair as he came with a rough, broken shout, his cum hitting the back of your throat.

After what felt like ages, you felt him collapse backward against the couch cushions. You pulled away, quickly swallowing the mouthful you’d accumulated, then opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show him how well you’d taken it.

He softly laughed, peering at you with a slightly unfocused look before closing his eyes again, still on cloud nine, chest rising and falling quickly as the overwhelming pleasure slowly subsided.

You leaned your head against his inner thigh, gazing up at him with a lovestruck stare. He looked so vulnerable like this, open and overwhelmed with all the sensations flooding him, a slight smile on his lips.

A man with all the power in the world, everything he could ever want only a few words away, everyone wrapped around his little finger, and yet here he was, your head between his legs, absolutely radiant in the afterglow of his orgasm. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

He really is cute, you thought, even if he is terrifying. You examined his face carefully, taking in every detail — his sharp cheekbones, his thin nose, his dark eyelashes, the soft pink of his lips, the curve of his jawline and neck. There was something almost delicate about him, hidden by how deeply intimidating he was, and you hadn’t noticed it until now. He was just…well, he was just so pretty. There was just no other word for it, even now (or maybe especially now) that his sophisticated appearance was ruffled. His hair, once perfectly combed, was messy, a few dark strands falling into his eyes. His pristine suit was wrinkled, jacket long discarded, his tie partially undone, his shirtsleeves hastily rolled up, his belt and pants unfastened, and to top it all off, his gorgeous cock resting against his stomach, still half-hard. He was a fucking vision. You could have stared at him for ages.

You gently tapped his leg to get his attention. “You know, I don’t actually think I caught your name,” you said, batting your eyelashes a bit. Your smile faded when you were met with a cold silence. He shook his head, straightening up and brushing his hair back into place.

“You don’t need to know my name,” he snapped, all the bliss from a moment ago having vanished as he pushed you aside, readjusting his clothes.

You sat back, thoroughly dejected. You had thought you’d done well. You wanted to make him feel good, and you had, but it wasn’t enough. You shouldn’t have felt like this about one of your clients, but you’d never met anyone else like him, and you wanted more.

Your heart sped up as he reached for his jacket. Gathering his things meant he would leave, and an impulse deep inside you was yelling at you to do something. This wasn’t a job anymore, you needed him. He’d gotten you in the palm of his hand, desperate and wanting, and now that you had done what he wanted, he was acting like you were invisible. You weren’t going to let things go that easily.

You pulled yourself up onto the couch, ignoring the ache in your knees and the pain on the backs of your thighs where your high heels had dug into your skin. Before he could react, you climbed onto his lap, facing him, arms around his shoulders. You’d never broken your “no kissing clients” rule, but that rule was the furthest thing from your mind as you leaned in for a kiss, pressing your lips firmly against his.

With your eyes closed tightly, you barely even realized he had shoved you away until you landed on your back against the leather of the couch. Your eyes snapped open, finding the man standing before you, with a look on his face that was a mix of anger and bewilderment and something else you couldn’t quite place. He opened his mouth as if preparing to ask you something, but he closed it again, turning away from you. You bit your lip as he paced slowly, his hand over his eyes. Had you read the situation wrong? Was he ashamed that he’d come back here with you? Did he not like being kissed? Had you come on too strong? Was it over the line?

Your heart skipped a beat as he stopped, focusing fully on you. You felt cornered, like a prey animal about to be devoured. He looked angry, vengeful, his already dark eyes completely devoid of light as he approached you.

“Strip, then bend over the couch, facing the wall. Now.”

Chills ran down your spine as you quickly undressed. You hadn’t been wearing much before, but naked, you felt completely exposed under his cold glare. You reluctantly turned away, the brain fog coming back like a tidal wave in response to your slight resistance, and you bent over, just like he’d told you to do. You could feel yourself shaking, terrified at the idea of what he would do to you, but with a hint of anticipation that kept you from falling off the edge into panic.

You closed your eyes tightly and tried to ground yourself in the brief moments of silence, waiting for whatever would come next, but they shot open as soon as you felt the sharp, unmistakable shock of his belt whipping you across the backs of your thighs at full force.

You cried out involuntarily, from shock and from the stinging, nearly unbearable pain. You hadn’t even had time to compose yourself when the second hit came, the pain intensifying as he struck the same place even harder. Your skin burned and you felt your eyes well up with tears, but you could feel the heat of arousal inside you growing, your masochistic side alight with pleasure. You wanted more.

“Fuck!” you gasped as he landed a series of quick, searing lashes across your thighs and ass. Your nails dug into the couch as you bit your lip, trying to stifle a scream as the metal buckle whipped into your skin. Your head spun. It stung, so badly you could barely take it, but it felt fucking incredible, endorphins and adrenaline coursing through your body, making every sensation electric as he kept going, relentlessly striking you over and over again.

You were granted a temporary reprieve when he leaned in close to your ear, running his fingernails down your back, hard enough that you knew there would be marks tomorrow.

“Don’t even think about holding back,” he hissed, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “I want everyone outside this room to hear you scream for mercy, and I want everyone to know you’re not going to get it.”

Immediately he resumed his punishment, the sound of the belt hitting you again and again echoing off the walls. Your body instinctively followed his orders and you felt yourself cry out involuntarily, a broken sound halfway between a gasp and a yell. You barely even registered it as your own voice.

Thwack.

A particularly brutal hit made you cry out, arching your back in a desperate attempt to ease the pain.

“Fuck, please…” you begged, feeling like you were on the verge of fainting.

“‘Please’ what?”

Thwack.

The ice cold feeling shot through your brain like a lightning strike. Beg for mercy. Scream for it. You desperately wanted to, but at the same time…

“Harder, fuck, please, harder!”

The words were out of your mouth before you even realized you’d spoken them. Immediately, the room fell silent. You gasped for air, still reeling from the searing pain and the frigid ache of trying to resist him.

He took hold of your hair without warning, yanking your head around to look at him.

“Repeat that,” he snapped.

“I— I want it harder,” you panted, trying to force your blurred vision to focus.

A long, tense pause.

“You like this.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, god, yes.”

“Of fucking course you do.”

He grabbed you, turning you around forcefully so that you were facing him, then without warning, his hands were wrapped around your neck, so tightly that you couldn’t even take a moment to breathe in, your windpipe fully constricted.

“I bet you like this too, don’t you?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

You nodded desperately, as best you could with your neck being held firmly in place.

“Listen to me,” he growled. “You live and die by my orders. You have no other purpose but to please me, do you understand? Just look at you. I could do anything to you and you would love it. You get off on being whipped, you get off on being choked half to death…I could beat you senseless and you would cum from it.”

You moaned in ecstasy, but it came out as barely a whimper. You could feel your heartbeat in your temples, your vision going dark around the edges as his fingers dug into your neck.

“I’m going to do whatever I want to you. That’s all you’re good for. Do you understand?”

You tried to answer, but you couldn’t move. Your head was pounding, your throat feeling like it was about to be crushed. You saw stars, multicolored lights popping in and out of your vision. The darkness around the edges was rapidly expanding, bleeding further and further into your line of sight until you couldn’t see at all.

At the last possible moment, before you could feel yourself slip over the edge into unconsciousness, he let go, dropping your limp body and watching you gasp for air, coughing and retching as you struggled to breathe in after being deprived of oxygen for so long.

“Pathetic,” he scoffed, glaring down at you like you were nothing more than dust.

You lowered your head, thoroughly humiliated, pressing your forehead against your knees as you gulped in mouthful after mouthful of oxygen, mind racing. He could have killed you. He could have choked you to death without a second thought and you wouldn’t have been able to stop him, you told yourself, but still, in the deepest parts of your mind, the danger thrilled you.

You needed him to touch you, to hurt you, to ruin you. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted to you, and the thought made your stomach ache with terror as much as it turned you on.

He caressed your hair in a way that would have almost seemed tender if he hadn’t just strangled you half to death. You looked up slightly, and he tilted your chin up so you were face to face. He moved your head slightly to one side, then the other, examining you carefully, and smiled with a sick satisfaction.

“You’ll have bruises on your neck for a week,” he praised with a slap to your cheek. You moaned softly at the impact, closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling.

He bent down, picking you up ever so slightly to rearrange your body in the position he wanted, laying you down and spreading your legs. You could see from your position how hard he was. Your pain had turned him on as much as it had done to you.

You stared up at him as he admired his work, stroking his cock as he gazed at the bruises and welts and scratches he’d left on your skin.

“Come here,” you pleaded, your voice still raw and hoarse from being choked, spreading your legs further.

He was immediately on top of you, his thin hips pressed against yours, hands wrapped tightly around your wrists. “Don’t you dare give me orders,” he spat, but despite the venom behind it, you could tell from the way his hips rubbed against you that he was as desperate as you were. You felt his cock brush against your clit as he bit down hard on your neck, surely adding yet another bruise to the collection you’d accumulated.

You bit your lip, wanting him to just stop teasing, to hurry up and fuck your brains out, but as you were considering whether or not to try and resist his don’t give orders command, you felt the tip of his dick press against your entrance. You’d known it was big, your aching throat was doing an excellent job at reminding you of that, but you still couldn’t stifle a gasp at the feeling. It was just a whole different experience like this.

The beautiful man above you gave you a look that sent chills down your spine.

“You want it,” he whispered, leaning in so close he could have kissed you.

You nodded eagerly, fixing him with a pleading gaze. You hadn’t needed the command in the slightest.

“Beg.”

“Please…” you whined, your nails digging into your palms as you clenched your hands into fists, struggling to keep still. “Please, please…”

“Not good enough. Beg harder.” You had no idea how he managed to sound thoroughly indifferent, even while he was this hard.

Your already racing heartbeat quickened. “Please, I’m begging you, fuck me, take me, ruin me, do anything you want to me, I —fuck— I need it, I need it so badly, please, I’ll do anything…”

That same sadistic, terrifying little smile crept across his face. “Anything?”

“Yes, anything, just please, god, fuck me!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmured, before roughly thrusting into you, as deep as he could possibly get, without giving you so much as a second to adjust.

You couldn’t even try to hold back a scream, and he had the nerve to laugh in your face as he slapped his hand over your mouth.

“Oh, careful, don’t shout like that! They’ll think I’m doing something horrible to you in here,” he grinned, punctuating his words with hard, deep strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside you. “It sounds like you’re in absolute agony. But we both know better than that, don’t we?”

He picked up the pace, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder to fuck you deeper than you’d thought possible.

“You know, I really thought that you’d put up a little more of a fight,” he continued, almost nonchalant despite the grin on his face and the vicious pounding he was giving your sensitive cunt. “I thought I’d have to order you to get off on the pain, or that I’d have to bash your pretty head against the wall to get you to listen. But I got lucky, didn’t I? I just happened to come across the most disgusting, most depraved little whore in the city, so eager and willing to listen, to take whatever I give you.”

The hand that wasn’t keeping you quiet brushed against a sensitive spot on your inner thigh and you all but melted, whimpering with pleasure underneath him as he fucked you harder.

“Oh, that’s it, let me hear you moan,” he said, throwing his head back with a growl, pulling his hand away from your mouth. “You don’t care who hears, do you? I bet you like it. I bet you love knowing that all your little friends and all your clients are hearing you get your pretty cunt ruined by a complete stranger, don’t you? You like them knowing that I hit you and choked you and you still let me fuck you like this. You just love that everyone knows that you get off on me hurting you, that everyone knows you’re just a desperate slut for pain.” He punctuated the last word with a hard, backhanded slap across your face.

You nodded frantically, moaning your assent, hands grasping at his arms, holding on for dear life as he completely wrecked you. You felt him grin as he leaned in to bite your neck, his tongue darting over your sensitive skin as he did so.

Your hand wandered, finding its way to his dark hair, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers through it, pulling ever so slightly, not wanting to risk his wrath again but unable to resist the temptation. Your eyes widened with surprise when he gasped and moaned, his teeth temporarily leaving your neck before he recovered and bit you again, much harder, this time on a sensitive spot just below your jaw that made you cry out. When he was satisfied with the mark he’d left, he broke away.

“You know what would be fun?” he teased, his tone menacing as he roughly grabbed your breast. You shook your head, unable to take your eyes off him. “I’d just love to see what it would be like if you weren’t such an easy little slut.” He paused, running his hand up your body, admiring the marks he’d left with a self-satisfied look.

“Put up a fight for me. That way, I can show you exactly how filthy whores like you deserve to be treated.” He sat up, his fingers clutching your hips so hard that you knew they’d leave even more bruises on your already aching body, never once faltering in his steady pace.

You flew into action immediately, frantically trying to push him away, trying to kick hard enough to get him off of you, despite the fact that your body was still aching for more. He laughed, a quick cruel sound, almost surprised by how readily you threw yourself into the role of his struggling victim, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them down above your head without missing a beat, leaving you even more helpless than you already were.

You moaned, feeling the way his dick throbbed inside you when you struggled harder, trying in vain to remove yourself from his grasp. Fucking sadist. You thrashed harder, your body still reflexively following his orders, but to no avail; he had you completely pinned in place.

Almost without realizing you were doing so, you jerked your head upward, biting the exposed skin between his neck and shoulder and digging your teeth in hard, barely even noticing how fiercely you had latched onto him until you tasted blood.

“Fuck!” he shouted, letting go of your wrists, hands immediately moving to grab your shoulders. You let go with a sharp inhale the moment you realized what you’d done, horrified at your own actions. He roughly shoved you down, forcing your mouth away, still fucking you harder than you thought possible.

“God, I should fucking kill you for that, I really, really should,” he growled. He turned his head slightly to look at the bite you’d left, scowling when he saw the blood beginning to seep into the collar of his shirt. He let go of one of your shoulders to grab your chin, forcing you to stare at the damage you’d caused.

“Look at what you did,” he spat through gritted teeth, with a wild, almost manic look in his eyes. “You think you have the right to do that? The right to defile me like that after I’ve taken such good care of you? Answer me.”

You bit your tongue, wanting to point out that ‘taking good care of you’ had involved beating you black and blue with a belt, choking you half to death with his dick, and then strangling you until you were nearly unconscious. Sure, you’d enjoyed all of it, but still.

“Answer me,” he repeated, harsher this time. “Or I swear to god I’ll kill you.”

“You told me to fight back!” The words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, pettiness entering your voice despite the murderous look in his eyes that made it very clear he had been expecting you to beg for forgiveness.

He stopped moving completely. He was still all the way inside you, and you could barely stop yourself from grinding your hips against him to try and get yourself off, but you didn’t dare move. The hand that had been gripping your jaw released, moving upward to pat your cheek gently.

“I did tell you to fight back, didn’t I?” He was mocking you, his tone sickly sweet and condescending, like you were a particularly petulant child that he was trying to discipline. Against your better judgment, or maybe just to see what he’d do about it, you nodded.

Before you could even realize what was happening, you were in terrible pain, a pain that knocked the air out of your lungs, your eyes immediately streaming with tears from the impact.

It took you a moment to process that he had just punched you in the face as hard as he possibly could.

You instinctively doubled over, curling into a ball, body and mind reeling from the blow. Your ears were ringing, your vision clouded over. It felt like your brain had been shaken vigorously inside your skull, nausea welling up inside you at the sensation, all of it so severe you were afraid you might faint.

In your dazed state, you could barely absorb what he was saying to you, only catching snippets here and there: “...didn’t fucking tell you to ruin my shirt…going to show you…disgusting girls like you…”

You felt something being wrapped around your wrists as he manhandled you so that your arms were above your head. He’d bound you up with his tie, you realized, feeling the delicate silk against your aching skin. You opened your eyes as you felt his hands on your ankles, roughly pulling you so that you were lying with your legs spread for him. There was, you observed as your vision refocused, a decent bit of blood on the collar and shoulder of his shirt, a stain that you were positive would never come out. What a shame. Probably a designer shirt, too. Must have been expensive.

You were shocked back into reality by him throwing your legs over his shoulders, bending you in half, once again filling your cunt with a hard thrust. Despite the pain still throbbing behind your eyes, which was slowly receding, you were still so, so desperate for him. You’d been close when he’d stopped, and in your hypersensitive state, you could feel your pleasure building rapidly, and before long you were writhing in his arms.

“Please, don’t stop, please,” you begged, barely even processing the words that were coming out of your own mouth. “I’m so close, I need it, please, please, I need to cum, don’t stop…”

“No,” he snapped, giving you a furious glare. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You don’t get to cum. I wouldn’t have let you cum even before you bit me like a rabid animal. What makes you think you deserve it now?” His last word broke off with an involuntary groan, his pace growing erratic in a way that told you he was close to a second orgasm. He inhaled sharply, collecting himself before doubling down. “Don’t cum. No matter how close you get, hold it. Do you hear me? Do. Not. Cum.”

Despite his orders, you felt your muscles begin to tighten, your pleasure mounting in a way that normally would have sent you over the edge, but nothing happened. You physically couldn’t cum. The feeling just kept building and building, far past what you thought was your breaking point, never stopping, overwhelming you to near-madness and never giving you a moment’s relief, and you bit your lip to stifle a scream.

“Oh, don’t try to act all pitiful now,” he growled, punctuating it with a hard slap to your already oversensitive clit that made you cry out. “You know damn well that you earned this. And if you ever try to bite me like that again, I’ll make this permanent, do you hear me?”

Your eyes flew open, widening in terror. He couldn’t do that. Could he?

The look on his face told you that he absolutely could.

“Oh, it’d wear off eventually,” he purred, leaning in closer as if he were about to kiss you, his fingers just barely teasing your clit, his delicate touch unbearable in your hypersensitive state. “But I could tell you not to cum, over and over and over again, and you’d have no choice not to obey. I could keep you this close for days, weeks, months, maybe years if I wanted to, and drag you around with me like a needy little pet. I could order you to follow me around, to never leave my side. I could put you on a leash. I could parade you naked all over town, let everyone see how badly you want me, even with bruises and cuts all over you.” The thought sent a painful jolt of arousal through you, your legs shaking as you tried desperately to keep yourself from moaning at the idea. He grinned at you, making it very, very clear that you were doing a terrible job at hiding it.

“Oh, of course that turns you on. Fucking depraved, aren’t you? Are you like this for everyone you meet, or do you just want me that badly?”

You couldn’t form a concrete thought, let alone focus hard enough to give him an answer, but you knew his monstrous ego would love it if you could. You just wanted him that badly.

His hand wrapped around your neck, not quite enough to choke you but hard enough so that you felt the marks from when he had. “God, who would have thought that this would be so fun? Beating and fucking a pathetic little thing like you, I barely had to order you to do a thing,” he teased, panting as he fucked you faster. “I’m going to cum inside you, and you’re going to like it. Beg for it. Do it. Now.”

“Please,” You gasped for air, voice coming out as a choked whisper. You were in agony, every inch of your body burning with pain and anticipation and need for an orgasm that kept building and just wouldn’t happen. Burning hot tears were streaming down your face; you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to. “Please, do it, cum inside me, I don’t care what happens, I need it, just…”

Your pleading broke off into a desperate wail as he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. Even the gentle motion, combined with every other sensation you were feeling, was absolute torture, too much for you to bear. He grinned as you pulled away, trying to escape any more stimulation.

“Oh, god, you look so damned pathetic…oh, god, fine, do it, cum for me, I want to see you break, just do it now--” His voice cracked, his hands desperately clutching at your hair as he came inside you with a desperate moan, feeling you tighten around him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your body went completely rigid at his command and you came hard, the feeling so intense that it felt like your skin was burning all over. You were vaguely aware that you were thanking him, over and over, unable to control the words coming out of your mouth. He silenced you with a forceful kiss, the first one he’d given you all night, and you melted into his touch, thoroughly overwhelmed.

You felt his hips twitch, still riding out the last of his orgasm as you deliriously wrapped yourself around him, clinging on for dear life, moaning with ecstasy.

Finally, he broke away from the kiss, and your body fell limp, overstimulated past your breaking point, so much so that you vaguely wondered how you were still conscious. Your legs dropped from where he had propped them on his shoulders and you lay there, trembling like a leaf, feeling the warmth of his cum inside you.

When you finally collected yourself enough to see straight, you worked your wrists out of the now-loose binding of his tie, then raised your head to look at the man still lying on top of you. His head had dropped onto your chest, his eyes closed. He looked so still and gentle that you wondered if he was asleep.

You reached down, stroking his hair gently with shaking hands, remembering how much he’d liked it before. You wanted to have this little moment of vulnerability with him before he went all cold and ruthless again. He sighed, pressing himself further into your bare chest and wrapping his arms around you. You couldn’t hold back a smile as pride swelled inside you. You felt like you’d tamed some kind of monster, and really, you thought to yourself, you had. You could practically feel the bliss radiating off of him along with the warmth of his skin against yours.

You leaned your head back, staring at the ceiling as you gathered yourself. You were sore all over. Your muscles burned from how tight they’d been for so long, your throat ached when you swallowed, and you still had a pounding headache from the punch to your face and the way he’d choked you. Your body had already begun to bruise, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“It’s Kilgrave.”

You looked up, vision still slightly clouded with pleasure. “Hmm?” His face was turned away, expression hidden.

“My name. Kilgrave.”

You grinned harder. You’d won.

“It’s pretty,” you giggled, giving his hair a playful ruffle.

He quickly smacked your hand away, sitting up and pulling out of you with a scoff. Ah. There he was.

“Shut up. Don’t even think about it.”

“What?”

“You know what,” he snapped, reaching for his jacket. “Don’t play innocent now, especially not when you look like that.”

You glanced down at your body. He had absolutely wrecked you, but your smile never faded as you looked back at him.

He rolled his eyes, but there was no venom behind it, or at least none that you could detect. “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, re-buttoning his shirt.

You sat up, stretching your sore muscles as he composed himself quickly. You were amazed at how he could go from looking absolutely delirious with pleasure one moment to looking like this the next, all put together and polished as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion.

“And where are you off to?” you said, glancing around the room, trying to find where he had tossed your clothes after you’d taken them off.

“You don’t need to know that.” He walked quickly towards the door, but paused as he realized that you were still looking at him. He sighed with frustration, but still turned around to look back at you.

“I’ll be back next week, if I decide you’re good enough for me to use again. In the meantime, don’t even think about opening your legs for anyone else, do you understand? I don’t want you catching anything and giving it to me.” His tone was bitter, but you could still sense something almost fond behind his words. “Now, once I leave, you’ll wait five minutes, then go out there and put on the best show of your life for all those sad desperate men out there, with my cum dripping down your thighs. Understand?”

Ah, you realized. Not fondness. Possessiveness. Even better. You nodded, barely managing to suppress another proud grin. He gave you what you assumed was supposed to be a contemptful look before turning again to leave, but he might as well have given you a kiss on the forehead with how good it made you feel.

“Bye, Kilgrave,” you called as he left, giving him a playful wave.

He looked back. He didn’t answer, but the facade slipped for just a moment as he blew you a quick kiss, and then he was gone, grinning like a man who had all the power in the world as he closed the door behind him.

A/N: this is the first part of a series! if there's enough interest, i'll post the next parts :) Like, rb, and/or follow if you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!

#jessica jones #kilgrave x reader #kilgrave #kilgrave x reader smut #kilgrave smut #smut #minors dni #my fic

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crimsonbubble · 1 year

Text

Genshin Men NSFW HCs

cw. nsfw, gn!reader, mentions of male submission, edging (alhaitham, dainsleif), degradation (alhaitham, ayato), praise (alhaitham, ayato, kaveh), improper use of ayato's clone, voyeur!ayato, sadomasochism (childe), marking (childe), somnophilia (childe), oral (childe, dainsleif, diluc), bondage (diluc), fingering (diluc, itto, zhongli) slight food play (diluc), creampies/breeding kink (itto, zhongli), hairpulling (dainsleif, diluc, itto, kaveh), dick piercings (itto), mirror sex (kaveh), implied threesome (thoma), dragon!zhongli

[these are purely my personal thoughts so don't get your panties in a twist,, kaeya was originally on here too but i just cant figure out what to write for him :((]

reblogs and comments are appreciated <33

MINORS DNI !!

strict and mean dom

makes up hyper specific rules knowing you'll break them

bc he's a pretty red flag </3

prefers domming but won't oppose to subbing

likes having you chest down ass up just to pin your wrists against your back

prides himself in his control, edging both you and himself

just about teetering the edge of sweet bliss before being pulled away from it

his hands are either of your hips, pushing and molding you to fit between his fingers

or on the back of your thighs to hold you open while he pounds into you

definitely mixed his degradation with praise

a big tease

loves to go agonizingly slow

just to listen to you plead and whine

has definitely used his hydro clone on you

somehow ropes thoma into fucking you

def laughs at the obscene pornographic moans that spill from your both yours and thoma's lips

likes praise and degradation but prefers to reward you to feel how tightly you clench around him

holds your face so gently in comparison to his fast thrusts

has to be kissing you in some way shape or form bc he can't not have his lips on you

if you push his buttons in a very specific way, he'll be putty in your hands

sadomasochist

if you like being choked, having your ass smacked or manhandled

childe will more than happily oblige

as long as you choke and slap him in return

wouldn't mind letting go of the reins and letting you take him how you please

whether you ride him into oblivion or stick your dick in him is up to you

lives to suck dark hickeys into your neck

just watching the deep reds almost purples bloom across your skin has him awestruck

the type to wake you up by going down on you

but he expects to be woken up the same way in return

one of my fav switches with a sub lean

wants to give his all to his partner

just let him take care of you and he'll let you take care of him

is more than happy to please you however you want him to

tries to edge you but ends up edging himself and become far too sensitive far too quickly

big on praise both giving and receiving

just watching his cheeks go red when you praise him on how well he's doing

and him saying all the compliments under the sun as you make him feel good

love having his hands entangled in yours

nothing warms him more than holding onto your hand in moments like these

pleasure dom oml

big on making sure your satisfied

won't actually fuck you until you cum at least twice

either on his mouth or fingers depending on how well you behave

loves to hold your hips and waist

and have your thighs around his hips or on his shoulders

likes when you tug his hair softly

has tried bondage on you at least once using the finest silks he could get

could spend hours on his knees for you just pleasing you

has spilled grape juice on you just to lick it up

my fav himbo and subby switch ♡

LOVES to focus on you and your pleasure before considering him

wrings out at least two or three orgasms on his fingers and tongue alone

something in my horny brain is saying he has a tongue piercing

gets so messy when he pleases you and he loves it

leaves marks and bruises on your hips and thighs from how hard he's holding onto you

def has a dick piercing, probably a prince albert or three row jacobs ladder

loves holding eye contact and makes it his job to make sure your satisfied

hc that he cums a heavy amount so it makes uim perfect for creampies

hmm sensitive horns perfect for gripping and long pretty hair for tugging

service dom bordering submissive

like having a hand in your hair to angle your head down to make you watch as he sinks in and out of your hole

oml fucking you in front of a mirror

praise praise and more praise

soft and slow make out sessions are more common than you think

loves just holding you while you do it

just wrapping his arms around you and moaning into each other's ears

goes sex drunk because you always feel and look so good around him

did I mention praise?

no but seriously he's blubbering absolute nonsense as he ruts into you

submissive top !!

does what ever you please

loves giving but doesn't kind receiving

the prettiest moans and whimpers

love having you ride him, bouncing and circling your hips over his

looks at you with glassy eyes

loves hearing you moan bc he likes knowing how good he's doing

might get ayato involved just for some fun

caresses your face with gentle hands and kisses you so softly

totally thought of fucking you while uou were wearing his jacket

DRAGON!ZHONGLI (sorry I love this hc)

long forked tongue to please you with

big pretty hands to hold and finger you with

breeding kink bc he loves how it feels and looks to fill you up and watch it make a mess of your hole and the bed under you

since he has many forms probably turned into his woman form

you can't tell me he wouldn't go into his woman form just to please you

if he's feeling softer, his touches are gentle and delicate

as if he was handling the finest glaze lily

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 1 year

Text

Disarmed | Bucky Barnes x Reader

After the events of the GOTG holiday special, I think we all know where this came from and where it's going...

I have not been able to stop thinking about how this actually went down for Bucky. And it makes me sad.

Warnings: violence, injuries, pain, blood, Bucky's arm, home invasion

No answer followed your knocking. Just silence. No movement from inside the apartment.

Another round of knocks echoed through the quiet hall. Again, silence.

“Buck? It’s me…”

You leaned against the door, listening for any sign of life. And finally, soft steps made their way in your direction. A deep sigh came from behind the wood.

Checking in on Bucky like this always made you feel like a bit of a bother. You never wanted to irritate him or make him feel like a child. But you liked knowing he was alright. And he never seemed to mind. He even welcomed your unannounced drop-ins. Bucky liked knowing that someone- anyone- cared about him. He just couldn’t believe you, of all people, were that ‘someone’.

The metallic rattling sound of Bucky undoing his door’s chain brought a smile to your face. Sure, he’d gone radio silent. He’d ignored your texts and calls all day and skipped out on your lunch plans. But he had a lot on his plate. And even as he worked through his issues and eliminated some of his mental load, more problems often materialized out of nowhere. And so, you granted him grace. You didn’t chastise him or nag him for drawing in on himself. He was doing his very best, and you only wanted to help.

Bucky tentatively pulled open the door a sliver, granting you a view of only half his body. He looked tired, dejected. But he smiled when he saw you- he couldn’t help it. “Hey, doll…”

“Hey, I was-” You noticed a large scrape running the length of his arm, a bruise resting below his eye. “Woah- what happened? I just saw you yesterday…” Anxiety flooded your system- he was okay less than twenty-four hours ago. How did this happen? And when?

The day before, Bucky spent his afternoon and most of his evening at your place. The two of you watched movies together and ordered take out. It was, by all definitions, a perfect day.

And you were no stranger to Bucky’s injuries. He always came home from missions looking worse for wear- but he was supposed to be safe here. He didn’t just return from a long stint at a Hydra base or a fight with the flag smashers. He was home. And he wasn’t supposed to get hurt.

A deep sigh deflated Bucky’s chest and pulled his head down. And you realized why he flaked on your plans. But the issue presented a double-edged sword. He knew that by telling you he was hurt would only serve to make you worry about his latest injuries that seemed to materialize overnight. But leaving you in the dark didn’t save you- only delayed the inevitable. In the end, he defaulted to his factory setting. He withdrew and fell silent, deciding to deal on his own.

But that couldn’t stop you.

Finally, he dragged his gaze up to yours. A few broken blood vessels shot red webs through the whites of his eyes. He looked broken. “Um, could you-” He rephrased, “do you want to come in?” He didn’t like asking you for things. Ever. Though he knew you’d do anything for him, he didn’t like how it felt. He always said it seemed like he was taking advantage of your kindness- which you told him was impossible.

Without hesitation, you nodded. He opened the door and allowed you entrance, immediately locking it behind you. He turned the deadbolt and secured the chain before resting his forehead against the wood. And as he rested there, he gave you a view of his back. Clearly, something violent happened in the eighteen hours since you’d last seen him.

Large bruises streaked his skin. The deep purples and blues accompanied red gashes and scrapes littering his shoulders. Dried blood lay under his nails. A wince accompanied every inhale.

“Buck, I don’t understand- what happened to you?”

He took one last moment to himself before facing you. And as he turned, you saw it: a brutal wound splashed across his chest. Its maroons and crimsons radiated from a central, bloody point, splaying outward. The skin looked raw, torched. Painful. It leaked blood with every movement, every breath. You’d never seen anything like it.

But as severe as the wound on his chest was, something else caught your eye. Or, the lack of thereof.

“Wait. Where’s…” you scanned the room but came up empty. “Where’s your arm?”

Bucky wasn’t comfortable without it, not yet. And though it wasn’t his favorite part of the body he called his, it at least provided a sense of security. His arm was strong, fast. It could protect him when danger came calling. And so, he tolerated it for the purpose it served. Never once had he taken it off- not since T’Challa and Shuri presented it to him. And yet, he stood before you, his vibranium arm missing.

“Someone, um…” His eyes took on a far away, hollow quality. “Someone broke in last night.”

You were on him in seconds, “What?”

Everything in you wanted to hold him close, but the angry wound on his chest said otherwise. And so, you opted to hold his hand.

“I guess ‘broke in’ is the wrong phrase,” he said. “The door- it was still locked. I don’t know how they got in. But they did.” He looked sad. Scared. Confused. He didn’t deserve to feel this way- especially not in his own home. Each shaky breath pushed more blood from his wound, sending red streaks dripping down his body.

“Shit, Buck. You’re really bleeding-”

Bucky stared down at the bloodbath spilling from his chest. Something about the way he regarded his wound was too casual, too nonchalant. “Yeah. It’s been doing that.” He seemed almost distracted, like he was too caught up in the previous night’s events to really notice his injury.

“Okay, can I- let’s get this cleaned up, alright?”

Bucky gave a small shake of his head, “That’s okay, doll. You don’t have to.”

“Hey,” you gave his hand a squeeze, “Let me take care of you.”

With Bucky’s permission, you led him down the hall to the bathroom. Never once did his hand leave yours. If anything, he tightened his grip as the seconds passed. He was desperate for you- for the one person he felt safe with. He wondered how you always knew when he needed you- how you always knew what he needed.

But more often, he wondered why you helped him. Why you did so much for him. Why you treated him with such kindness. He sometimes got it in his mind to ask why you did the things you did- but he knew better than to make you question it. He feared that, if you thought about it too long, you’d realize you didn’t want to be around him anymore. And while he wanted to free you of his burden, he’d miss you too much to let you go.

He took a seat on the edge of the tub like you asked and watched you unearth the first aid kit from under his sink. It was the same kit you put together and made him promise to hang on to. It had everything he’d need to tend to his wounds if you were ever unavailable. But thus far, you always found a way to be there, to take care of him.

He often felt like he was using you. Like you did so much for him without asking for anything in return. Every time you stitched him up or stopped him from bleeding out, guilt seeped into his bones. But you assured him, time and time again, that you helped him because you wanted to. Because you cared. Because you’d rather die than let him think he was alone.

“Jesus. Is this…” You carefully examined the injury to Bucky’s chest, “is this a burn?”

Bucky shrugged, but the motion only brought him more pain. “I’m not sure. The whole thing was… weird.”

With gentle hands, you cleaned the blood from his skin. He winced with each swipe of gauze. And while you held pressure to the spot that refused to stop bleeding, you asked for details.

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “Everything was normal. I double checked that the door was locked. I texted you goodnight. I went to bed.” He traveled back to the night before, recalling the strange events as they unfolded. “The sound of footsteps woke me up. I thought it was my neighbor coming home from the bar again. But the sound was outside my bedroom door- right outside my bedroom door. And then someone was in my room. I saw their silhouette standing over my bed.”

Your heart began to race as though it were happening in real time. “Who was it? Did you recognize them?”

He shook his head. “Whoever it was- they were fast. Strong. I don’t think…” He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. “I don’t think they were human. Or at least, all human. I don’t think they were from earth at all. I mean, the weapon they had it was… I don’t know. I’d never seen anything like it before.” He relived the blast that struck his chest, the sizzling, searing agony that burned through him.

“Shit…” Knowing how scared he must’ve been made you nauseous. But you did your very best to keep your hands from shaking. “Did they- did they say what they wanted?”

Again, he shook his head. “They didn’t say why they were here- nothing about it made any sense, really. They didn’t threaten me. It didn’t even… it didn’t seem like they wanted me dead.”

You thanked the universe that Bucky’s assailant hadn’t come for his life. If you’d dropped by his apartment to find him cold and still, you would’ve joined him in the afterlife.

As you examined his wound once again, Bucky thought back on everyone he’d ever hurt, everyone he’d ever killed. He knew many of his victims didn’t deserve to die. He knew they had families and friends who wanted revenge. If anyone ever came for him, he assumed it would be a vengeful loved one out for his head. But this was different.

“They didn’t seem like they wanted to kill me,” he said after a while. “They didn’t even really try to kill me.”

“Then what’s all this about?” you asked, motioning toward the massive wound on his chest.

“I mean… they could’ve shot me in the head.”

You cringed at the thought. Only a few hours ago, Bucky could’ve so easily been taken from you. And you wouldn’t have even known he was in danger.

“The entire time we were fighting, they were going for my arm.” He shuddered. “I think they got fed up after a while- that’s when they shot me. Almost like they didn’t want to hurt me but had no choice. And while I was on the ground, writhing in pain, they tore it off.”

Your eyes widened, “what?”

“Like I said… whoever it was, they were strong. They didn’t disable the mechanism like Ayo- they ripped it off.”

None of it made any sense. The locked door, leaving Bucky alive, stealing his arm- it was beyond strange. And in any other circumstance, you would’ve attempted to put the pieces together. You would’ve tried to solve the puzzle. But that part didn’t matter. What mattered was Bucky.

He lost his arm in the fall all those years ago. He bled in the snow for what felt like years, alone and scared. Hydra removed what remained of his joint without compassion and replaced it with metal. And then, when he was finally free, Tony brutally destroyed his new arm. Robbed him once again of a piece of himself. Though, part of him was happy to be free of the silver and red prosthetic designed by Hydra. He welcomed the sleek black and gold upgrade Shuri so kindly provided.

And now, it was gone.

He'd been through enough. His sense of self stripped away again and again. His bodily autonomy decimated. And he’d worked so hard to make progress. He was trying. He was working on himself, on healing his trauma. And just as things seemed to take a positive turn, yet another nightmare unfolded.

With his permission, you used your free hand to assess where his arm used to be. The attachment site was still in place, but the skin around it was angry. Red. Swollen. Dried blood crusted around the metal plate. You wondered how much pain a body could take.

“Does it hurt?”

He nodded. And your heart fell to pieces.

“What did you-” You forced yourself to stay strong, “what did you do after they um, took it?”

“I was kind of in shock…” he said. “I didn’t know what to do. Whoever it was seemed to vanish. And I,” he took a breath. “I couldn’t just go back to sleep, you know?” He sat quiet for a moment, disappearing to the previous night’s utter horror. “I didn’t feel safe after that.”

You cursed whoever did this to him. Only recently did he start successfully sleeping through the night. His nightmares dwindled and he was finally getting the rest he so desperately needed. And his assailant robbed him of that.

He shrugged, wincing once again. “I just went and sat in the living room for the rest of the night. I left the lights on… I couldn’t imagine turning them off. I knew I’d see their silhouette again.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wished he’d called. You wished he’d felt comfortable enough asking for help. But that was still an uphill battle and calling in the middle of the night wasn’t something he was okay with. If you called him at three in the morning, he’d answer without hesitation. He’d never see it as a bother or a burden; if you needed him, he’d be there. But the reverse was different. He saw himself as only a burden- who was he to wake you in the middle of the night? Who was he to disturb your sleep and dump his problems on you?

“Buck, I’m so…” you didn’t know how to make it better. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve this- you don’t deserve any of the shit that’s happened to you.”

He flashed you a sad smile and a quiet “thanks”.

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but… you know I’m always here for you-”

“Doll, I can’t-”

“I don’t care what time it is, Buck. I don’t care what I’m doing. If you need me, I’m here. End of story.”

He simply brought his hand to your cheek and swept his thumb over your skin. You were so good to him- too good to him.

“All I ever want to do is be there for you. No matter what that means.”

Bucky averted his gaze. He sometimes didn’t know how to react to kindness, to such direct warmth. It almost made him bashful to have someone care for him so deeply.

“Um, this is finally done bleeding,” you said, pulling the gauze from his chest. “I’m gonna cover it. And then I’m gonna clean your shoulder- only if that’s okay.” The only person allowed to touch Bucky was you. And even then, getting to that point had been a long journey. Building that trust, that feeling of safety took care and thought. And you never wanted to overstep. He knew he could change his boundaries whenever he wanted, could revoke his consent without consequence. But you still reminded him every now and then, never allowing him to forget.

“I’d really appreciate that. Thank you.”

As carefully as you could, you covered the strange blast-injury on his chest. And when satisfied with its condition, you moved on to his shoulder. After it’s decades of abuse, this tissue required extra care. Extra gentleness. You worked slowly and cautiously, removing the blood from his scarred skin.

An overwhelming sense of vulnerability engulfed Bucky. No one ever got this up close and personal with his marred flesh. It made him nervous. “Hey, I’m really sorry I ditched you today…” he said, distracting you from his scars. “I knew we had plans, but I wasn’t-”

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek, quieting him. “Please don’t apologize. I know you’re doing your best- and you had a more than good enough reason not to meet me for chicken and waffles.”

He let a sad smile break through his downtrodden expression. “I knew this apartment was a shit hole,” he said, “but I never thought someone would break in to steal my arm. You know?”

You nodded. “I don’t think anyone could’ve expected that.”

With Bucky’s wounds cleaned and covered, you finally let your shoulders relax a bit. The tightness in your chest diminished and your muscles let go of a fraction of tension. But you still worried about him. You knew he’d never sleep again- not in this apartment, at least. His sense of security was gone. Shattered. And without his arm, you knew he’d feel vulnerable. On edge. Any sliver of peace he’d found disintegrated before his very eyes.

You feared making him uncomfortable, but the words slipped past your lips before you had the chance to second guess yourself. “Hey… do you wanna come stay at my place?” you asked, “I know you probably aren’t looking forward to spending much time here after what happened, and-”

Bucky waved you off with an overly casual smile. “No, no, that’s okay, doll. I’m fine here.”

You gave him a stern look, “Buck, I know you. Please, just come stay with me.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek- this crossed a line. He couldn’t invade your space like that. He couldn’t infect your life with his baggage. And if he feared being a burden before, it was nothing compared to the feeling creeping into his chest. “You’re sweet, but you don’t have to do that-”

“I want to,” you said. “Just come crash at my place for a while.”

He thought it over for a long, quiet moment. More than anything, he wanted to escape his apartment and seek refuge with you. Any sense of safety he’d felt in this space was gone, and he never felt safer than he did at yours. But he couldn’t impose like that, though. He couldn’t invade your privacy.

“Buck, come on. Do you wanna come stay with me?”

He nodded.

You cupped his face, “Then come! Stay long as you want.”

He opened his mouth to thank you for your kindness, but you cut him off.

“Hang on- to clarify, I’m not saying ‘stay as long as you think is appropriate or polite’. I’m saying, ‘stay as long as you want’.” You eyed him with a stern expression, “Don’t just stay one night and then come back here because you think you’re a burden. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.” With your help, Bucky got to his feet. “Now, let’s pack you a bag and get you outta here.”

Bucky followed one pace behind you as you headed for his bedroom. He couldn’t believe he had a safety net. A kind, caring person who wanted only good things for him. He’d easily grown smitten with you only a few days after meeting you, and witnessing your capacity for compassion won him over. But truth be told, it wasn’t about the things you did for him. Or the nice things you said to him. You glowed from the inside, the warmth of your heart basking him in a comforting light. And though he’d, yet again, suffered a violation of his sense of self, he almost didn’t care. He didn’t belong to himself anymore, anyway. He belonged to you.

----------------------------------------

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indouloureux · 2 years

Note

Hi! Could I request something like reader and Eddie being in a relationship just a couple of weeks a maybe and reader is a bit shy and they meet readers friend who’s also a guitarist and also a hot rock and roll girl, reader is getting insecure and jealous but Eddie assures her that she’s the one and only ❤️

i love this!! thank you for requesting <3 (fem!reader)

you trust eddie.

you'd only been together for a few weeks, yet trust has been bound tightly the moment you two have met. he had that charm, that ambience—that despite his silver-donned and black outfits, he had a key to every secret told to him and kept it hidden as a promise.

besides that, he made you trust him with your whole heart, secrets and whatnot. he won't cheat, he won't fall out, and he'll love you forever.

he said it and you knew it.

you trust your friend.

she met eddie when you introduced her to him during one of his gigs, thinking harmlessly that they'd be good friends with their similarities: both metalheads, both ozzy osbourne worshippers, both nerds.

you thought they'd make great friends and they do. but doubts and you? eh, not so much.

doubt isn't a great friend. neither is jealousy. neither is insecurity. especially, insecurity. fucking bitch.

you didn't realize then that you'd feel... a heavy pressure on your chest seeing them interact. suddenly you felt jealous, a little left out, because you're thinking—what if eddie wanted a girl like her? a girl like him?

you do not trust yourself.

it's not like you're any different. you like the things he likes, but you like your own things too.

albeit the ache of jealousy never settles and to add salt to the wound, insecurity never hinders. never waves its white flag around. you don't like that they're in their own world talking about something while you're beside them.

"hey, babe?" the sobriquet makes you blush a little, turning away from your desk with a pencil in your hand. eddie tucks his neatly folded handkerchief in his pocket.

"yeah?"

"your friend's asking me to meet up at the hideout."

your blush dies into something pale and soon, a lifeless paint. "what, like, right now?"

eddie nods, shrugging his jacket on. "yeah."

you don't want him to leave yet. it's barely four pm. and you don't like the fact that she's asking him to hang out again for the second time this week. your lips purse and move to the side, diverting from his gaze. and had you not looked away, you might have seen his eyebrows furrow in curiosity; or suspicion.

"can you maybe stay for a little bit longer?" you ask, placing the pencil down.

with a soft look of concern, he approaches you, socked feet on the carpet of your floor. then his index curls around your chin and tilts your head up, his thumb tracing the left corner of your frown.

"why, sweet thing?" he asks quietly, fingers dragging up to tuck your hair behind and pout softly, his ring cold against your heating skin of embarrassment.

"nothing! it's just," you scratch at your temple, looking at his pale wrist, see the way his purple and grey veins twirl around his limb. "i just- want you here, 's all."

he takes his hand from your cheek to card his fingers through your hair, slicking it back before patting it down. eddie hums quietly like he's in thought, like he's settling for a hypothesis to choose in his head.

though it's been a couple weeks of something more, eddie has gotten you memorized in those years of longing.

"do you not want me to hang with her?"

"what?" you push back slightly, though his hand never leaves the top of your head. you laugh nervously. "teddy, why would you say that?"

teddy rings around his head like a guitar riff that lulls him to sleep. pink tinges his cheeks. "i know when you're thinking really deep, baby. i know when something's wrong."

he crouches down, between your legs, his elbows on your knees as he takes your face in both his hands and cradles it like the moon. "tell me what's wrong, baby, come on." eddie adds.

you sigh and look down on your lap, feeling his thumb stroke your cheekbone. there's a whimper that leaves you and your heart aches just a bit.

"i guess maybe i'm a bit jealous," you murmur. "because she's like you and i think that you like it better that she's like you...."

eddie's touch falters a little, but the warmth of his skin lingers on your flesh. you see how his eyes darken a bit in sympathy and disappointment—in himself, you can read. but you don't know why.

"sweets, do you remember when i asked you out on a date?" you nod. "and you asked me why and i said 'well, it's because you're pretty. and you're you, and you make me smile and you make me laugh and you make me cry and you make me do the stupidest shit in existence but it's okay because i do it for you'?"

you find it amusing how he memorized every word. you find it funny how you remembered that moment; between a shared joint and a movie. "yeah?"

"what i say still stands. i like it better when it's you. i like it when it's you. and shit, babe, i like it that you're kinda not like me. 'coz then i get to teach you. what's mine is yours, sweetheart. i'm happy to be the only one who introduces you into things i like," he takes your hand and brings your knuckles to his lips. "and i like it when you teach me what you like. makes me get to fall more."

"what's mine is yours," you quote from him. "okay, you sap."

eddie leans up to kiss you. your friend's in the back of your head now. and all you're thinking is eddie, eddie eddie eddie and you. and how he said that you're pretty.

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things x reader

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liberaljane · 1 year

Photo

Today on #WorldHealthDay we stand in solidarity with the millions of people around the world who are advocating for equal access to #healthcare as a basic human right.

Every health system must provide quality health services—including sexual and reproductive health care—that reach every person.

Join the global call of #HealthForAll so that we can uphold the right of all people to reach the highest possible standard of health

An illustration with a deep purple background. There is a diverse group of people of different ages, races and ethnicities, all gathered together. In the back left corner is someone holding a Progress Pride Flag. On the right hand side of the card is a woman wearing a purple hijab and a shirt that reads ‘Health for all’. In the center is a woman holding a large placard that reads ‘equal access to health care is a human right.’ On the left hand side is a young boy with his fist in the air wearing a shirt that reads ‘proud feminist’. On the right-hand side is a pregnant woman, with her right hand on her belly.

#Human rights #social justice #feminist #feminism #health care #health care is a human right #feminist art #protest art #world health day

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primaviva · 9 months

Text

PAIRING: gwen stacy x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: while hanging out in gwen’s room, you find a neatly folded piece of paper on the floor of her messy room, which is weird considering how messy she is. she clearly cares about it and upon questioning her, she doesn’t wanna spill her secret. it had you thinking, what was so special about the sheet of paper?

WARNINGS/NOTES: none! pure fluff, kissing, gwen being the rockstar gf that she is, crappy movies that’s not a warning im just scarred from actually watching the movie ENJOY !!

as the afternoon approached and the sun began its descent, the world outside seemed to transform into a watercolor landscape. from gwen's window, you gazed in wonder as the sky blazed with bright oranges, rich yellows, and deep purples, each hue dripping like drying artwork caught in a gentle breeze and blending seamlessly into the next like an artist's paint strokes. it was a breathtaking sight, and for a few moments, you simply savored the beauty of the world around you.

gwen had taken you to a peculiar sandwich joint on your date, one that she had seen being robbed by the typical goon. in hindsight, that should have been a red flag to you, but the food turned out to be surprisingly good. ‘maybe that villian that spiderwoman fought had some redeeming qualities after all and maybe he was onto something’ you thought. as the sun began to dip below the horizon, you both strolled through the city streets, not quite ready to call it a night. eventually, the clock crept towards 5:00 and gwen invited you back to her place. you accepted happily, totally not feeling a flutter of excitement in your stomach at the thought of spending more time with her.

gwen had stumbled upon a truly crappy movie on her laptop, but you were both excited to watch it regardless. it was a ritual the two of you had developed, where you would play bad movies and indulge in your inner video essay film bro, analyzing and critiquing every aspect of the film.

although gwen had stepped out of the room for a moment, you couldn't wait for her to return so you could resume watching "creature from cannibal creek." despite its laughably low budget of at most $50, the movie had captured your attention and you found yourself fascinated by its cheesy plot and shoddy special effects. in your mind, you couldn’t wait to argue with gwen once the film finished on how it was the ultimate "so bad it's good" movie and a cinematic masterpiece of our generation.

gwen was still downstairs fetching snacks, leaving you alone in her room. as you waited, you couldn't resist the urge to snoop around a little. as you explored, you tidied up a bit, putting things back in their place.

while you looked around, your eyes fell on a row of polaroids hanging on her wall. the sight of the pictures brought a smile to your face, and you couldn't help but pause to take a closer look. among them was a photo you had taken with gwen's camera when she was sick and you had come to stay with her. in the picture, you were holding the camera with a big grin on your face, striking a pose while gwen lay unconscious in the background, likely snoring away. you remembered how you had shown her the photo, and how she had rolled her eyes and said she hated it, even though you knew she was joking. seeing the picture still hanging on her wall brought a warmth to your chest, and you felt a rush of affection for her.

while you were looking around, your leg accidentally bumped into the bass drum of gwen's drum set, causing the front of it to pop out. you felt a twinge of panic at the thought of having damaged her beloved instrument. however, as you inspected the damage, something else caught your eye.

a small, neatly folded piece of loose leaf paper had fallen out from behind the bass drum cover. It looked like it had been ripped from gwen's notebook, but what surprised you was its pristine condition. gwen was notoriously messy and disorganized, and her belongings were no exception. it was unusual to see something so carefully folded and well-maintained. you couldn't help but wonder what was written on it, and why it was so important to her. the fact that she had gone to such lengths to preserve it only added to the mystery.

furrowing your brows in confusion, you bent down to pick up the small piece of paper. as you carefully unfolded it, you were surprised to see intricate patterns that looked like drummer notations for some sort of rhythm. ‘it’s a drum sheet’ you concluded.

your eyes widened as you realized what had really caught your attention, your name, written at the top of the page like a title. “(y/n),” you mouthed, heart beginning to race as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing.

your body froze at the sudden sound of gwen's door opening wide, exposing you to her view with the sheet of paper in your hand. "sorry it took so long, but uh, you okay babe?" she asked, concern etched on her face. "i heard a loud bang and was wondering what it was-"

gwen froze mid-sentence as she saw what you were holding. you froze when she saw what you were holding. you both stood there in silence, and you couldn't help but feel like you had stumbled upon something you weren't supposed to see. in fact, gwen looked embarrassed, and you could feel your own cheeks heating.

"what's this, gwen?" you questioned, looking up at her and still holding the sheet of paper with your name on it. you tried to read her expression, but it was difficult to decipher. she slowly made her way over to you, setting the snacks down on the coffee table before taking a faraway glance at the sheet. the whole mood of the room had changed into something completely new, and you couldn't help but wonder what was going through her mind.

"uh, yeah. it’s is a drum sheet. i was just working on some new rhythms,” she lied, right through her teeth.

“gwen,” you deadpanned, “my name is on it…is it about me?” your voice was curious but also filled with excitement.

she hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. you stepped closer to her, handing her the piece of paper. “is there something you wanna tell me?”

"okay, okay, you caught me," gwen confessed, scratching the back of her neck and taking a deep breath as she prepared for the worst. "it's not just some new rhythms. it's a composition i've been working on for a while now… about you."

your eyes widened as your mouth parted slightly, now you didn’t know what to say. you felt a surge of butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and you had to look down to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. gwen's cheeks were equally flushed, and the room was filled with a charged silence as you both tried to process the confession.

“for real? it’s about me?” you asked in anticipation as your eyes lit up at hers.

gwen nods, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. "yeah…ever since our first date, i've been wanting to express how i feel. about you, about us, about how you make me feel- but i uh couldn't find the words. so i channeled all of those emotions into my drumming, and this is what i came up with."

gwen had been playing drums for years, and it was her passion. she spent countless hours practicing and perfecting her skills, always striving to improve. but since your first date, gwen had been overwhelmed with emotions and feelings that she couldn't quite put into words. after she walked you to your place and got home herself, she couldn't find any other way to express how she was feeling besides getting on her drums. it started out simple and quiet as she reflected on the beginning of your relationship. but as she delved deeper into her thoughts, reminiscing about your beauty, your laughter, and how you made her feel seen, her hits got harder and her sound got louder. she only stopped when her dad knocked on her door, telling her to keep it down. but to gwen, playing the drums was like keeping a diary. every hit and every variation of sound coming from her drums was a sentence that described how she felt about you. over time, she had created a beautiful and powerful composition that perfectly captured the way you made her feel. it was her way of expressing her love for you, and it was a testament to how much you meant to her.

you were surprised and touched by this revelation. you had no idea that gwen had been working on a song about you this time, and it made your heart skip a beat knowing you were the muse.

you felt your heart swell at her words, but the look on her face was still flustered. "gwen, that's really sweet. i had no idea you were working on something like this. i mean a song about me? why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, no shame in how eager and giddy you sounded.

"i don't know… i didn't know how to bring it up and i didn't want to even think about showing it to you until it was perfect. i guess i just wasn't expecting you to find it,” she shrugged while glancing down to look at the paper.

you put your hands over here as she held the sheet, moving your head a little over the paper so she would look down at you instead. “well i'm glad i found it, and i'm honored you wrote something for me,” you tell her in a hushed tone, being so close to each other she could hear you with ease from the distance. her cheeks were airbrushed a pretty pink as she felt the softness of your hands touch against her jagged ones.

her hand cupped your cheek, bringing solace to your beating heart. despite her calloused hands, evident from her drumming, they held you with an equal amount of tenderness. gwen’s love for music was evident in every aspect of her being, from her rough fingertips to her deep, soulful eyes. it was as if the rhythm of life flowed through her every movement. yet, even in the midst of it all, she made you feel like you were floating, light as a feather in her embrace. she made you feel like you could forget all about your troubles and just enjoy the moment. you loved every bit of her, from her hands to the music that danced along her fingertips, to the deep love and appreciation she has for you. it was a feeling that made your heart skip a beat.

“can i hear it? if you’ll play it for me,” you ask her, not wanting to push gwen considering you weren’t even supposed to find it.

gwen nods, feeling a newfound sense of confidence begin to outshine her nerves. "of course. i'd love to play it for you," she spoke with a smile.

you got yourself comfortable on her bed, watching in anticipation as she set up her drums. a big smile was stretched upon your face as you eagerly waited for her to start playing.

"are you ready to hear it?" gwen asked, her voice trembling slightly.

you nodded eagerly as you watched her take a deep breath, the silence of the room was suddenly shattered by a big bang as the first notes began to fill the air.

it sounded slow and gentle, with a steady rhythm that gradually grew in complexity. it was melodic, and mirrored the range of gwen’s emotions. gwen's hands moved quickly and fluidly across the drums, creating a hypnotic melody that filled the room. she used different hand and stick movements that created different sounds and textures against the drum, elevating its sound and building the composition to a crescendo. it was reaching its loudest point.

the song sounded like her heartbeat, with each beat reflecting the pounding she felt when she was with you. in the beginning, the hits were gentle and slow, mirroring the time before you two began dating. but after your first date, gwen had fallen deeper and deeper for you, and every intense hit was a sign of every time she wanted to say i love you, every time she wanted to kiss you but was too scared to, and every time she just wanted to be near you. it was all about you. you couldn't take your eyes off of her as she played, her aura glowing as she hit each beat with precision and finesse. as the composition progressed, gwen's movements became more and more passionate, her face contorting with emotion as she poured everything she had into the music. she had never felt more in tune with her emotions before, as if she was communicating her feelings directly through each echo of the drums that bounced off the walls. as gwen played, she felt a sense of catharsis wash over her, a release of all the repressed emotions that she had been holding onto for so long. every beat of the drum was like a weight being lifted off her chest.

for gwen, music was a way to express herself in a way that words could not. it was a way to communicate her deepest emotions and feelings, to connect with others on a level that was beyond language. and in that moment, as she played her heart out, she felt more connected to you than ever before.

you watched in awe as you felt yourself being transported to another whole world. gwen’s world. as the music filled the room, you closed your eyes and let yourself get lost in the rhythm, feeling your body slowly rock in time with the beat.

as the song reached its climax, the thunderous high gradually began to die down, the sound of quick fluttering against the drums still evident as the composition eased its transition back to its origin. gwen's hands moved so quickly that they blurred together. however, the song never returned to the same gentle tone it had in the beginning. yes, it was quieter, but it was also peaceful and optimistic. it was symbolic of how much you had changed gwen's life, how you had supported her to be better and how she had become a better person just for you. now, she had never been happier and more at peace with you by her side to make her days a little bit easier. her heart, the composition, was no longer slow but balanced, reflecting the growth and transformation that she had experienced since meeting you. as the energy in the room reached a fever pitch, you could feel the emotions rising, building towards a powerful climax. and when the final note rang out, gwen was left breathless, her hands still hovering over the drums as she took a moment to catch her breath.

you, on the other hand, were left speechless, moved by the intensity and beauty of her musical expression of love.

"that was... incredible," you managed to say, voice slightly hoarse. your eyes were glossy, and tears threatened to form as you struggled to find the right words. “i’ve never heard anything like that before gwen.”

feeling overwhelmed by the intensity and beauty of the music, you made your way out of her bed and slowly walked around her drums, taking in the sight of gwen in all her glory. her smile was radiant, a mix of relief and pride shining through as she looked at you. the two of you just stood there in silence, savoring the afterglow of the performance. it was as if time had stood still, and nothing else in the world mattered except for the two of you and the music.

“i'm glad you liked it," she replied, putting the drum sticks down and catching her breath. “i just wanted to find a way to express how much you mean to me, and this seems like it was the best way to do it."

for gwen, playing the composition had been a deeply personal and emotional experience, one that had allowed her to express herself in a way that words never could. and for you, it had been a moment of pure magic, a glimpse into the depths of gwen's heart and soul that left you feeling grateful.

before you knew it you jumped into gwens lap as she was still sitting on the stool. she let out a gasp before catching and holding you firmly against her, sitting you more comfortably on her while your arms made their way around her neck and pulled her close. as you embraced her tightly, gwen could feel the warmth of your tears on her shoulder. she held her close, feeling a sense of contentment that she had never experienced before.

"i didn't mean to make you cry," gwen said softly, one hand wrapping around your waist while the other rubbed up and down your back. “was i that bad?” she joked, which earned a loud snort from you which was muffled by her skin.

"i’m okay- i’m sorry," you apologized weakly, pulling back to look into gwen's eyes. "it's just... your song was so beautiful, and it really hit me. i don't think i've ever felt so loved before."

gwen felt her heart swell with love at your words. she had poured so much of herself into the composition, and to hear that it had touched you deeply was more than she had ever hoped for.

she moved her hand from your back to cup your cheek, using her thumb to wipe the tears from your eyes. 'i'm glad," gwen replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "i wanted you to know how you make me feel… how grateful i am for you, and i couldn't find the words. but i think the drums said it all."

you smiled, wiping away the last of your tears.

“yeah, your drums have a big ass mouth. maybe that’s how i can tell you own them,” you agreed, voice still shaky. “it was perfect, i loved it.”

gwen giggled at how you sounded, her laughter filling the room. "i guess you're right," she agreed, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "but in all seriousness, i'm glad you loved it. i put a lot of myself into that composition, so it means everything to me that it touched you."

she grinned, relieved that she was finally able to share the song with you. you cupped her cheeks with a bright smile, savoring the moment.

“just wish i could express myself as well as you do,” gwen admitted, her eyes looking into yours like she’s staring at the world.

you gave her a reassuring look, hands caressing the sides of her face lightly. “that’s fine with me,” you replied, reminding gwen of your willingness to be patient with her. “what you did spoke volumes.”

you stared at gwen's lips, feeling a rush of desire wash over you. you wanted nothing more than to feel her own on yours, to taste the sweetness of her mouth and lose yourself in the moment. slowly, you leaned in, savoring the anticipation of what was to come. you paused for a moment, inches away from the inevitable kiss as you gazed deeply into her eyes. they were like watercolor paintings, shades of blue and green blending together in a mesmerizing pattern. the tension in the air made her heart skip a beat, and before you knew it, she leaned in to meet your lips, closing the gap between you both. her mouth on yours was tender and slow, a reflection of her passion and love for you. you pulled her closer as she leaned her head to the side, allowing you the deepen the kiss. it felt like a declaration of love, like you both knew you were meant to be together.

as you and gwen pulled away, you rested your foreheads against one another, catching your breaths and reveling in each other's presence. the world faded away, leaving you two in this perfect period of lovers bliss.

“i love you,” gwen said, her voice barely above a whisper. you felt your blood rush to your cheeks at her words, despite hearing them before. she didn’t say it often, but you knew that for gwen, expressing certain things verbally wasn’t easy. it wasn’t the frequency that she said it to you that mattered, but the sincerity in her voice about her love for you. everytime she said it, it felt like a precious gift and a reminder of how important you are to her.

"i love you too," you replied, your eyes glistening as you looked at the love that reflected in her gaze.

suddenly, you both heard the low battery sound from gwen’s laptop. it was then you both remembered the snacks you had set up to watch a that crappy film.

"we should probably get back to the movie," gwen suggested, laughing at the thought of what they were about to watch.

"you're right, we can’t leave that oscar worthy cinematic gold waiting," you joked, smiling even though your sentence sounded like word vomit. "but first…”

before you finished your sentence, you leaned in and kissed gwen again, your lips meeting softly as you let the warm and comforting sensation of her mouth sink in.

"okay, now i think we can go watch the movie," gwen said, grinning from ear to ear as she picked you up from under your thighs and carried you to her bed. you laughed at her sudden display of strength, fighting the urge to make a suggestive joke.

gwen turned the lights off as you both got comfortable, snuggling into her side. your head against the crook of her neck as her arm hooked around your shoulder, lightly tracing your chest. the atmosphere radiated a peaceful feeling as you felt your muscles relax, happier than ever to be this close to your girlfriend.

she made sure her laptop was charged before pressing play on the movie, and you both settled in for what promised to be a night of laughter and relaxation. when the opening credits rolled, you felt gwen's hand slip into yours, and you squeezed it gently, feeling the heat of her skin against yours.

as you watched the terrible plot unfold, you guys couldn't help but laugh at how bad it was. from the outrageous twists to the ridiculous costumes and awful sound effects, it was a train wreck of epic proportions. in other words, flaming garbage. but you both didn't care, because you were together, and that was all that mattered.

when the movie finally ended, you both began your stupid arguments and psychoanalysis of the film. but gwen could tell you were getting tired by the way your speech started to slow as you talked. she closed the laptop and moved it to her coffee table before gently guiding your head onto her chest, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you close.

you felt her fingers run through your hair as her hands traced and roamed your skin, guiding you to sleep. she felt content as your breathe hit her neck, finding her own eyes getting heavy.

the last thing you felt as you drifted off to sleep was her strong arms wrapped around you, a warm kiss to your temple, and a faint “i’m so glad i met you.”

gwen felt a sense of pride and happiness as she looked at you, knowing that asking you to be her girlfriend was one of the best decisions she had ever made. even though she might not always be able to express her feelings in words, she was determined to show you just how much you meant to her. through her actions and her unwavering support, you knew that she loved you deeply and would always be there for you. whether it was a warm embrace after a long day, a silly joke to make you smile, or a simple kiss on the forehead, gwen always found ways to show you that you were loved and cherished.

you knew that you were lucky to have her in your life. and yeah, she might not always say what she feels, but her actions spoke louder than words, and you know that her love for you is real.

A/N: i thought this idea was so cute so i wrote this whole thing at like midnight. anyway creature of cannibal creek is a real ass movie and it’s actually unbelievably bad that it’s a comedy like the budget….that’s a post for another time anyway reblogs and everything are super appreciated ty for the love 😘

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