A/N: So many unholy thoughts this man has caused the past week
Warnings: Swearing, smut - fingering and unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), cream pies (because ya know 😉) dominance kink, maybe a slight size kink, dirty talk, it’s a little darker, rougher – choking, being tied up, think that's it
Word Count: 3000
Worry.
Watching Auston go down behind the Carolina net with seconds left in the game, you felt worried.
It was far too long before he got up. The trainer hovered over him, checking his symptoms, discussing what happened. Fred and other players stood awkwardly off to the side, hoping he would be okay. Sitting on the couch (only 500 fans were allowed back inside at this point) you were on edge. Normally in the WAG box, someone from the team would fill you in on his status or you could go down to the trainer’s room to see for yourself. Instead you had to sit alone, watching them replay the fall, followed by the inadvertent knee to the head. Your stomach churned every time they showed it, and from every imaginable angle, his name constantly coming up during the broadcast. It wasn’t until his name popped up on your screen, a simple ‘I’m okay’ text, did your heartrate begin to drop.
Panic.
Watching Auston skate face first into the net then skate towards the dressing room hunched over in pain, you felt panicked.
Then you remembered days before when he took the accidental knee to the head and a part of you thought the worst. Nobody came to get you or provided an update, Steph tried to reassure you that meant he was going to be fine.
The minutes before you saw your boyfriend step back onto the ice were agonizing, felt like hours slowly inching by. Even then you were still panicked. Auston would do just about anything to get back out onto the ice, even if it meant playing through an injury – something he has done far too many times before.
It wasn’t until he stepped into the hall, tie discarded and dress shirt partially undone, a fat swollen lip and sad puppy eyes were you reassured he was going to be okay.
He was clingy.
He came home, complaining that his face hurt and pinned you under him - he basically slept on top of you that night. He was moody, hungry - but everything hurt to eat. He was whiny and miserable, seeing him in pain always triggered something in you.
You immediately welcomed him and the cuddles, wrapped in his arms softly running your hands through his hair. It was a slow recovery, eventually he could smile and not wince in pain, or didn’t speak with a lisp caused from the stitches inside his mouth.
Conflicted.
Watching the puck go in the net, followed by Auston instantly yelling at the ref, you were conflicted.
The loss sucked. You felt for the guys having pushed so hard for a comeback only for it to unravel due to a missed penalty. Even though you were sympathetic towards the team, something about your boyfriend getting infuriated on the ice - a side rarely shown by him - you felt hot. Hot and disappointed all at once.
“You doing okay babe?” Auston stopped on the ice beside you during the family skate and leaned against the boards. “Seems like you’re struggling a little out there,” he grinned down at you.
“I never was an amazing skater,” you play it off, knowing that isn’t what he meant.
“Mhm,” he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. “Seems like you’re limping or something,” he teased. “Like you got stretched out too far,” he brought his mouth closer to your ear, “too hard.”
Steph who was nearby, choked on her water as you tried to show zero response. Sometimes after a game like that Auston wants to talk, sometimes he wants to be left alone, or to have a stiff drink. That night Auston took every emotion he had been feeling and directed it to you.
When you climbed out of bed the next morning with a slight limp, Auston immediately noticed and hasn’t missed an opportunity to remind you of it, of what he did to you. You could barely stand after the first time, then he wanted to go again. Faint bruises on your hips, and an aching in your core, all remind you of what happened only two days ago.
Wet.
Eager.
Ignited.
Watching Auston get into a shoving match and then be ushered into the penalty box during the Heritage Classic, you felt wet, eager and ignited. Steph gave you a nudge and sent a knowing glance, heat rose to your cheeks and your thighs inadvertently clenched. Glancing to the clock, you wished the game was done only because of what is to come.
During the drive he groaned, cursed under his breath and grunted, rarely saying anything to you. It’s not until the car in front of you stops at a yellow light, a yellow light Auston thought they could have made, does the dam let loose.
“Fuck,” he brakes a little harder than normal. When the vehicle stops you turn to him, your eyes reactively gone wide. “He could have made that,” he tosses one hand into the air.
“I know,” you quickly reply, dropping the shocked expression from your face.
“Fucking stupid,” he turns his attention back in front of him. “You could have fucking made it, goon!” Vitriol becomes thicker with every word. “This whole fucking night. The fucking goal – he called no goal on the ice. The fucking reffing, it’s been so bad the last bit. And not just for us, so much shit across the league.”
“I know,” you absentmindedly reply, knowing he is speaking to himself more than you. He doesn’t want you to respond or try to make it better, he just needs to vent.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he bites, pulling into the parking garage.
The car is off in under a second, and he is out of the car walking through the garage. Quickly grabbing your toque and purse, you scramble after him. Upon hearing the slight heel of your boots click against the concrete, he slows his stride, but he doesn’t actually stop and wait like he does every other night.
The entire elevator ride was filled with more mumbling under his breath, random, mostly incoherent thoughts. It’s not until you unlock the door to an excited Felix that he actually speaks.
“I’m going to take him out. I’ll be back.”
There is no invitation to join him like most nights. In fact it is the opposite, a statement that he will go alone.
When he returns you are in the bathroom, wearing your pajamas and washing the day from your face. The heavy tread against the wood floor, the harder than usual closing of the closet door, all an indication the time alone didn’t help to calm him down.
“Hey,” you say, getting the idea he is finally ready to listen. Bringing a hand up, you draw it along the side of his face, chasing his jaw bone - anger rolls off him in waves. “It’s over, you can’t change it.” There is a slight twitch to his forehead as his jaw clenches, not interested in your comfort. “You can’t do anything about it now,” you repeat.
“Wrong,” he turns to look at you, his once golden brown eyes now red with fire. “There is something I can do about it.”
Reaching up, his large hand easily wraps around your wrist. Stepping towards you, you stumble slightly to maintain your footing, until your body is thrown onto the mattress.
“Something will make me feel better,” he declares. Ripping the dark blue cotton from his chest, it’s tossed to the corner as his large body cages you to the bed.
With barely a second to take in the curves of his muscles, his hand grips the elastic of your pajamas and yanks them from your body, tossing it aside - your shirt not far behind. Cursing under your breath, he cups your heat, grinning at the slick has been developing for hours.
“Seems like you want to make me feel better,” he traces his cool tongue over the mark on your neck. Without warning two fingers dive between your folds, a jolt of electricity erupts through you when his thumb begins to circle your clit. Your gasp echoes through the room and he sets a fast pace that has you almost instantly seeing stars. Your walls hungrily clamping around his thick digits as he begins fucking them in and out.
The sound leaving between your legs is disgusting, a sopping slurp, only getting louder with each thrust. He’s loving it. Moving his lips to your chest, he swirls it around your nipple, sucks on your flesh and grazes his teeth against it. Sensitivity is running high, a bubbling building low in your belly.
It’s exactly what he wants. But when your hips thrust up and your back arches, toes curling against the sheet, he fully stops. Forcing his head up, a ring of fire surrounding his pupils, his voice is dark, “stay still.” It’s more than a warning.
Pulling his fingers out and thrusting them back in, his thick digits graze your sweet spot, your hips once again lifting under the pressure.
“Y/N,” he warns, thumb circling harshly against your clit.
The taste of copper is heavy on your tongue, only then the realization of how hard you’d been biting your bottom lip hits you. You can’t help the arching of your back when he once again tugs on the string, further unravelling your knot with every thrust.
“YN.” Shaking his head he pulls his fingers out, wiping the mess against your bare stomach. “I’m not in the mood to repeat myself.”
A faint smirk hits his face as he gets up and walks to his closet. Returning a moment later he forces your arms above your head. Using the tie he pulled from the closet, he wraps it around your wrists and attaches it to the headboard. Tight. Until blood flow is becoming restricted.
Forcing your knees open wide he positions himself inches from your heat, staring directly at the slick before him. Your breathing becomes uneasy and anticipation builds, the air becoming hot, thick. Auston’s smirk becomes darker, along with the chuckle he lets out.
He has you exactly what he wants. Well almost.
Gripping both your ankles, he throws them over his shoulders and presses forward. Bending your knees until they are almost flush to your chest, his fingers grasp your hips, finding the lingering bruises from a few nights prior.
It’s fast.
Barely a second before his mouth attaches to your clit and your entire body jolts. The resistance of his hands and tie keep you locked in place, and you feel him smile from beneath you. This is what he wanted.
The scruff of his beard burns. The touch of his calloused fingers anchoring your skin, hurts. The stroke of his tongue is smooth while also aggressive – a man feasting on his last meal. Your coil is tight, then tighter, and tighter. Then is snaps. Euphoria floods your veins, curse words fill the air, and your pleasure coats his tongue.
He makes no attempt to stop. Bringing the hand of his tattooed arm down he momentarily pulls away. Just long enough to bring them to his lips, lathering them in a mixture of spit and cum – and shoves them through your folds, making you cry out in pleasure.
“Aus,” you gasp.
The laugh of you boyfriend can only be described as sadistic, psychotic, because you both know he is nowhere near done. Flicking his tongue to your clit, thrusting his fingers in and out of your dripping heat, every part of you tingles.
He quickly has you back to the cliff, teetering against your orgasm. Tightening your thighs, smothering him against your cunt, he only groans, dragging his digits against your sweet spot with every thrust.
“Babe,” you whine.
Auston doesn’t respond, at least not with words - the twisting of his fingers and harsh suck on your clit answer enough.
Fireworks eviscerate your core and vision whites out. The fingers on your hip anchor in harder than before and a slew of curse words are spilling from your lips. After sufficiently cleaning the mess, Auston pulls away - a sticky white warmth drenching his face.
“Shit baby,” the breath traps in your throat, and you struggle to find the strength to smile.
“I’m not even close to done.”
Those six simple words make your entire body tremble. Your heart beats out of your chest as he drops your knees, slowly maneuvering up your body - biting, sucking, licking every ounce of skin, leaving nothing untouched. He is giving you some time to recover, which would be considerate if he wasn’t toying with you along the way.
His erection is painfully hard as it drives into your thigh. The numbness of your hands, radiates down your forearm, but Auston takes his time. Its minutes after you’ve recovered that he finally reaches for the tie on your wrists, a burst of blood rushing in.
“Flip,” he demands, climbing off the bed to remove his boxers.
Standing at the end of the bed he grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge. Manipulating your body, he grabs a handful of hair and pulls you up against him, the tip of his cock – drenched in pre-cum - prodding your sopping cunt.
Over your time together you thought you had grown used to the stretch needed to accommodate his girth. You were wrong. One swift thrust, followed by another, he is fully buried inside you.
He knows you need the time from the strangled, incoherent sound you barely form. He doesn’t give it. He just lets loose.
Yanking your neck back his mouth finds the exposed skin of your clavicle. Rocking back and forth inside you, he sinks his teeth in, another deep heavy laugh coming from behind. His chest to your back, hands firmly tugging at your roots, thick cock sliding in and out.
“Shit,” you cry out a little, rolling your hips to further entice his movements.
Wanting stability, your body involuntarily leans forward, searching out the mattress to support your frame. The tug on the hair stops you first, but it’s the melancholic laugh that ripples down your spine and to your core, that freezes you in position.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Pulling you back against his sweaty chest, the hand slides around to the front, wrapping around your throat. Long, deep thrusts, pounding relentlessly against your heat, actively searching for your third release of the night.
He doesn’t tighten the hand on your neck, likely because it’s not something you have done before. But his hand is perfectly placed and you want, no need him to squeeze.
Bringing your hand on top of his doesn’t send the message. Louder, heavier groans have little effect. He just uses it to hold you in place, keep you upright after slamming his hips against your ass, driving his length as far as it will go.
“Thought you had an aggressive side Matthews,” you mock. “Clearly it’s all for show.”
He is momentarily taken aback, stiffening behind you. Never, during your entire relationship have you called him Matthews.
“Fuck it,” he mutters and tightens his fingers, oxygen slowly being forced out. Following the moan that slips your parted lips, he tightens again. The tips of his calloused fingers dance along your neck as his lips move closer to your ear. “You okay YN?” genuine concern is in his question as his hips come to a halt.
“Afraid you’re going to break me?” you tease, tongue tucked between your teeth. “Go tighter.”
“Fuuuuck,” his lips are hot against your ear lobe. Never being the one to be told twice, he follows your direction and tightens his grip, resuming the sloppy thrusts into your sensitive heat.
“Oh baby, you’re taking me so well,” Auston praises over the sound of his cock drenched in your mess. “You always take me so well.”
His bicep flexes and he tightens the hold on you. “This what you wanted?” he punctuates with another deep thrust. “Me to be rough?”
You feel yourself get wetter with the sinful filth he continues to mutter in your ear. He fucks you like this— all deep, rippling thrusts and dirty words— as if he’s a man possessed, and you’re exactly what he needs. With a decrease in oxygen, tears build in your eyes and your vision start to go blurry. Your entire body begins the shudder, his lips heavy against your skin.
“That’s it YN,” he coaxes you, hitting the sensitive spot over and over. “Coat my cock. I want to feel you drip down it.”
“Mgnh,” you cry through tightly pressed lips. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, currently starved of all moisture. Your juices spurt out soaking his dick as your body goes limp. Auston pulls you back to rest your head on his shoulder, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.
“I’m gonna cum inside you.” It’s a statement, not a question.
A few shallow thrusts and a grunt later, a white sticky seed is flooding your cunt, coating your walls. As he stills you fall onto the bed, still struggling to function. Staring down at your naked body, a fucked out blissful look plastered on your face, a glob of cum sticking to the inside of your thigh, he smiles. “I will never tire of seeing you like this.”
Cleaning the both of you, Auston finds a new pair of boxers. He helps you back into your pajamas and hands you some water, before letting you collapse into his arms. One bicep is your pillow, cradling you to his chest as his other reaches for the blinking phone on the night stand. Exhaustion begins to consume you, eyes struggling to stay open.
“What?” you murmur, feeling Auston tense up beside you.
“Have a hearing tomorrow,” he sighs, putting his phone down.
“What’s that mean?” you ask, forcing your eyes open and up to his face.
“Could be a warning, fine or a suspension,” his jaw tightens.
“No matter the outcome, I’m here for you.”
“Oh I know baby,” Auston smirks. Leaning down he gently pecks the tip of your nose and calls for Felix. His nails click against the floor and you feel him jump on the bed and curl up on the other side of you just as Auston turns off the bedside lamp.
Hey Annie, could ya do an imagine/hc (I honestly don’t care) where Boeser (AKA Prince Charming🤤) and reader are babysitting his nephew, Easton!! Please!! Thanks!! ❤️❤️
as y’all know I am very prone to baby fever so I could not resist
brock is a doting uncle, but that doesn’t mean he brings just anyone around his nephew
so you were pretty honored when he asked you to help babysit easton for the night while his parents took a mini vacay
you’d been around easton before, obviously, but always in group settings when you were around the whole family
the day starts off with brock meticulously organizing all of easton’s stuff so that it was all easy-access if need be
you then spent the next couple of hours playing with him and watching some cartoon that helped easton settle down for his nap
after nap time was over, you and brock were ready for lunch and since it was such a nice day, you decided to go out to a restaurant and then take easton for a walk
brock spent nearly the whole lunch either baby-talking his nephew or grinning a little too widely at you
whenever easton would get fussy, brock would hold him and you couldn’t help your hormones when brock looked that good with a baby
on your walk, easton gets tired of his stroller so you decide to carry him while brock pushes the stroller and diaper bag
at one point, you ask a passing woman to take a picture of the three of you
she does so happily, commenting on “what a cute little family you are!”
and your heart flutters when she notes that easton “looks so much like his dad”
brock blushes but doesn’t correct her
by the time you get back home, you’re all a bit tired from the walk and the full meal, so you tuck easton into the portable crib that brock set up by the couch
you and brock then settle into the couch and when you wake up an hour later, tucked into brock’s side, you take careful note of the way his hand hangs over the rim of easton’s crib, a protective act similar to how he always had an arm around you when you were sleeping
easton wakes and starts crying but before it can wake brock up, you cradle him carefully and rock him gently, humming along to an old lullaby your mom used to sing to you
unbeknownst to you, brock was wide awake and taking a secret little video of you, which you would only find out hours later when you were clicking through instagram stories
a few more hours of playing later and it’s time to put easton down for bed
after nearly an hour of fighting to try and get the baby to settle, brock calls his mom who suggests taking him for a long drive
so you all clamber into the car and brock heads off, driving slowly along every back road he could think of until easton was asleep in the backseat
the drive gave brock time to tentatively mention a family with you and, though you both knew neither of you were quite ready yet, it was comforting to know he thought about that future with you
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