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lymtw · 5 months ago

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The Morning After | The Night Before (Toji and His Shy Girl)

Toji dreamt of you after the events that occurred between you and him the night before. The dream was vivid, testing his ability to differentiate between reality and a sleep induced scenery.

You were right there in front of him, beautiful as always, in a dress he's never seen you wear before, but for whatever reason, you couldn't hear him as he called for you. You sat at a table in a cafe, looking around as you waited for, what he pieced together to be him, with his jacket being draped on the empty chair in front of you and all. You wore a weary expression. One that didn't suit your usually soft features. The sight pulled at Toji's heartstrings, especially when he saw you turn around in your seat as if you were expecting him to return any second now.

It was torture watching how your foot tapped away and the way your arms were crossed enough to make it seem like you were hugging yourself. He was right there, only a few feet away from being able to hold you, but his biggest dilemma was being unable to move from where he was. He was left to helplessly watch as you continued your self soothing methods. It was agony in its purest form.

After a few more minutes of waiting, you stood up from your seat, looking more defeated than he's ever seen you before. You grabbed his jacket off the empty chair and headed towards the exit. Toji never stopped calling for you, even as your hand reached for the door handle.

Toji woke up the second you opened the door in his dream and immediately searched for you on the bed, wanting to have you as close to him as possible. Was this the universe's way of communicating your remaining insecurity to him? He's done so much to show you he loves you. You got him to comfortably say those three heavy words. He's patient with you, he comforts you, he takes care of you mentally and physically. How is it that he still deserves to be played like that in his head, when he's so sure he could spend the rest of his life making sure you're okay? He felt utterly traitorous for putting an imaginary version of you through that.

You were far on your side of his bed, your back turned to him as you slept. This wasn't the position you fell asleep in. He was holding you the whole night, so he wonders how you even broke out of his arms.

Toji scoots towards the center of the bed, just enough so that he's able to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you back towards him. You hum, slightly disturbed by the abrupt movement and the pressure of being scooped back into his hold. He kisses the nape of your neck, the feeling of your warm skin against his lips bringing him some comfort after the tricks his brain played on him. You presumably went back to sleep, the sound of your light breathing beckoning him to follow suit. Luckily, he didn't dream of anything this time. He would rather have that than dream of something as horrendous as the last one.

Once again, he woke up before you. It was nine o'clock and you still showed signs of slumber, despite him not actually being able to see your face. His arm remained wrapped around your waist, his hand steadily rising and falling as it rested on your stomach. Toji knew you were tired, and he also knew that if it were up to you, you'd sleep until midday, but he wanted you to be awake with him already. He missed you, as his arms kept your body pinned to his. He just wanted to hear you talk and start on his daily privilege of making you nervous with the dumb things he says.

You stir and he takes this as an opportunity to slowly start waking you up.

"Ma," he says, lowly, before you settle. He rubs his hand over your stomach, moving his palm back and forth as he calls for you again with the same volume. "Wake up, mama."

Toji's voice and touch gently pulls you out of sleep. Your eyes flutter open but your vision remains bleary until you blink a couple times. He feels your body tremble when you reach your arms in front of you and stretch to your capability in his hold. The tiniest groan leaves you, as the tension in your muscles is released and your arms return to their previous position—curled into your chest.

"Biiig stretch," he says, under his breath, not expecting to hear your giggle on the other side. "Oh? You're awake?" He asks, innocently, like he didn't lure you into consciousness. "Well, let me get a look at that pretty face, doll."

You sigh and sluggishly roll over to face Toji. Your hair is a mess and you have eye boogers crusted in the inner corners of your eyes, but he couldn't give a single-

"Why are you up so early?" you ask, quietly. You smile, lazily, and squint with unadjusted eyes at the sunlight that shines through the curtains in Toji's room.

He's crazy about you. He thinks—no, he knows he would raise absolute hell if anything or anyone ever tried to come between you and him. You're just one person, and yet you're the equivalent of the entire world in the palm of his hand.

"Promise you won't laugh?" He offers a soft smile, slowly reaching towards your eyes to remove the small clusters that litter the corners of them.

You let out a small laugh at the gesture—a habit you developed because of how nervous he constantly makes you. His focus on you broke your composed bearing for a couple seconds. You blinked with clearer eyes once he retracted his hand. "Sorry. I promise I won't laugh," you utter, sincerity in your expression and tone.

He lets out a small breath through his nose. His hand travels from your sleep worn features to the hairs that stick up all over the place on your head. He smooths them down as much as he can before setting his gaze back on your face.

"I don't even know if it'll make sense. At least not in the way I explain it to you. Barely made sense to me and I dreamt it."

"I'll do my best to understand," you assure. "Dreams are weird. I already have a head start knowing this."

He grins at your optimism. "Yeah. You're so right about that, baby."

He went on to explain the dream to the best of his ability. He described your expressions, your nervous mannerisms, the way he was watching you and calling for you to no avail.

Toji observed your face, noticing that your expression was treading towards the same one you held in his dream. It's a dream for a reason. It's not real. But, if it's not real, why is your serene expression wilting?

"That's not me, baby." He swiftly pulls one of your hands into both of his, as if catching you before you could spiral into one of your overthinking bouts. He wouldn't just let you free fall like that. "I want you here, remember? I need you with me."

The sight of you nodding accompanied by that lighthearted smile on your face, allowed him to breathe again. He kisses your knuckles, and smiles as he realizes it's the first gesture of the day that brings color to your cheeks. He thinks about how it was never hard for him to figure out that he loved you. As time went by, his love for you grew into a wholehearted, irreversible force. He has long accepted that his attachment to you can't be undone.

You on the other hand weren't sad because this dream of his seemed like some sort of foreshadowing of the future. You were sad because Toji seemed borderline distraught as he recounted the first time he felt entirely useless to you. You've never doubted the amount of love he holds for you. You simply can't when all this time he's been so gentle with your heart.

"Well, that's enough to make me never wanna sleep again," he jokes.

"That's insane." Your brows furrow, slightly. "Maybe it's because i'm here."

"Now, that's insane." He sighs. "It's just a coincidence, doll. It had nothing to do with you sleeping next to me." He sets a hand down on your hip, suppressing the urge to push up the material of the shirt he lent you, to feel your bare skin. You can feel his fingers playing with the hem, lifting it and wrapping it around his fingers. His knuckles graze your skin, a light sensation that makes your blood run cold and your heart thump a little faster. Toji can visibly see the tension surface.

"How are you feeling after last night?" He pushes, knowing this conversation will probably make you a little jumpy.

"Um..." you start but fail to progress with the response. A nervous laugh leaves you when you look at Toji. He was right. You're blushing, all flustered over the memory of him making you his that way for the first time.

"Alright, alright." He chuckles, knowing you won't be able to put it into words on your own. "Let me rephrase that for you. Does anything hurt?"

You respond through a fit of giggles. "Just some soreness in my legs and..." you trail off.

"And?" He digs, both with his words and his thumbs as he massages your clothed hip.

"And, um..." you look at him in silence for a few seconds, fighting off a nervous smile when you become all too aware of his intense eye contact. "Mm-mm, never mind." You shake your head, not wanting to elaborate due to the fresh feeling of embarrassment provided in your chest.

"Doll, where else?" Toji prompts. He doesn't want to be left hanging on this, especially if it means the beginnings of you suffering in silence for his sake.

"I don't wanna say it. It's embarrassing, Toji."

"Does it hurt between your legs?" He asks, and he instantly assumes he's correct because you immediately shrink under his gaze and attempt to hide under the blanket. Toji pulls down your defense and continues to observe your flustered face. You're bright red. Warm, too, as he runs his cool knuckles over your cheeks. "There's no need to feel embarrassed about it, baby. I would've figured that out all on my own."

"That's so... ugh, stop it," you whine, the sound foreign to Toji's ears. You have a hurricane of butterflies in your stomach. You bring up your other hand and cover your eyes, no longer able to withstand the look on Toji's face. He's wearing this confident smirk as he tries not to chuckle at your youth-like bashfulness.

"Stop that." He wraps his hand around the back of yours and pulls it down, not letting it go as he drags it into his personal bubble, like he's confiscating it from you. "Don't cover your face, doll. I'm trying to look at you."

"I look a mess, Toji," you say, voice strained as you try to tug your hands out of his grip. You can see he's not even using that much strength to keep your hands secured, but the second you manage to slip one of your fingers out of his grasp, he collects it again and tightens his grip just a little more.

"You've got a twisted definition for messy. It's much different from mine." He grins when you huff and give up on trying to get your hands back from him. "You just look like a sleepy princess to me." Your frustration seems to quickly subside, a giggle chiming out of you, which in turn makes Toji smile more. "There you go, mama." He scoots closer, eliminating any space between you and him so that he can kiss you all over your face. "That's what I wanna see," he murmurs into your cheek at the sight of your smile and the sound of your warm laughter. "Know what else I want?"

"Hmm?" The remainder of your giggles spill as he murmurs his next sentence.

"Your taste... on my tongue." He mixes his kisses with the words, as if they're a chaser for the strong sound of the vulgarity his words hold.

"What?" You laugh at the way he presses his nose into your cheek, but your heart races at the possibility of having heard him correctly.

"You heard me, pretty girl. That little blush confirms it." He smirks, noticing your shift from steadiness to light squirming under his attention. "I'm craving you," he says, as if intentionally pouring gasoline onto a fire.

"Craving... me?" You ask. The neediness between your legs was increasing with every second that he watched you. It was his tone and the volume in which he spoke and just everything about him that had you folding, willingly bending to his will.

"Mhm. Wanna eat you up, baby. Make you cum a couple times before we go out for breakfast." His hand releases one of yours and goes to your waist. You're too flustered to realize that your hand is free, anyway. "What are you thinking?"

"Please," you utter. Your shaky fingertips graze his chest and your heart challenges itself to see if it can keep you alive with how fast it beats.

"Please, what, doll?" His own fingers trace little lines on your waist through his shirt. The languid strokes make goosebumps rise on your arms and legs.

"Please... um..." you start, immediately feeling that wave of embarrassment that keeps you from verbalizing what you want. You want him, and you're frustrated by your inability to get that confirmation out. "Um..."

"Please... buy me breakfast?" He jokes, in an attempt to help you relax. "Please...?" he repeats, slowly luring out what's repeatedly being killed and revived on your lips.

You giggle, a quick blurt of, "Okay, you can do it. I'll let you taste... me. Just... just, please" following.

"Fuck yeah. That was good, baby," he praises, rewarding you with another kiss, this time to your lips. "Gonna take really good care of you, okay?" He says, to which you silently nod.

He takes the time to really make you want him. His lips don't take any part of you for granted, with the way he spends so much time appreciating your neck and chest. If he didn't leave enough marks on you the night before, he made up for it then. He enjoyed the way you grabbed onto his arms when he sucked on your delicate skin, squeezing when his wet lips brushed on the column of your neck.

"What's under the shirt?" He asks, his voice raspy with contained lust for you. He wants to paw at the little peaks that protrude through your shirt.

"You already know," you respond, a small laugh flowing past your lips. "You've already seen all of me. Just last night," you mumble.

"And you were stunning. Absolutely perfect. Can I see your pretty body again, sweetheart?"

You don't hesitate any longer, despite the rush of nerves that courses through you. You trust him. He said he's going to take care of you. "Okay, you can look."

"You're too good to me." He swipes a thumb over your rosy cheek before his hands go down to the hem of your shirt.

It's inevitable. The sight of the wet patch on the front of your panties, is inevitable. It was like his eyes were magnetized to it the second he started rolling up your shirt. He couldn't mention it yet. For your sake, but for his own, as well. The sight gave his dick a heartbeat, and he knew damn well that if he said a word about it, he would cave and start devouring you, immediately.

He felt like he was being graced with the presence of a goddess as he continued to roll your shirt up. It was miles of delicate, palpable, and kissable skin being revealed by the second. "Holy fuck, doll," he says, ogling every inch of the breathtaking sight before him. "Baby, look at you." His palms grazed over your nipples as he rolled the shirt just above your chest, and you had to use every ounce of your composure to keep your breathing at a normal rate.

He grins at the sight of your stomach rising and falling out of rhythm, due to his unwavering attention. It was like you forgot how to breathe steadily or like you were manually trying to create the steady rhythm instead of naturally letting it happen.

"Do I really deserve that reaction?" You ask, cowering behind the small barrier of your bundled shirt.

"Yes. If anything, that was an under reaction because what the fuck, doll?" His hands are drawn to your skin, the rough warmth of them cups your waist. He bows his head and starts many trails of kisses up your stomach, starting right above the elastic of your panties. His hold on you prevents you from squirming too much beneath his touch. He can visibly see the quiver of your stomach as he inches closer to the bottoms of your breasts. "So soft, and delicate." He blows on the bottom of your right one, and watches as your nipples harden, before uttering a sultry, "Sensitive."

"God..." you desperately whimper. "Please. Please, touch me," you say, light, shuddered breaths brushing past your lips.

He kisses the bottom of your left breast, the kiss becoming heated as the amount of his saliva grew on your skin. "Sensitive, sensitive girl," he purrs, anticipating your reaction to his wandering hand. Your panties are soaked as his thumb just barely grazes your slit, thin transparent lines connecting him to you before they snap way too quickly. Toji himself cannot escape the mess of desire, with his boxer briefs feeling damper with pre-cum by the second. His touch is barely there, but you think you'll cum if his fingers ghost around for too long.

He stops. He knows the limit of teasing you before you give him the big reaction he works you up for. You're already shaking with just his tongue swirling around your nipples. Those crumbs of added stimulation down there would lure out your orgasm onto his fingertips, not his mouth, like he's been patiently waiting for.

"T-Toji," you gasp, the air quickly vanishing from your lungs again with a needy ring to it. "I-I'll cum, i'll-" you let out a broken moan, one that makes Toji's dick twitch, a low, muffled groan leaving him as he continues to mouth at your chest. "Please."

"Baby, save it," he hums into your stiffened nipple, kissing it once more before letting up. "Be good and save it for my mouth." The arousal slowly settles, a bittersweet moment for you as all the pleasure slowly dies, leaving you with a dull throb between your legs. You make the sweetest noises as he follows those same trails he made on your stomach earlier, kissing and occasionally biting, just to see the way your body jolts at the sudden sting. A low chuckle rumbles through him, but he's kissing the area like he's mending you, imbuing extra warmth into it.

Then he reaches the elastic band of your underwear, and his heart begins to resist his methods of calming down. "Oh fuck," he utters, like the sight is unreasonable. "Your panties are ruined, mama. For me?"

You nod, silently, glossy eyes meeting feral, moss-colored ones. You feel a pang of embarrassment course through you as he just inspects the aftermath of his very effective touch. Even the lightest touches from him can turn you into putty.

"All mine," he murmurs as he kisses up your thighs. His hands knead your hips as he creates more paths on your skin. His kisses begin to leave color behind, real physical trails that lead him to his own private heaven. "All of this? Mine. Fucking mine." He sounds fazed—delirious over you.

He had one taste. One taste. He licked a single stripe through your clothed folds, and all hell broke loose within him. He was visibly desperate in the way he pulled down your underwear and tossed them aside so fast. He immediately buried his face into your cunt, groans leaving so carelessly as he proceeded to devour you like this was the deciding factor of whether he was worthy of you or not. He's shamelessly rutting into the mattress, heavy breaths released through his nose as he drowns himself in you.

"Toji! T-Toji," you moan, rapid breaths fleeing your lungs as he continues to enjoy you, undisturbed. He revokes your chance to even wonder if you taste any good. Despite him being rendered completely speechless by you, he's confident that you know he's been driven insane. "Oh- gonna cum... gonna-" you whimper, your chest heaving as he lures your pleasure out. Unbeknownst to you, so is he.

You cry out his name, the sound so sinful yet serene to his ears. Your melodies enticed him into looking at you, and even though he knew it was game over the second he got a glimpse of your pretty face, he took the risk and inevitably unraveled. It was those blush-y cheeks, and your glossy lips, and the small pinch between your brows, that had his hips stuttering and his load being blown, violently, into his boxers. The rush of pleasure only made him more fervent in his need for you, his wet lips gliding through your folds in a sloppy, desperate attempt to get even more of your taste in his mouth. Your sounds of pleasure have him rocking his hips into the mattress, despite how sensitive his cock is. You're oblivious to what just happened, but those deeper, more frequent groans from him make your orgasm that much more intense.

Toji slows down when your thighs begin to tremble in his hold. He relishes in the languid licks that connect his tongue to you by weak strings of your cum. After a few more seconds, you can't handle even the slowest pace of his tongue, as it continues to gently lap at your clit despite all your juices having gushed out, already. Your thighs shut around Toji's head and he recognizes that as you tapping out, so he stops.

The sound of heavy breathing fills the room, both of you allowing your levels of adrenaline to simmer down. Toji places a couple wet kisses on your thigh and rests his cheek on it after. His hand squeezes your other thigh as an act of comfort.

"You alright, mama? Kinda quiet up there." He drops his hand lower and draws a line from your knee and down your shin with his index finger.

"Good... I'm good," you mumble. The lazy grin on your face shines through your tone, which immediately captures Toji's attention because of its rarity. He tilts his head up and catches you in the middle of sighing with satisfaction, before deciding not to waste another second just lying there when he could be watching you up close. He goes up your body until he's face to face with you again. Immediately, his gaze is received with a giggle from you.

"What's that little giggle about? Hm?" He grins, and leans down to peck your lips, which seems to lure more laughter from you.

"I missed your face," you confess, your eyes flitting between his eyes and his lips, like you're anticipating another gentle, barely there kiss from him.

"You wanna look at my mug?" His eyes soften, despite his self deprecating way of wording the question. You respond with the sweetest smile, your dulcet voice uttering all the reassurance needed in the span of three words:

"Yeah, I do."

He fell that much harder, even after all the time you've spent together. When Toji looks at you, he sees light, comfort, and despite your nervous habit of fumbling the words you want to say to him, your voice is still one of the most hauntingly beautiful things about you. He could be having the most terrible day—one that seems like he's being tested to see how much misery he can handle— and all he has to do is call you. The sound of your voice stills the shakiness of his hands, calms his breathing, and overall envelops him in a blanket of security that unwinds the bad energy that is coiled around him like a suffocating serpent.

"Good, because I wanna watch you, baby. I'll give you all my attention." He missed your face just as much. "Think you can handle me going inside? I'll be so careful. Promise."

You reach your hands out towards his face, beckoning him closer to you. Without hesitation, he comes closer, grinning when his nose almost bumps into yours. Your warm hands cup his face and you pull him in even closer, until your lips meet the vertical cicatrix that runs through the corner of his lips. You're planting multiple kisses on it, through the blend of fear and love and devotion swirling through you. He holds your shaky hands still on his cheeks and allows you to take everything you want out of this. By the time you're done, he feels like he has sugar dusted on the corner of his lips. "You're okay," you murmur, before separating your lips from the tattered skin. It's for him, and nothing or no one else has anything to do with it. "Let's do it."

"You're gonna kill me with all that sweetness, doll," he responds, his heart racing in his chest. Evidently, he was completely enamored by you. He loved the concentration that etched into your features as you kissed the line that marred his face, like it was something you couldn't mess up, in fear of him never letting you do it again. He would, though. A million times more, if it means that he's allowed to be that close to you every time. He could never push you away when you attempt to be openly affectionate with him. He takes every crumb he can get and holds his palm out for more, every time.

His lips center on yours, your taste still somewhat lingering on his tongue. You can feel his tent brushing against your cunt, the fabric of his underwear providing a teasing amount of friction. Your quiet hums and breaths prove that he's getting to you. To Toji's surprise, your hips were subtly chasing more friction.

"You want it?" He asks, dragging his lips down to your chin. "It's yours, mama, but you have to tell me what you want."

"Please," you blurt, instinctively.

"Yeah, good girl," he coos. "You know how much I love it when you say that, but I'm gonna need you to give me more. Please, what?"

You were doing so well with managing the blush on your face, until then. "P-Please," you try again.

"Uh-huh. You have the politeness down, but, what else? Your begging shouldn't be free. What do you want, my sweet girl?"

You want to shrink beneath the gaze that accompanies his patient silence, but instead you keep trying for him. "Can you- Will you- um... I-I want you inside, please?" You feel uncomfortably warm after getting the words out.

Toji chuckles at your attempt to minimize the vulgarity of your words. "Good. That was perfect, doll."

Embarrassment seeps into every sinew of your being, but there's nothing like the feeling of your heart plummeting into your stomach when you see him looking at you with that much sugarcoated lust. He's sitting back, working his boxers off, yet his eyes never leave your face. The smile he wears communicates 'I got you' in the most loving way, but those greens...

You prop yourself up on your elbows to curiously look at the area he just revealed, only to see the smallest, white glob on his length. Did he...? No. If so, when?

"Shit," he says, when he spots what's got you in a trance. "Thought I cleaned it all up." He laughs off the small wave of embarrassment as he grabs the dirtied garment he wore seconds ago to wipe it off.

You let yourself fall back onto the mattress, flustered at the image of it all. You snap out of it when you feel warm hands begin to ride up your thighs.

"You...?" you say, emptily, though your inquiry was obvious.

"Was hard not to," he admits, hands still kneading your pillowy thighs. "You did that to me." His hands reach for your breasts now, thick fingers maneuvering over your nipples before taking you whole into his palms. "You just taste so sweet." He squeezes. "You were dripping like honey on my tongue."

"Toji..." you say, so low it could be a hum. You wished the small barrier of your rolled up shirt had remained standing, but you knew it would be brought down by him at some point anyway. You decided to pull the shirt off completely. You felt more free, afterwards.

"Aw, look at you. You're ready for me, huh?" He gives you a smug smirk. "Ooh, look at that little smile," he says, loving how it evolves into a bigger smile. "Yeah, i'm ready for you, too."

He releases your chest, and positions himself comfortably between your legs. Even with this only being the second time he's making love to you, he's certain he'll never get tired of that bright sparkle in your eyes when he's running his tip through your folds. He's making a mess on you, smearing all the dribbling pre-cum onto your slit. You're trying—really trying to hold his gaze as he teases you, but it's so hard when you know how vulnerable you are. You feel like your heart is gonna explode just by glancing at him, but when he's looking at you and grinning like he's truly enjoying you, you fear you might end up just coughing up the organ due to the irritation it causes in your chest.

"Tell me to stop and i'll stop," he utters, breathily, as he slowly sinks some of his length into you. He leans forward to be closer to you, and to be able to watch you for signs of discomfort. Your face looks so pretty. You blink and slightly tilt your head in wonder of how he got inside you so quickly.

He groans, a chuckle of blatant disbelief following as he carefully submerges more of himself inside your velvety walls. He often wonders what good deed it took for him to get you. Things are so simple with you. At times, he feels like maybe there's more peace in your company than he deserves. He knows he could never hate you. Never. Not when your eyes twinkle like you stole and kept stars from the night before and are using them as a visual offering to him. He won't accept the thought of him putting them there, this time.

"God- No, I don't mean to. I'm sorry." You sniffle, the back of your hands coming up to wipe your tears. "I'm happy and- and i'm comfortable, I promise."

"It's okay, mama. Am I hurting you? Does it not feel right?"

You shake your head 'no' to all of it. "I'm just... so happy," you mumble. Your breath comes out in a small shudder. You feel so safe and loved around him. It's hard to contain the emotions, even during a time that's supposed to be sensual and arousing.

Toji's heart was pounding. He was so scared. The thought of hurting you... He can't. The dream he had was enough hurt to last him a really long time, even if it wasn't real.

He sighs, a smile curling onto his lips as he reaches for your wrists and gently pulls them away. He looks into your eyes and relocates those stars again before he leans down and peppers your red, dampened cheeks with kisses.

"Ready?" He murmurs into your cheek, to which you respond with a small "mhm".

With that, you're both back on track. Toji pushes the rest of himself in, both of you releasing your share of breaths as you relish in the feeling of being as close as can be. He picks up a rhythm that's perfect. It started out slow but worked up to a pace that wasn't too fast or too sluggish. It was comfortable for both of you.

"Fuck..." he pants. "You're so pretty, doll." He wants to hold you so tight, maybe crush you a little bit in his arms. "Put your hands on me. Don't be afraid to touch me, baby," he says, noticing the way your nails dig into your palms again, like the night before. He would gladly take a look at your scuffed up hands again, afterwards, but that would be dismissive of his desire to be caressed by you. To want to feel your hands over his arms, his shoulders, and just have another source of proof that he is in your arms just as much as you are in his.

You continue to prove your angelic status to him by giving him the perfect amount of your comforting touch. Your knuckles ride up the warm expanse of his arms until they reach his biceps. Your hands unbend from their halfway fist positions, and wrap around the muscly forms. His skin is soft, despite the appearance communicating the contrary. He's nicked and grazed with scars on some areas and on other areas the scars are larger and more frequent. You love him, so you aren't squeamish at the sight or frightened by these scars, but it doesn't tap at your heart when you realize that it's difficult to find a blank space.

"T-Toji..." you call, meekly. He's abusing your neck all over again. His lips are sucking and biting on the scraps of unsavored skin that he didn't get to last night, as well as polishing over your already marked up skin. All you get is a low hum and the sound of him breathing rapidly through his nose, as a response from him. He's repeatedly prodding into that sensitive spot within you. You feel hot, like you'll orgasm if things keep going this way. You're a little nervous because you're not sure if he's there yet.

"Fuck," he groans. "Feeling good?" He can't believe the stinging sensation he feels of your nails on his shoulder blades. You can't respond with anything other than bitten back moans that come off as whimpers, and the smallest hitches of your breath. "Aw, are you gonna cum, mama?"

"Mm-mm. No," you shake your head and dig your heels into the mattress.

"You sure?" He says beneath your ear. He can feel you the way you're frequently clenching around him. "If I look at your pretty face, right now, you won't cum within seconds?" You give yourself away when you almost tear his skin at the sound of those words. "Yeah, I know, doll," he grunts at the feeling of you clenching so tightly around him. He pulls away from your neck and grins when he sees how you're falling apart. "I know you like being watched by me." You feel like your heart is in your ears, rather than your ribcage, with how loud it echoes on your head.

His dick throbs mercilessly at the sight before him. Your reddened cheeks, the tears that brim your lower lash line, the quick rise and fall of your chest—he could practically see your heart trying to leap out. "Let me see it, princess," he rasps, his own resolve rapidly crumbling, like an unstable sandcastle. He puts both of his hands to use. One goes above your pelvis, his thumb outstretched to rub your clit, and the other glides up your waist and splays across your breast.

It's overwhelming. His touch is making you burn up. You can feel it coming closer as your eyes rake over the handsome features of his face, saving the best for last. The second you look at his seemingly calm eyes, you snap. Your entire body trembles as you gasp for air like you've been punched in the chest. Your toes curl and your back arches in a way that makes your stomach tense so hard that you can already anticipate the soreness that will come.

You're crying out Toji's name and trembling beneath him, while he tries his best to composedly watch you bear everything he offers you. You really are fragile. Even your voice is fragile when you're vocalizing your pleasure, the cutest little whimpers and hiccups freed from your chest for him.

He can't hold off any longer. He can't even find it in himself to be ashamed for how strongly his pleasure is linked to yours. It all comes down to you and the way you love him. The way you sometimes hide your mouth behind your fingers when you giggle, the way you glance at him on and off when you crave his attention, the kind smile on your face when he swoops in and steals the perfect bite of food you set up for yourself, the blush on your face when he makes you nervous-

He groans, loudly. Loud enough to make you jolt. Partly from the volume, the other part from the surprise of the warmth that shot into you so abruptly. It was the fact that he didn't have to imagine that last part, that brought on his release. The image was right in front of him. Your rosy cheeks, your bashfulness, the contradicting feelings of being nervous when he watches you, yet wanting him to watch you. It's all there for his eyes to consume.

Your back is against the mattress again, and you're writhing, now. He picks up on your sensitivity, noticing the way your thighs try to squeeze his hips and jerk away from the overflow of stimulation.

"That's it," he pants. "That's all, mama." He stills his movements at the sound of your quiet little grunts. "Good girl," he praises, a sigh of satisfaction following.

The room goes quiet as both of you try to regulate your breathing again. Toji won't separate his hands from your body, even after pulling out. He has one hand massaging your hip while the other one is set on your stomach. He likes rubbing and gently squishing your stomach, a lot. You have no complaints about his need to keep his hands on you, when it's like you're receiving more praise from him, or like he's trying to soothe you.

You giggle. It's the first sound made since you both finally caught your breaths. Toji pauses the movement of his hands and looks at you. You lure out a grin of his own with the way you're beaming.

"What's that?" He asks, focused on you.

"It's so quiet," your voice is unstable as you try to keep in your laughter. "You could probably hear my stomach growling."

He wants to keep you forever. When that happens, he'll use up a sliver of all that time to continuously wonder how someone like you ever crawled into his arms and found refuge in them.

"Well, that's not good. Can't have you running on fumes, can I, doll?" You laugh as you sit up and pull his shirt over your head, again, to cover up. He follows your lead and pulls the bed sheets around his lower body. "We'll go out to eat after we freshen up, alright?" You smile and nod in response, before sitting next to him on the edge of the bed in search of your underwear.

"Have you seen my-"

"These?" He holds your panties by the edges of the waistband.

"Yeah..." Your eyes widen, slightly. "...those."

"They're adorable, doll," he says, dropping them into his lap and feeling up the texture. "Can I have them?" He asks, as if he wasn't going to stash them away, had you not asked about them.

"Um..." You feel that familiar warmth resurfacing on your face.

Toji grins at the way you look at your underwear intently, like you're embarrassed by him casually holding them. "How about we trade? You keep my shirt and I keep this cute little piece of you."

"Want me to wash them, first?" You ask, thinking of what the garment went through a little while ago.

"Nah, that's okay," he says, before he swiftly pulls you into his side. You felt like a stuffed animal, the way he just moved you towards him like you were weightless. His chin rests on your head and he closes his eyes, like what he's about to say is the most honest and wholehearted thing he could ever say to you.

"I'm happy, too, you know?"

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winterarmyy · 1 year ago

Text

Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

"...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier × reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier!bucky #bucky fluff

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criminalamnesia · 2 months ago

Text

simon’s been having dreams since you left.

horrendous, sickeningly sweet dreams, all of you. it’s always you. reminding him of something he’s not sure he ever really had— something like a mirage, there one minute and gone the next.

but you’d been gone for a while, really. since you’d woken up in that infirmary bed, hatred and terror in your eyes every time you looked at him.

perhaps it’s been longer than— probably since they had you in that damn chair. maybe even before, when whispers of a traitor slipped into their minds and dug its claws in. all signs pointing to you.

most of the dreams start like this:

he wakes to the sound of birdsong. sweet little chirps that sound just outside the window you insist be left open during the springtime.

he’d conceded, not daring to tell you no. it was always yes with you, which surprised him. yes, nonetheless.

he gives a soft groan as his eyes begin to crack open. you’re curled into him, your head resting atop his inked arm. the limb is completely numb, but he doesn’t dare to move it. he’s content to lay here and watch you, because this is when he feels he truly has you.

(but it’s a dream, he realizes when he wakes. and he thinks he never really had you— a destination he desired but never reached. he doesn’t have you anymore, and he never will again.)

the fragrant smell of your favorite flowers, which fill the flower beds surrounding the little blue cottage, wafts in through the window. vibrant pinks and yellows that came after days of hard labor— simon planting each little seed and tending to it until it blossomed. he refused to let you help. said it was his gift to you.

a token of his love.

(even though you’ve long since gone from the little blue cottage, he still labors over those flowers every growing season. a gift to you, that you’d never see the longevity of. that you’d never known was a labor of love.)

(he hated that the first time you’d laid eyes on the cottage, he hadn’t been with you. that you’d been forced to go there— that they (he) had forced you out.)

you curl deeper into his side, your hair tickling his arm. he watches you sleep, your eyelids fluttering as you dream. he can tell it’s a good one by the way your nose twitches and a grin spreads across your lips.

(too often, he wakes to your screams of terror. the screams you had loosed under his tortuous hand. no longer are the nightmares that plague you ones of the perils of your job. now, they’re memories of what he’s done.)

(he wonders if you still wake up screaming. he wonders if you wish he was there to calm you back to sleep, like he’d done countless times before.)

(he wonders if he is what you see in your nightmares now.)

he shifts his body slightly. you stir, eyes still tightly shut as sunlight beams through the airy sage green curtains. again, he couldn’t say no to you.

especially when you had given him the reason behind them. “I want to spend every minute together. just us. every moment out of service, I want.”

it was always yes with you.

“good morning, si,” you grumble, voice still thick from sleep.

“did I wake you?” he whispers, lips pressing to the hair atop your head.

“birdsong outside did,” you reply, a yawn splitting your mouth wide. his free hand finds your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

“told ya we should shut the window, love.”

it’s here when things start to differ.

in the good dreams, you look up at him with a grin. the pair of you spend the next hour in bed, drifting in and out of sleep and whispering mundane thoughts to each other. him holding you tightly, swearing he can feel your warmth next to him even when he inevitably wakes.

the bad dreams are more common.

when you look up at him, he sees one of two faces. the first face looks at him with the same expression you’d had back in price’s office, before you had slammed a fist into his jaw.

it’s heartbroken and it’s tired. it’s hateful and scared and ashamed.

(he still thinks it’s beautiful.)

the second face is battered and beaten and bruised. it’s the face you’d worn when in the chair, tortured by his hand. swollen and discolored. bloody. broken.

but most of all, it’s betrayed.

and that jolts him awake. but he doesn’t mind the bad dreams. doesn’t mind any dreams, now.

because they’re always about you. about his greatest failure, his greatest love. he sleeps so he can see you because it’s all he gets now.

he doesn’t know where you went after the cottage, none of them do. you wanted it that way. he wouldn’t dare seek you out. he owed you that much.

so he sleeps.

and he dreams of you.

here’s a little drabble about simon after reader leaves at the end of traitor. definitely inspired by ‘sailor song’. hope you all enjoy :)

p.s. I hate tumblr bc I had written this and tried to save it and the app crashed. so this is my poor attempt of recreating a work I was proud of :(

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

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lewisvinga · 10 months ago

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the designer vs. the model | charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary; fans begged and begged fashion icon and designer y/n to help charles out, luckily for him, she gave him the girlfriend effect

fc; jennie kim

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs

note; requested !

masterlist !

liked by yourbestfriend, and others

yourusername: cannes film festival; the design, before & after 🎀

username: AN ICON

username: i knew she’d eat this gala up😩

yourbestfriend: my beautiful talented best friendddd😻

yourusername: hehe love u xx

username: her talent needs to be studied

username: pls style charles_leclerc he needs help

username: studying fashion to be just like y/n!

username: y/n we need your talent on the f1 grid specifically in the ferrari garage specifically charles_leclerc

username: heyyy girl, u gonna need to share your styling talents w a certain monegasque 😁

username: oh i just know she’d give charles the girlfriend effect

username: STYLE CHARLES_LECLERC

yourusername: whaaaa ö

liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and others !

charles_leclerc: new profession: photographer

username: omg y/n liked!

username: we bullied him into only wearing sweatshirts and jeans omg 😭😭

username: thats what he gets for his horrendous style…

pierregasly: imagine you as a photographer 😂

charles_leclerc: hey! i’m not too bad!

username: yourusername pls help this poor man , he has very poor fashion taste🙏

username: ok this fit isn’t too bad, plain! but not that bad!

username: yourusername mother pls help father out

yourusername: i think the people want me to style you , haha !

charles_leclerc: my style can’t be that bad, no?

yourusername: it could use some improvement…

charles_leclerc: well, i’m open for suggestions!

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; don’t worry ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna make sure he has a good wardrobe 😇!] [caption 2; designing n making some new pieces for his closet 😵‍💫]

charles_leclerc uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; the forced smile after i showed her some outfit ideas…] [caption 2; her real smile after i got her a latte for being patient w my poor fashion skills😁

liked by yourusername, carlossainz5, and others !

charles_leclerc: photo dump , but do you notice any new fashion improvements ? 😁

yourusername: much better than those horrendous blue and white pants …

charles_leclerc: they weren’t that bad

yourusername: cha…… they were horrid

username: wait…. he fr looks good

yourusername: he’s got a pretty face but thats just enhanced by the better fashion sense!😁

charles_leclerc: u think i’m pretty?😊

yourusername: ur my prettiest model

username: OH HELLO

username: hes 100% dating y/n bc thats an improvement from that horrid blue outfit 😭

username: muy buenos días y que vivan los hombres 😍 [very good morning and long live men]

username: his style is improving, everyone cheered!

username: the sigh of relief i just let out

carlossainz55: mate, you have everyone relieved from your new fashion improvements 🤣

charles_leclerc: and i can see why after i looked at my old outfits…

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, and others !

yourusername: the designer vs. the model 🌸

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: where would my closet be w/o you, chérie…

yourusername: unfortunately, seen in the public

charles_leclerc: my favorite and the most prettiest designer ❤️

yourusername: you’re my favorite and the most prettiest model 💞

username: oh my goodness gracious me

username: STOPP THEYRE SO CUTE😖😖

username: she got him a good pair of glasses thank u queen y/n

username: them at the basketball game together 🥹🥹🥹🥹

username: we’re abt to get the best charles outfits thank u y/n😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

yourbestfriend: watch your back sharl she was mine first

charles_leclerc: womp womp she’s mine now

yourusername: ladies, ladies, there’s enough of me to go around ( btw yourbestfriend come over asap i need to do another fitting on u )

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #formula one social media au #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc scenarios #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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celestialprincesse · 10 months ago

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Domestic Simon💕🎀

Gets engaged to his girlfriend of like four years - he was so nervous that she'd see all the uglier parts of his past and run like all the others have, but after four years and plenty of assurance that she adores him, and that the only place she plans on running is his arms, he pops the question.

She works remotely or part time, so when he goes off to work in the mornings she packs his lunches with sweet notes and little treats that she's baked him.

He comes home to a house that smells like freshly baked bread and cookies and scones, and a kitchen that looks more bakery than house.

When he comes home from a deployment to find her crying on the couch, he loses his shit, worrying that someone's hurt her, or she's hurt herself or something's gone wrong.

The last thing he expects is for her to hand him a positive pregnancy test, and when he stands there in silent disbelief, she only cries more, thinking he doesn't want their baby. "You're - we're having a baby?" His voice is soft, a little wobbly with emotion, eyes crinkling up and welling with hardly contained tears. "Only if you want."

He recognises that this would happen eventually with the fact that they fuck like rabbits.

In the back of his mind, he's thrilled - but he also can't ignore how horrendous his own upbringing was, and that he's never had a decent father figure to guide him through what parenthood should look like. "What if I can't be a good dad?" He whispers hoarsely to her, tears filling his chocolate eyes. "You're not your father, Si." That makes his tears fall freely as he's pulled into her chest, fingers running through his mussed up hair. "What about work?" "We'll figure it out. We'll figure it all out."

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devildomditzy · 1 month ago

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Mammon is… a terrible cuddler.

Absolutely horrendous.

He…:

- Is all bone. This boy is uncomfortable to lay on. You might as well lay on a wooden board

- Is somehow hot and cold at the same time??? He’s freezing so you want him off of you, but he’s also a literal furnace, so you want him off of you

- Can’t stay still. He’s subconsciously moving at least one of his limbs when he’s awake, and rolls around so, so much in his sleep. You will find him half off the bed in the morning. Or on the floor. You learned that the hard way when you tripped on him when you tried to get up.

- 100% blanket stealer, but also leaves half his body out from under the blanket boy you do not need all that???

- Is restless, so he can’t do nothing for long. He’s at least gotta be on his phone if you’re laying together for more than ten minutes.

- If he falls asleep, he absolutely snores. He starts breathing from his mouth and it keeps you up you swear to Diavolo you are going to tape his mouth shut one of these nights

- Has frequent nightmares, so he’s always waking you up, whether intentionally or not (not that you mind, of course you wanna comfort him)

- Sleep talker. You’ve never heard this boy sleep quietly through a whole night, he’s either saying some jumble of words or a full comprehensive sentence at least once a night. And it’s freaky too, cause sometimes he’ll fully sit up and look at you, speak a cryptic sentence, then lay back down.

- Of course he’ll hold you if you ask, but he really always wants to be held and is too nervous to ask.

- And if he falls asleep on you? 100% drooler. Your shirt is wet, your chest is wet, and if you tell him about it later he will deny it

- You swear nights with him can be annoyingly uncomfortable but somehow you wake up feeling like it’s the best sleep you’ve ever gotten??

- How???

#kit’s playhouse #obey me #om #mammon #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me headcannons #obey me nightbringer #mammon drabbles #obey me drabble #mammon Drabble #om Drabble #omnb Drabble #omnb #omnb mammon #mammon x mc #obey me x mc

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mapis-putellas · 2 months ago

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[ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴇᴀᴛꜱ ]

Summary: You never intended to meet the love of your life on a random Friday at work, and you definitely never thought she’d be world famous footballer Alexia Putellas.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟏

It was on a regular Friday morning when you see her for the first time, and she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman you'd ever laid eyes on. She was dressed in what you could only guess was a football training kit, sat confidently at one of the tables in the far corner with her toned, tanned legs you couldn't take your eyes off on full display.

Her hair was blonde; like sunlight spun into silk, pulled back into a high ponytail with a headband to keep the flyaways out of her face. You couldn't see her face fully from your place behind the counter, but her side profile was perfectly symmetrical, jawline sharp and seemingly chiselled from the gods above themselves.

Her hands were playing with an empty sugar packet as she nods along to whatever her friend was saying, and you can't help but watch the way her long, slender fingers move alongside the thin paper, folding it as small as she could before undoing it and starting again.

It was an action so hypnotic you can't help but stare. What else could she do with those fingers?

You don't expect her head to suddenly turn and stare directly at you, catching you right in the act. You stand there like a deer caught in headlights, your hands frozen, clutching an empty plastic cup so tightly it splits down the front.

The first thing you notice were her eyes. They were brown, like the colour of mahogany wood, both comforting and steady. Then her lips. Soft. Both inviting and tempting, though pressed into a thin clearly giving away her dislike towards the situation.

She doesn't do anything; like get up and scold you for staring and her general facial expression gives absolutely nothing away. The longer she stares, however, the more her features soften, and you're unsure on whether that's because she feels sorry for you, or she finds you endearing.

You decide it would be best not to ask to save your already fragile ego.

Suddenly, another pair of eyes meet your own, her friends, and her face gives everything away. She looks between the both of you before her eyebrows raise, and her lips quirk up into a knowing smile as she slaps the beautiful girls arm effectively ripping her attention away from you.

They start talking between themselves in a language you didn't quite understand, the friend looking smug whilst the beautiful girl looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, and you force yourself to look away from them and busy yourself with starting to clean up.

The last thing you want was to get caught staring again. You were already humiliated enough and adding to that honestly brings you one step closer to throwing yourself out of the nearest window.

Loosening the death grip you had on the cloth still in to hands, you continue with the task of wiping down the counters. There were granules of sugar, dried brown marks from spilled coffee, fingerprints from the day's customers. All of it was gone in one wipe over. The coffee machine was cleaned a little while ago, sparkling slightly as the sun shining in through the windows opposite hits it in the perfect way. All that was left to do now was close up, and you couldn't do that with people still in the building.

Not knowing what else to do, you once again start wiping counters despite the fact they were already very much clean in a futile effort at killing a little time.

Someone clearing their throat abruptly startles you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the friend of the woman you were horrendously crushing on. She was leaning against the counter, tanned tattooed arms crossed over one another as she stares at you with a small smirk on her face.

You swallow heavily as you tuck a loose strand of hair that had fallen from your braid behind your ear.

"Hola." She greets, and though you're terrible at Spanish, you do understand what she had said and return the greeting, your voice just as reluctant as it was cautious.

"Uhh...can I help...you?" You risk a glance behind her, stomach sinking when the beautiful girl was no where to be seen.

"I am Mapi." She starts, straightening up and linking her hands together.

Now deeply confused on why she feels the need to tell you her name, you nod your head and make the polite decision to tell her your name too . "Y/n."

"Y/n," she hums. "Sí, vale. I am sorry, my English is not..." she trials off with a guilty smile, and you shake your head.

"It's okay." You assure, lips momentarily quirking up into a shy smile.

"Anyway, my amiga, the uhhh...chica you were looking at," you immediately flush. "She say you are...how you say... hermosa?" She trails off unsurely, and you stare at her like she has three heads.

She sighs like she knew that was the response she was going to get. "Vale, you do not understand," she mumbles to herself. "Ehh, you are...bonita?" She tries again.

Bonita? You swear you've heard that somewhere before. On a tv show maybe? Didn't it mean...

"Pretty?" You try.

She snaps her fingers with an elated grin, one so genuine you can't help but mimic it. "Sí, yes. She say...said you are pretty. I try to...convince?" She looks up at you unsurely, and you nod your head in confirmation. "Gracias. I try to convince her to talk to you but she is very stubborn."

"That's okay," you laugh awkwardly. "I'm way out of her league anyway. But thanks for coming over."

"Qué?" Mapi tilts her head to the side. "Out of her league? Qué significa eso?"

More or less understanding the question, you flush as you fumble anxiously with the cloth still in your hands. "Uhhh, like she's too good for me."

"Huh? No. No no. I do not think so, chica. Alexia is right. Eres bonita"

Your stomach twists at finally learning her name, your lips quirking up into a soft smile. "Alexia?"

Mapi's eyes light up. "Sí. Alexia."

Speaking of the devil, at the mention of her name, Alexia walks out of the bathroom with her head buried in her phone. She doesn't look your way at all as she sits back down, and you can't help but feel a little disappointed as you look back down at your hands. How could she think you're pretty if she can't even look at you?

Mapi watches her friend sit with an eye roll before turning back round to face you. To get your attention, she reaches over to lightly tap your hand, waiting for you to look at her before speaking.

"I see your phone, por favor?"

"Um, why?"

"You will see." Is all she says, and figuring you have nothing else to lose, you pull your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans before unlocking it and handing it over. Mapi hums her thanks as she taps on the screen for a few moments before looking over at Alexia.

Frowning in confusion, you follow her gaze, only to regret doing so when you make direct eye contact with Alexia. You blink stupidly, not sure what to say or do as she stares directly into your soul.

Fortunately, Mapi makes a decision for you. She gestures Alexia over, the blonde hesitating for only a split second before rising to her feet and making her way towards you. The expression on her face was undesirable as she stops the other side of the counter next to Mapi, her hands tucked into the pockets of her red jacket.

With one last glance between the two of you, Mapi makes her way back to her table with a satisfied smile on her face. You watch her go with a slight bit of regret, knowing for a fact whatever conversation you were about to have work Alexia was going to be awkward.

Deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with, you raise your hand to give her a small wave. "Hey." You say with a small smile.

You can't tell if the butterflies in your stomach are nervousness because you're talking to a beautiful woman, or panic because 'oh my god, please let her think I'm normal.'

"Hola." The sound of her voice was nothing like you expected, and your forced to swallow back the word vomit lingering on the tip of your tongue. Do not freak her out with unnecessary compliments.

"So, uh, what did Mapi text you?" You wonder, hoping this would be a good step forward in making conversation.

Alexia hums softly as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, unlocking it before setting it down on the counter and turning it to face you. On the screen was the text Mapi had sent her, and you lean forward to get a closer look at what it says.

I'm y/n. I think you are pretty too.

Though you flush red a little in embarrassment, you don't deny it.

"I mean...she wasn't wrong," you shrug somewhat bashfully as you fumble with the cloth. "I do think you're pretty. Beautiful even."

Alexia raises an eyebrow, though it didn't take an genius to see the way her cheeks flush a light shade of red. Her lips part, and you feel your breath hitch as you watch the wet her tongue wets her lips before her eyes finally make contact with your own.

You blink stupidly, and Alexia smirks as she leans her arms against the counter much like Mapi had done moments prior but with way different intentions. Her eyes flicker over your face, head tilting to the side as she takes in every little detail. You try to remember wether or not you'd put on makeup this morning, but she was looking at you so intently you could barely even remember your own name.

There was so much being said without any words at all, and it was starting to become a little overwhelming. Why wasn't she speaking? Did she not like what she was seeing now she was close enough to actually see it?'

"I am not..." your eyes whip up to her own at a speed that shocks you both. You thank god she chooses to say nothing about it. "I am not good at this...in English."

"This?" You question a little unsurely, not quite understanding what she was referring to. Alexia nods, hesitating only briefly before gesturing to you and then herself. You take a wild guess at what she was trying to communicate.

"Umm, flirting?"

Alexia smiles as she nods her head. "Sí. Yes. Flirting. I am much more good at it in Spanish."

"Then it looks like I'll definitely have to start learning some Spanish." Was out of your mouth before you could stop it, and Alexia blinks before her cheeks once again flush.

God. She looked so good.

"It is...a difficult language to learn." Her voice breaks you away from your thoughts. You look up to see her staring at you with a somewhat hesitant smile on her face, almost questioning whether or not you were being serious. You're quick to assure her you were.

"It'll be worth it." For you. You want to add, but you refrain from saying so in order to avoid coming off too clingy.

"Then I will learn English too." She says with a firm nod as she straightens up, and you shake your head playfully with a gentle smile on your lips.

"Qué?" Knowing that means 'what' due to how Mapi had used it in a sentence earlier, you're quick to respond to her.

"Your English is perfect already." You admit truthfully, and you preen internally when Alexia flushes yet again.

Man. Who knew you were so good at this?

Alexia smiles as she fumbles with her phone, spinning it round on the counter to try and keep her hands busy. "Gracias," she murmurs bashfully. "I would like to...to take you out, if that is okay?"

Your eyes widen a little in surprise at the fact she'd been the one to ask you out when you'd fully intended for it to be the other way around. Taking your silence as a bad thing, Alexia opens her mouth to take it all back, but you're quick to reach out and give the back of her hand a small touch.

"I'd love to, Alexia." You assure, and the blonde smiles in relief as she glances back at Mapi. Her friend gives her two thumbs up and a wide grin, and you can't help but laugh softly when Alexia sends her a playful glare before once again turning to face you.

"Bueno. I will....text you?"

You nod. "I'll be looking forward to it." You smile, and Alexia returns it, lingering for a moment longer in front of you before reluctantly turning and making her way back over to Mapi. She ignores the tattooed girls soft nudges and not so subtle pestering as she packs up her things, sending you another smile as she passes and makes her way to the door. She pulls it open, patiently waiting for Mapi who was still grabbing her things.

Eventually, it's all in her arms, and you smile as she makes her way over to you. "Nos vemos, chica." She winks, and you can't help but smile as you watch her exit the shop with Alexia following shortly after. The bell dings as the door closes, and you smile softly as you make your way over to lock up and flip the sign to closed.

Yes, you'd kept the shop open an extra half an hour to shamelessly flirt with Alexia. Don't judge. Anyone in your position would have done it do.

As you head out back to grab your things, you make a silent note to once again download duolingo when you got home. How hard could leading Spanish really be?

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @liloandstitchstan

#soft alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x you #alexia putellas #woso appreciation #woso community #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso soccer

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stevieschrodinger · 4 months ago

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Part One Two

“I’m really sorry,” Steve is saying before Eddie has the door fully open, but it makes Eddie smile. It feels like Steve has started saying ‘I’m sorry,’ instead of ‘hello’ as a matter of course.

It’s Sunday afternoon though, and Eddie isn’t cooking anything and Steve isn’t holding an empty plate, so Eddie has no clue what Steve could be sorry for this time.

“Could you come and help me with something? It’ll just take two moments.”

“Sure thing,” Eddie agrees easily, slipping on his adventure crocs and following Steve down the hall.

Eddie follows Steve into and then through his apartment into the small bedroom. It’s a two bed apartment, the same as Eddie’s. Eddie uses his spare room to store his guitars. He has a desk in there too; a place to write and paint his miniatures and do guitar maintenance.

It’s a nursery. It’s cute, animal themed. The ceiling is painted powder blue, which drops down onto the walls about a foot before ending in a neatly done scalloped edge. The walls are white, but have cloud shapes printed on them in the same blue. There are random tufts of painted grass popping up from the floor; some with flowers. The rocker and the other furniture, including crib and chest of drawers, are all painted the same green, and the blinds are green jungle, with elephants and big cats and monkeys hiding amongst the leaves. A lot of the soft things are yellow and white, and Eddie has not a fucking clue as to the sex of Steve’s pup, so he asks as much.

Steve smiles, “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. I like surprises.”

“Huh. Well. I’m always the one shaking the gifts at Christmas, but I do love a surprise too. What did you need?”

“We have the fixings for the mobile there ready, but I clean forgot about it until now, and I’m too big to stretch up there. Didn’t do it at the time because we were moving furniture and I was frightened I’d break it.”

“Okay sure,” Eddie takes the dangly parts of the mobile; cute little moons and stars and sun shapes, and fixes it to the bit already attached to the ceiling. It’s nice, and easy to figure out, but it does hang low so he gets what Steve means.

He also sees why Steve can’t reach; he seems to have suddenly gotten even bigger over the last week, and he's also only been wearing these sort of loose shift dresses, like a blouse, a button up, and a tent had a horrendous love child.

He looks gorgeous though. Eddie always thought pregnancy must be pretty fucking miserable; your body betraying you almost. Needing to pee all the time, unreasonable hormones. Cravings. Morning sickness. Odd shit happening all over the place. Eddie always figured telling pregnant people that they’re ‘glowing’ was just a nice thing people said to make them feel better during what must be a pretty shitty nine months.

Not with Steve though. Steve’s actually glowing. Not like literally glowing but...he’s beautiful, and Eddie suddenly understands what all the fuss is about.

Steve clears his throat. Right. Right okay, Eddie’s creepy staring, “so I was going to make chicken parm again tonight, since I know you like it and it’s been a bit...do you maybe want to get out the apartment and come to another, slightly different, apartment?”

Steve laughs a little, looking at where his hands cradle his bump, before looking back up, cheeks pink, “I think I’d like that.”

Eddie’s laid the table as nice as he can. He snagged a little bunch of daisy looking things out of the garden and shoved them in a mug, just because he remembered Steve’s little daffodil.

He doesn’t own place mats, but he does dig out a table cloth he usually only uses for games night; it’s black, but it’s clean.

Steve settles himself at the table and Eddie goes and gets dinner, he can’t help but notice Steve shift in his seat, wincing.

“You okay?”

Steve hums, “been getting funny back pain, but it’s all normal. Could be anything really, just the weight of the baby, or maybe they are leaning on my sciatic nerve. It’s all fine. Nearly done now.”

Steve takes the first bite of his dinner and hums appreciatively. It makes Eddie warm inside, a little tickle of his brain releasing happy chemicals. Omega is being fed. Omega is safe and happy.

Eddie tells it to fuck off.

“So you’re due soon?” Which feels like he;s stating the obvious, Steve is the size of a tiny moon.

“Tomorrow.”

Eddie makes a noise, startled, then nearly chokes on a string of spaghetti, “excuse me,” he manages to get out, before drinking half his water, Steve looking half concerned and more than a little amused from the other side of the table. “Tomorrow?” Eddie asks weakly.

Steve nods, chewing and swallowing before he answers, “the due date is tomorrow, but it’s the norm really for first pups to go over that, even more normal with male Omega, don’t worry, it’s fine. Although it should be soon, I passed the mucus plug yesterday.”

Eddie nearly chokes again, “the what?” he tries his best not to sound too horrified.

“Oh. Sorry, you probably don't want to hear about the uhm, the kind of gross stuff.”

“No, no, of course it’s fine what is...uhm...that?” And Eddie is fully prepared to regret acquiring this cursed knowledge. He doesn’t even know what it is and he’s already eyeing his spaghetti sauce dubiously. For Steve though...he will learn about the gross stuff.

“Oh, well, when you’re pregnant you get sort of this...lump of...gacky stuff and blood. You don’t have periods when you’re pregnant usually, so it kind of protects everything from infection getting in and stuff like that.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and lets it out, blowing up his bangs, and makes himself eat his dinner normally, “fair enough, but that means you’re...kinda’ close?”

“Well, kinda’. Robin’s spending this morning with her girlfriend and then this afternoon sorting her place out. She’ll be over later, she’s moving in until the pups a week old or so, just make sure I’m okay.”

“She’s...a really good friend, right?” It warms Eddie to know Steve has someone like that in his life.

“Yeah...she’s been there with me through everything. Every appointment, all the classes, everything. Even when I decided I wanted to do this it was...it was right after yet another crappy breakup, you know. She could have said all the sensible things about maybe it's not the right time yet, or that I should...think about it. You know, all that things that would have been totally reasonable for her to say but I'd just...I’d just had enough of waiting and she said she’d support me whatever, and that was that. She’s the best.”

Steve shifts again, putting down his cutlery to try and stretch his back out, hissing with pain, “you sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks, concerned.

“Yeah, fine I think,” Steve bends forward then, gripping the edge of the table and breathing out harshly through his nose, “oh that felt weird.”

Eddie’s up and coming around the table before he can stop himself, hovering his hands, not sure if it’s okay to touch, “Steve?”

“I...oh. Oh gosh I’m so sorry Eddie,” Steve stands cautiously revealing a very clear wet patch on the seat.

“I...that’s fine,” Eddie squeaks out, “are you...is this. Is that…?”

“Yeah, pretty sure my water just broke. And I really wanted that chicken parm,” Steve sighs.

“I can make it again,” Eddie says reflexively, “kind of feel like there’s bigger things to think about what should- like can I help? What do we do?”

Eddie finds himself, very strangely, not panicking. Like, well, maybe a little, but not an uncontrollable amount. Which now he’s here that’s a really nice surprise.

“I’ll just call Robbie, and then will you walk me home?”

And Eddie had maybe had inappropriate thoughts about walking Steve home so he could steal a kiss, not whatever this is. But. Still. “Of course.”

Steve smiles at him with his phone next to his ear, “it’s go time Birdie. Oh, what was I supposed to say? Code red? The eagle is...leaving? I can’t remember, you couldn’t make your mind up about the-” Steve hisses, bending to lean on the table, “yep, yep, see you soon.”

Steve hangs up, telling Eddie she’s on her way as they walk down the hall, dinner abandoned on the table. Steve chooses to stand, walking little laps back and forth along the back of the couch, “is there anything I can do?”

“My bag and car seat are in the nursery, if you don’t mind grabbing those?” Eddie does, putting Steve’s things right by the door, “oh, and a towel, from the bathroom? I don’t want to make a mess in Rob’s car.”

“Sure thing,” Eddie grabs a bath towel from there, and puts it on top, just as Steve’s phone starts ringing.

Eddie can practically feel it when Steve tenses up, his scent turning bitter with distress. Despite what’s going on, Steve’s scent hadn’t changed at all until now, “your car won’t start?”

He sounds terrified.

“I. Yeah. Okay. I can wait I’ll- okay.”

“Okay?” Steve shakes his head, eyes suddenly wet, he looks like he’s biting back tears and Eddie can’t stop himself from going to him.

“She’s got to wait for Chrissy to get to her place and pick her up, then they’ll come over,” Eddie has to make this better. He has to.

“Okay, how about this, me and you go now, I’ll take you, and they can meet you there? That’ll make it faster right?”

“I mean, I’m not...I mean labor can take hours and hours, I’m being silly I just- Eddie I’m a bit scared. She was supposed to be here, it’s a bit too soon.”

They end up holding hands, which Eddie’s kind of thrilled about even if Steve is squeezing the life out of him, “would you feel better if you were waiting at the hospital?”

Steve bites his lip, clearly torn, “are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’ll get my keys.”

Part Four

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #pre getting together #pre steddie #dustin henderson #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #ao3 author #ficlet #ao3 writer #mpreg

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capslocked · 1 year ago

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 2

[prompt: mutual masturbation] male reader x jang wonyoung 4k words

If nothing else, Jang Wonyoung is a creature of habit.

Always orders her americano cold. Brown sugar and cinnamon cream cheese on her bagel. Walks three and a half steps behind her manager whenever they make their rounds: hair salon, corner pharmacy, the office, local record store. And for as long as she's been sharing your bed, she's insisted on that horrendous alarm clock from the late 90s that chirps the early-morning wakeup like a dying robot-parakeet.

All of it has worked for her so far, she’ll tell you. Which you find hard to argue with.

So - when she arrives home later than usual on an ordinary Thursday, she doubles down on routine. Where there's comfort in predictability. Coat on the third hook, boots below, fingers in her hair twisting to undo a messy bun, and a soft, delicate, "It's me," once she steps over the threshold.

“Hey,” you say to her, tilting your head. "You look, bedraggled."

"Well," and Wonyoung brushes aside the handful of her damp hair not stuck to her neck. There are faint marks just at her temple, in a faded half-circle, not unlike what would happen if your pillow wasn't comfortable. Or, you know. Some boyfriend that she's not supposed to have getting a hand tangled into all that long hair and pulling tight, like she tells him not to do. "That's probably true."

"Is it raining?"

"It was earlier." She eyes the spoonful of yogurt you're about to lick off, leaning back against the counter and tapping at the ceramic bowl. Frowns. "Is that one of the last blueberry ones. I take those for my lunch."

"I can always get more."

"Uh-huh." She drops her phone, keys, and spare change from her pockets into the large wicker bowl that lives near the end of the hall, by the closet and coat hooks. She has a sort of despondent energy about her when she comes into the kitchen. Less a look, more of a stance. A rub at her shoulder, this back and forth in her neck like she's working out a kink.

And because she looks tired and her hair is damp and she isn't busy kissing you right away, that's when you reach out. Let a finger slide across her skin, under her collar, pull aside the cotton.

"I'm going to go take a shower."

"Mind if I join you? You could use a hand." You end up holding hers in your own for a moment. Just, looking. "If you want."

There's something unidentifiable in her stare. She might have gone on believing nothing was different if not for the length of that pause - you, and the warmth from your body and the warmth of your hands on her shoulders, sliding into her neck, then-

She rises up on her toes and presses a light, almost shy kiss into your chin. And, well, if she had the strength to reach anywhere more than that, she'd let her fingertips find and curl around the smooth curve of your ear and say, very softly - barely audible - "take your clothes off. I'm already soaking wet. If you don't help, I'll run out of hot water before the conditioner's worked its way through."

But it's not for tonight; she's tired, wants it simple, maybe. Maybe wants to leave it for a better day.

"I just want to get cleaned up. It's been a long day."

"Fine by me." You point your spoon at her. "That's what it's for."

“Such a fucking gentleman," she murmurs, patting a palm at the front of your chest.

You smile first, playful - just this side of annoying - the exact thing she's kicking herself months later for having fallen for. And with another spoonful of yogurt, "you know me."

In your defense, Wonyoung has always had the cutest reaction to it. The quirk that she tries to keep from forming in the corner of her mouth, small and contained, like if you asked her about her day, she'd play it off. Let a sentence out with no punctuation. Which she often does: she's been fine, and that's the full length of her response.

But later, when she climbs into bed - when her face is in your hands and her lips are brushing past your cheek - when her hair smells like peach shampoo, and your chin is tucked into the nape of her neck, just the beginning of all the ways you plan to spoil her, you have to tease. Always, "I thought we weren't fucking until tomorrow, or was that a lie?"

A little bit of distance to keep your mind on track, and not thinking about her spread out under you, wide-eyes, and saying: yes.

You’re propped up against the headboard. You were reading, or watching tv. It doesn’t matter which when Wonyoung straddles your legs and drags her hand up your chest. Up and under her nightgown, the silky, thin, light blue material, until she has the collar cupped in her fist and her knees straddling your thigh. "Am I not allowed to change my mind?"

"No. Not allowed." Your breath catches. Because she is gorgeous, especially like this: tired, and pretty, and sweet, and thinking, deeply and meticulously and with great consideration, of climbing into your lap and asking if you'd help. If she'd be distracting enough - if she had the words to entice you into staying very close, without actually promising anything, because this, what she's wearing, how it's so tight to her form and how it is easily torn or bunched aside when she reaches down with both hands and starts to fiddle with the fabric at her waist, near her navel - is all entirely purposeful.

Wonyoung raises her eyebrow in question - silently: an exception, maybe, for me?

The way you're talking her up with both hands at the very smallest dip between her ribs and the bones jutting out above her hips, thumbs rubbing into the sensitive places along her thighs - pressing, a steady rhythm.

"Do you want it bad, princess?"

"Stop." Wonyoung wrinkles her nose at that and glares. But she knows better than anyone else. She lives in that contradiction, visible as it plays across her face when her back arcs and arches. When her breathing does this slow and deep in and out and you've leaned in with just enough pressure to make it feel good, in your kiss, a soft tug, a bite. A slow laving tongue leaving lazy patterns across her skin.

"Just want to make sure," you insist. Then, the question is being murmured against her chest. Then it's being whispered into the crook of her neck - which earns the single most content of sounds:

"A little, yeah, you ass."

"My mouth? My fingers? Or are you looking for something more... involved?"

"Maybe I'm looking," she says, pulling a curtain of glossy black hair back over her ear, "for you to figure that out."

"Aren’t you coy." You grab at her hair again - the second time today, for the second-worst of reasons. To tilt her head and gaze up at her like you're willing to live in the space beneath her. "We'd start slow?" you ask, and with a press of your open mouth against her collarbone, she brings her arms around you.

"Very slowly," Wonyoung says. She has one hand curling through bedsheets to feel if you're anywhere near as hard as she is wet. Her touch is fleeting, barely a whisper. "We don't have to rush it. Maybe we could do that thing."

You laugh out loud, and the vibration of it alone, coursing through your chest, your waist, up between her legs, has Wonyoung wanting. "That could mean anything at this point."

Wonyoung just looks down at you, fingernails grazing over your stomach, your chest, as she peels your shirt up over your head and tosses it aside the bed. And then, the idea, "get your phone."

"Hm. I'm going to say something that might come off as a little... something, but I mean it in the most respectful way." It's not a far reach, to where yours is charging on the nightstand. You're tapping in the passcode to your lockscreen when you spell it out for the girl in your lap: "you're low-key kind of a freak."

Wonyoung closes her eyes. Smiles. Her hair is spilling over one shoulder, some strewn across her chest, where she cups the underside of her breasts and sits her elbows into your shoulders and wriggles her ass a little lower in your lap. Until the tips of her hair are brushing the space below her belly-button, teasing-soft at the warm, pliant flesh.

"Pot." She bites into her lip, just slightly. "Meet kettle."

It doesn't take long to find what she's looking for; twitter's full of it. A video of her that'd gone viral. Or not quite viral, but circulated - bounced from account to account, thousands and thousands of hits - the shot by shot of the choreo that sees her bending over at the waist, touching her fingertips to the hem of a plaid-checked skirt, with this perfect posture, straight up through the hips to arch the back and lift and turn her shoulders at the right angle, so there's no mistake she's looking straight at the camera.

“You look good here,” you remark, scrolling a little further. She's grown so used to it that she doesn't even look.

Instead, it's her fingers that do the talking: moving a little faster. Touching a little deeper and harder over the gray cloth of her underwear. She runs a circle over the spot that has her rubbing her hips forward, breath shaky, back in your ear. "I always look good, don't I?"

"Obviously."

Her jaw falls into the crook of your neck. There's no escaping it: this heat, and she sighs. Mumbled and warm. This is the worst thing, she mutters - like you can't feel how incredibly hard it's getting to see her touch herself and act all shy, so the words are half-concentrating on her own breath, the other half focused, hazy. In her face. In her chest.

So, again. Wonyoung swallows a sigh. Breathes and runs her touch along the edges. That spot and where the wet has started to soak through the fabric, her thighs rubbing and sliding and finding new pressure.

“Here’s a particularly nasty one," you tell her.

Wonyoung turns her mouth into your neck, lips leaving these kisses while she presses down her fingers and rides. Hard, heavy strokes where her hand moves quicker with a sharp huff to her inhale. You click open another thread - another snapshot of that tight little ass of hers, the smooth skin over the dip of her hips, and the long curve of her back-

"Read it."

And with the music all distorted and choppy through tinny phone speakers, you say: "some guy can't decide if he'd like to spank you or pull your hair."

"Uh-huh." You feel her chin dig in where it's placed itself, over the flat of your shoulder.

"Then there's an awful lot here about how much the commenter wants to rail you. They get pretty vulgar." You look up from the screen and raise an eyebrow, the words coming into place, "Wonyoung has grown up so well," and the next part is so easy, "this little cocktease has been begging me to drain my balls for her for too long. I have to fucking oblige."

"God." She slips a finger into her panties to rub at her pussy - you know because the contact is audible, wet - and she drags a palm up and down, pressing in hard. Her lips part over a shaky punched out breath - this hot, wet puff of air - when she drags her mouth over the smooth skin of your collarbone. Where she feels at liberty to bite a hickey into the taut line of your neck, and draw her mouth, open and hot, up into your jaw. "Cocktease, huh?"

"Always the impression you leave." And with one, long, indulgent swipe, and a pinch on the wet material that's plastered itself, sheer and transparent and a beautiful outline to your cock, you glance to see Wonyoung smiling. That one that's all cheekbones. All teeth. All sort of sly.

"Can you," and there's not even an attempt, not even a sliver of an ounce of thought toward trying to hide the ache in her voice.

(You're there before she has to ask.)

“The concept of ‘Baddie’ does suit her, I think,” you start to read, “no one would believe it, but Wonyoung is the perfect little slut. Grade A baddie. Capital 'b'. She keeps teasing us with that tight, toned body and her slutty expressions. Someone’s ruining her on the regular. Not a doubt in my mind. A piece of ass that fine doesn’t go a week without it.”

"I do like when they talk about you," Wonyoung purrs out, and her hand slips down your chest. A touch, always warm and heavy and searching and all your fault lands right at your waist. On the bone that juts out at her thumb and forefinger. Which is exactly where she'd start palming you over your underwear, but with something close and confident in her eye, this mischievous idea taking shape in her gaze. You can't deny it: she has something dangerous in store.

"About how they think I am."

And when you place your hand back at her hairline, trailing her neck, her shoulder, Wonyoung sighs. From the top of her chest.

"What else does it say?" She breathes out a desperate exhale. This low-slung sort of groan. She looks hungry, and so unafraid to be. Eyes all smoldering. Hips all wriggling. Pushing a rhythm with those desperate grinds over your leg. The mess, in the softest sense, of her mouth, panting against the smooth line of your jaw. And voice, hoarse, murmuring something about: "how are they planning to ruin me?"

"Princess, you-"

Wonyoung angles her hips just that inch. A moan, just at the barest amount of friction, barely a grind, her soaked pussy rubbing against the flesh of your upper thigh, that feels like an earthquake hitting your throat. That makes your eyes flutter closed for just one second and groan, your whole chest singing for her.

You swallow hard. "How can anyone go on calling this innocent-"

Wonyoung’s fingers slip past the elastic, your cock springing free against her thigh and bobbing gently. "Play along," she tells you, this hint of command, and maybe a tease - playful and familiar. "I don't want to be the only one ruining their underwear." She smiles like she has plans, and it's downright infuriating in the best way.

“In the song, she even calls herself a ‘pretty little risky baddie’ and means that whatever happens, happens. She’s announcing that she’s not on birth control and that she knows all she’s good for is getting fucked and used and bred like a toy.”

“And?” she asks, the fingers between her legs fluttering out tiny circles of respite - moving fast, faster -

It takes more than a couple seconds, because your breath halts in your throat the moment your fist finds the blood pulsing through your cock, joining her in slow, full-length, smooth motions, watching, always. Seeing her, all the way: with every slow and steady roll of her hips that moves her slick-covered-panties along your skin. The expression in the hooded eyes, this flash of her pink tongue and the way it curls over the seam of her plush-soft lip. That subtle shift in the arch of her back and the clenching muscle up her arm and leg-

Watching is where you find yourself at: all the way, everywhere. The tremble in the flex of her spine to the sound she makes from her throat at the same time. When Wonyoung moves closer. How you breathe, ragged, but eager. You're both all nerves, the damp heat building up the soft and quiet parts of the both of you and neither of you are bothered about the sweat sticking the shirt to her skin - this wet heat, a daze, a smell in the air that has Wonyoung rocking and rotating on your lap.

"I would start," you continue reading, paraphrasing slightly the unhinged words of someone typing one-handed, and your voice comes out odd, thick. "-start with my cock forced into that little throat, she'd look so perfect with her eyes watering while she gags on my cum, the filthy sounds she would be making. She'd beg for more like the slutty princess she is-"

Wonyoung shifts her weight, and lets out this moan.

"-I'm not convinced Wonyoung would even be satiated by being railed in her pretty little pussy until she's crying. Wouldn't be enough if she only choked on it while cum dripped down her chin, leaving those little dollops along the edges, slipping and glazing on her tongue. Probably wants the messiest, hottest load. No condom. Lying flat. Clenching. Could you imagine, bare? Wanting to be used for real, want us filling her so badly she'd barely even be able to move, or think, or process anything except how much of an overstimulated slut she would be: helpless. Soaking."

And you look at her as you stroke - the same tempo. Pre-cum leaking from the flushed head. Making a show of it. Watching her lips drop into something slack-jawed. This isn't even the filthiest thought she's ever heard - the roughest fantasy brought to life she's ever imagined - and yet.

"They go on for a long time about breeding you."

Wonyoung manages this incoherent half-word - a word of want, more of the kind of fucking she'd be receiving with her knees and palms to a mattress, her throat dry and face sticky with cum and tears and sweat. You know her body and what she likes, and this:

"-I would fuck her while she screams, her fingers tearing at the bedsheets and her vision so blurry and brain all fogged over, only able to respond in pained moans and deep-seated need-"

Her throat bobs.

You don't need to turn the phone over to find the end. Wonyoung lets it fall faceup onto the bedspread as she pulls your wrist toward the heat between her legs, all messy and slick. "Touch me," she's murmuring, guiding your hand lower until you have the thin strip of fabric tenting just off her lips and you press a digit inside, another - until Wonyoung clenches all around you - until she brings her wet fingers to your own ache, the hot length of your cock, pumping up and down, a stroke. Until she licks them, and places her forehead into the center of your collarbone, mumbling this broken, "Just... put-your-fucking-hands-" and her next breath, like a sharp and sudden wind.

When she’s this worked up, it doesn't take long: Wonyoung arches, slow and sinful, her shoulders curving down to present her chest, to make her small breasts and pert, hardened nipples visible even through the cotton of her shirt, her lips falling open - you slip two fingers to the base, then three. Plunging them in quick and ruthless, Wonyoung bucking into the heel of your hand, fucking her pussy on you so her thighs are slick, squelch after squelch-

“Fuck,” she whispers, this long note of exasperation, right into your cheek, and the intensity and urgency has her fucking her hips up to meet the thrust of your fingers, working her cunt like it's made for pleasure alone, and your cock-

The base of your throat burns. “Yeah,” you tell her, “just like that. Jerk that cock just like that, Wonyoung.”

Both of you are there, cumming into each other's hands, in the dimmed lights of your bedroom, heaving short, wet, sinful breaths into each other's mouths, because it's become one: her eyes and yours, blown wide. Her thighs shaking, your hips stuttering.

You roll and curl and spread your digits, holding Wonyoung's ass into her strokes. Tug the strap aside to hook a thumb in and press into her hot skin and warm muscle, driving further, deeper. Harder and firmer - pressing down, fast and vicious until she's making a series of sounds, whine-like and so soft.

"With me," she chokes out, swallowing down on the noise that falls out of her chest as fingers continue to slide around you like a vice. Her palm on you with so much pressure. "Fuck. I want you to cum."

It hits you - at first, not even particularly surprising, the rush of blood through your head.

"I wanna see it," she demands in a small, not particularly loud voice, so shy and small as the backs of her feet scramble for a hold on the mattress and she comes so hard - again, a sigh. "-feel your cum all over my knuckles, baby, cum on my-"

As to whether you or Wonyoung release first, tension coiled like a spring - well, it's anyone's guess.

"Wony-" Your mouth is open, eyes clenched tight, when Wonyoung bites a kiss down on your lip. All-consuming is the only way to describe the kind of desperation in her noises. It's everything, the sound and feeling, her wanting, her needing. All that wet heat - your stomach tightening, then slack, muscles stiffened up and falling loose as your grip becomes too tight, too heavy around the girl whose fist you're fucking and jerking and riding through this white-hot-blinding-orgasm, her wrist buckling to let you use her.

It's all that cum, lathering Wonyoung's palm, the space between her fingers, wrist and your shaft, slipping, easy. A whole puddle.

It's a few, careful strokes of her thumb and she's holding you up through that oversensitive high, forcing all that cum onto her belly, the hem of her nightshirt, all sorts of slick and messy. "Fuck, shit-" your hand still over her hot cunt, while hers just lays her weight over you, her lithe, slender body landing like it had lost any preference for form, for structure.

"Ugh," Wonyoung finally manages to get out.

"God." You collapse, leaning into the headboard behind you. With Wonyoung wrapped over your chest. Into your arm. Around your waist and mouth buried somewhere into the sweep of your neck: exhausted, entirely.

When she comes around, she does, however, make it an effort to use her tongue. Teasing along your jaw. A slip. And that makes you wonder.

"Messy," she says, wiping the back of her hand on your thigh, because where else should the proof end up.

"Ah."

She bites in, then tugs - lips on yours, until you lean up and wrap around the middle of her back, down into her hair and her hips. Because this part of her has never had a preference: to be treated either with the kind of affection and reverence afforded to an object of worship, or manhandled like someone, someone, no doubt has their fingers on her the instant she turns her ass this way or that.

"I could," she says, eyes unfocused and foggy - licking over the swell of her lip, "use a hand cleaning this up."

"Shower?"

“Mhmm.” Wonyoung slides her long legs off you, and in a look that's all too intentional, turns to move away and slip her nightshirt up, and-

Oh.

Right over her head. Then she tosses it aside like it's nothing. Wears the same sort of look that someone who hadn't had your fingers buried between their legs might. "Or, a bath sounds nice, if I’m allowed to change my mind."

"Say less, princess."

#wonyoung smut #ive wonyoung smut #ive smut #male reader #kpop smut #capslocked kinkvember

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