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mooishbeam · 3 months

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『♡』 Brittle is Devotion

♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)

notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! <;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.

It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.

And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.

He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.

He knew that and got greedy.

To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.

Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.

“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.

A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.

“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.

“Mhm.”

“Will you change?”

“No.”

That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.

Maybe you never mattered in the first place.

It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying.

You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday.

Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.

You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs.

You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over.

The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.

“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat.

“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off.

“I love you too, Shoko.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty.

“Mm, I’ll manage.”

“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight.

“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair.

“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.”

“‘N how’s that gonna help?”

“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.”

“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny.

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know… if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.”

“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.”

“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.”

“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.”

“Nothing wrong with shellfish.”

The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.

You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings.

Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene.

The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.

A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself.

So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.

It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching.

You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result?

After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real.

In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”

You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night.

And you burst into tears.

Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you.

You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.

“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside.

“Wh’re you?” you garble.

“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?”

“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.

“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light.

“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child.

“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.

“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm.

“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge.

“L’ve me alone”

“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-”

Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew.

Then, you shoot up.

You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.

Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose.

“Fuck” you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.

You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand.

“Finally up?”

It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried.

You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears.

He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you.

“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.

“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.

“It was fine.”

There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance.

Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?”

“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?”

“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times.

“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication.

“Had business”

“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment.

“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy.

“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation.

“’M not lyin’.”

“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?

“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.”

He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.”

“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.”

“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-”

“You could barely keep your eyes op-”

“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!”

You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone.

“...I know.”

You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone.

“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze.

“Are ya hungry?”

You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances.

Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.

“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.”

“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity.

“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride.

“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.”

“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest;

“Pervert!”

There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.

They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”

Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top.

It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.

Not my business. You're nauseous.

Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table.

Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it.

“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.

“You lost? Take her order” he spat.

The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you.

“What’s funny?”

“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.”

Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors.

"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say.

"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."

"S'good. Livin comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be"

"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"

"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests.

"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."

"It did pay well."

"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?"

“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."

"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household.

"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"

You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."

His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."

"Don't get used to it."

You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.

He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof.

You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality.

The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”

You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.”

“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.

You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”

He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again”

“Toji, there can’t be a next- “

“Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists.

You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.

“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.

The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today.

You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself:

dumbass ex

tick, tock, tick, tock

The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip.

Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him.

He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.

Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji.

A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.

“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.”

“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...”

“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.”

“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?”

“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”.

“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?”

“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them.

“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.”

You sigh, “It’s no one new.”

“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops.

“Do not fucking say it.”

“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!”

“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.”

“You felt lonelier with him than without him!”

“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath.

“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place.

“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”

At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app.

Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:

'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn'

'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?'

'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?'

'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes'

This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”

Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.

Oh god.

You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.

“…Hello?”

“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“

“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction.

“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.”

“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you.

You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs.

Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no-

“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.”

“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.

But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.

There��s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.”

“They’re for you.”

You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless.

“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you.

“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.”

You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.

“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan.

“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere.

“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”

“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right?

“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle.

“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups.

Toji raises his glass, “A toast.”

You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?”

“Us.”

Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words.

He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.

Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie.

Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.

It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.

The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.”

Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.”

“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.”

“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:("

You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.”

“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.”

This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm.

Loving.

It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks.

“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything.

“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”

“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip.

“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.

“I don’t need healing. I need you.”

You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation.

You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.

You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.

You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?”

“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”

Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.

“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement.

You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip.

You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue.

An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.”

He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.

Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans.

Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?”

He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.

You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow.

Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-”

He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.”

You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.

He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.”

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.

“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.

You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.”

“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.”

“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence.

“And what else?”

“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk.

“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you.

“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”

“Mhm!”

He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.

Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.

You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”

“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth.

“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come.

“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air.

“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm.

No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.

Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight.

“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close”

“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.”

Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.

He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”

“Just go slow, okay?” you meek.

“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear.

Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.

“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”

The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.

Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?

Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go.

Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”

He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.

“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs.

Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.

Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?”

You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?”

“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain.

Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other.

“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?”

“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.

“So, you’re the decision maker now?”

“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.”

“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.”

A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”

“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?”

“No. You need nobody but me.”

You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”

“I love you, too.”

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji fushigro x reader #jjk

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luveline · 7 months

Note

hi jadey!! can i request something with steve? maybe where reader used to be in a relationship where the other person made her to do all the work ( put in the groceries, clean the house, etc.) and one day steve is taking care of some of the chores and reader freaks out cause she’s the one supposed to be doing it?? it’s just an idea, no pressure lovely! hope you’re having a good day 🫶🫶

ty gorgeous! fem!reader

Steve hums when he's busy. No pretentiousness, no shame, he sings lyrics, guitar, and occasionally drums, too. You can hear him in the kitchen singing that Van Halen song he loves, his voice twisted tight as he tries to hit a high note.

"Are you making a sandwich?" you ask hopefully, hanging your coat on the hook as you trudge in from the front door.

You're in the kitchen before Steve's collected the wits to answer you. Your jaw falls open.

"Hey, babe," he says. It's difficult to tell if the pet name is joking or serious, Steve in his pyjamas with his sleeves rolled up, his lips quirked into a funny smile as though he's pleased to see you but confused at the same time. "No? Did you want one?"

"What are you doing?"

Steve holds his games up in surrender, a cloth held in the left. "I'm wiping down the counters?"

"Why?"

"I do this every Friday before you get home."

"What?"

Steve takes the cloth to the sink to rinse it out. Bleach bubbles squeeze from the fabric. "Am I doing it wrong? This is how I always do it. Wipe the counters, vacuum, mop. Why are you back so early?"

"Steve, you don't have to clean. I… that's my job."

"Then what's mine?" he asks, turning off the faucet and dropping the wet cloth at the bottom of the basin. He wipes his hands dry with a hand towel, ushering your forward with a gesture of his index finger. "Come here…" He wraps his arms around you. "All you do lately is work." Steve kisses your cheek three quick times. "Miss you."

You blink a little, overwhelmed, still worried. "Do I not do it right? It's okay if I don't, I can–"

"Do what? The counters? No. I just figured it's my turn before the weekend starts and you go on your cleaning frenzy. Which isn't your job, by the way. I don't know why you think that."

He's light-hearted, but your silence spurns him into a more serious tone. Taking your face into one still-damp palm, he narrows his eyes until they're more brown than anything else and says, "Do you really think it's your job?"

"I'm the girl."

"And I'm so stoked about that, but…" He smiles, pulling your cheek with his thumb to encourage the same. "That's not right. Do you even like cleaning?"

"I don't have to like it, it's housework."

Steve can't seem to decide whether this is serious or not. He goes from smiling to frowning to impassive, his fingers rubbing a slovenly path down your cheek. Strands of hair like lace drift into his eyes as he ducks his head, his gaze on your chest. "It's housework for the house we both live in. I know you've been doing more of it since we moved in, and I'm really sorry. I'm lazier than you. I should've asked you about it, but now I've let you do more and you think you need to do all of it. I'm a dick."

"No, you're not."

"I'm a total dick. You think you have to clean up after me?" He brings you in for another hug. "Holy fuck, baby. I'm a grown up."

You bristle at first, but relax the longer he holds you, his words sinking in steady. He's not criticising you; Steve is apologising and self-deprecating. You slide your arms behind his back and breathe in his smell, all things boy but with the sharp smell of bleach lingering.

"I did it myself. You know, before. So that's why it feels like it's mine to do. Not your fault," you say into his chest.

Steve pulls away. "Thanks, but I'm a huge dick no matter what."

He marches you backwards and forces you back into one of the chairs at the dining table. You grab at his arms as he attempts to walk away, lifting your chin to kiss him. It distracts him for a while, the soft, slow press of his lips against yours, your hand in his hair scratching tenderly, but he can't be kept forever. Steve ends your kissing with a peck and beelines for the fridge.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Making you a sandwich. Dinner and a show tonight, did I forget to tell you? You can eat the best BLT in the western hemisphere and I'm gonna vacuum the crumbs from under the toaster. Perfect Friday night, right?"

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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tlouwhore · 3 months

Text

modern!ellie headcanons

notes/warnings: pet names used (baby), sfw, loser!ellie a little (i cant help it), no race specific information, androgynous reader

★ she has an insane mug collection thats so strange, when you go to hers for the first time its such a weird thing

"you want something to drink?"

"sure"

and you'll go back to messing with her stuff that she left sprawled across her coffee table until you hear her clomp over and extend her arm, she'll be holding an inconveniently built mug out to you casually

"els, what the fuck is that?"

she tilts her head and furrows her brow, confused at your comment as if its unreasonable to ask why shes handing you a horrifically constructed alien mug thats bound to spill all over you

★ speaking of these mugs, she refuses to get rid of *any* of them. when you guys move in together you're begging her to just get rid of one but she refuses

"els, please. we dont have enough shelves for these, we need normal drinking glasses."

you sigh as the mugs sit across the kitchen counter, shes on one side staring at them while youre on the other side staring at her.

"i cant, i use them all"

she doesn't. she drinks out of one and she only ever drinks water from it. you go back and forth for merely minutes before you throw in the towel and just let her do her thing, if shes happy you dgaf about the normal water glasses.

★ shes a loud ass walker, you will hear her before you see her. you genuinely start to think she's doing it on purpose.

★ she has one belt and its one wrong move from completing snapping in two pieces, there is a literal half inch of material holding it together

★ needs to pet street cats every time she sees them, whenever you point out that they're probably diseased she scoffs

★ tries to pretend shes good at fixing things but has no clue what shes doing—the toilet isnt flushing properly and so she stands about 3 feet from it and stares at it with her weight shifted to one side. she'll have on a tank top on and slacked down carhartt pants engulfing her legs as she nods. she really likes to take care of you so she'll refuse to admit she has no idea what shes doing and when you walk away she looks up "toilet not flushing reddit"

★ she fucks with the twilight franchise but pretends to hate it because it doesn't "look cool"

★ she cant drive, she failed her permit test 3 times and pretends like every other driver on the road is the problem (shes the issue every time)

★ she drives a beat up car or truck, it smells a little funny and the radio gets three stations so you have to rummage through her mass cd collection to find something to listen to. half the cds wont even be in their case but instead haphazardly chucked around her car in random spots. the only ones she keeps in order are your cds, which have a specific bag so you don't have to scurry about in her car to find them.

★ 3 pairs of socks and they all have holes in them, she'll complain that the floor is cold all the time

"god the floor is so cold in here"

"can you just put some socks on?"

"i'm wearing socks right now"

"oh really?"

and she'll point as her feet, half her toes are out and her heel is fully exposed. its about the same as just wearing no socks at some point. you'll just stare in disbelief for a moment before scoffing.

"what'd you do that for?"

that small crease between her brows finding its way to her face as it always does.

"you're barely wearing socks"

"oh whatever"

★ has to physically restrain herself from telling you the gift she bought you for any holiday or event, shes tweaking out and cant function until she gives it to you

★ she loves to just be in your presence, she'll observe your routines. she enjoys perching next to you as you get ready, no matter how short or long or a routine she will be by your side

★ she can cook a crazy burger but that's literally all she can make

★ shes a blushing mess for you but she loves to get cocky and pretend she isn't when texting you

★ needy and will message you thirst trap ass photos in an attempt to get you to leave work early and be with her (it works)

#ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams x reader smut #loser!ellie #tlou2 #tlou #tlou ellie #ellie x reader fluff #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie fluff #ellie williams imagine #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie hcs #ellie headcanons #modern ellie #modern au

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cosmal · 1 year

Note

Poly!Marauders x touch-starved fem!reader who’s too embarrassed to ask for attention..

cuddle

summary you really want a hug from your boys

content poly!marauders x fem!reader

note i don’t like this sorry

You get home from work later than you'd anticipated. You're exhausted, every step you take feels heavy, slow. You smell like the tube and your limbs are screaming for a hot shower.

But when you see your boys, you bubble with adoration.

You've all only just moved in together, the routine is fresh and exciting. You're not used to coming home to being welcomed by a parade of love and something on the stove.

You hang your coat and take off your shoes. The feet of your tights are a little damp. Sirius meets you in the hall.

"You're home," he says with a smack of a kiss to your cheek. You beam. "Is it raining out there? Sweetheart, I would've come and picked you up."

"It's okay," you smile. You think he's just finished work too, he's probably just as tired. "I read on the train." Sirius doesn't look pleased.

James hugs you as soon as he sees you. He's all flushed like he's just gotten back from the gym. Grey sweats and a black hoodie. You melt under his affection. "Cold out there, huh?"

"Yeah," you say quietly. You struggle to not show how affected you feel under their loving. You tuck a damp curl away from his face instead. Ignoring how warm your face feels. "You feeling tired?"

"A little."

"My poor baby." You kiss his shoulder and follow the sound of your name from the kitchen. James groans.

You're welcomed by Remus's long arms and a kiss to the top of your head when you find him. He keeps an eye on his sauteed vegetables while he squishes you. The heat from the stove hugs your face while you feel just as shy in his hold as you did the others. You wonder if you'll ever get used to it.

Eventually, Remus gets busy with dinner, boiling pasta and adding sauce to the veg. Sirius sets himself up behind his computer, and James gets in the shower. You were hoping, selfishly, for an invitation from him but felt stupid for thinking so. He’s tired. Sirius would probably whinge. Understandably.

You sit on your bed, work skirt and top discarded. A pair of tights and the vest makes you look a little funny but you don’t have it in you to care. You know the boys wouldn't mind either.

You wonder what they’d say if you asked them to cuddle. You know, hopefully, that their answer would most likely be yes. You just don’t like how you’d sound. Because, you really hate yourself for it, you’ve never actually had to ask them. They hug and kiss you all the time like they have a sixth sense for when you need it.

You feel tired, bored. You know they'd be the perfect fix. You just don't know how to go about it. Hey, Remus, wanna cuddle? Sirius, come sit on the lounge? James, your lips look pretty soft today.

You walk out into the main part of the house and it smells even better. Welcoming. You stand in the lounge room, damp tights pressed into the crush of carpet. Sirius is busy, Remus is making sure his pasta doesn't turn to mush, and you think James is still washing his hair.

You're used to your own routine after work but now you want to include the others because it makes sense. You feel silly.

Sirius looks up from his computer, his jaw washed in blue light. He pushes his reading glasses up his face and into his hair. "You okay, darling?"

You turn, mildly startled, with the pad of your finger in your mouth. You blink slowly. "Hmm?"

He seems half-amused, turning in his chair until he can see you properly. You feel barer than your clothes can allow. "You're half naked in the sitting room."

"Sorry," you wrinkle your face up. You're without a plan now and feel embarrassed. "I was gonna..."

As Sirius stands from his chair, James comes out of your room in his pyjamas on and a towel over his shoulder. His curls damp and a little flat. You think you might put some cream in them later if you remember.

Sirius stands in front of you, James stands to the side, half curious. "You were gonna?"

You swallow. Sirius has a funny way of making you shy. Probably because you know he'd have no problem asking you for a kiss, he does it every day. You're half-envious, half-nervous.

You duck your head, much to both boys' displeasure, and twist your feet until your tights bunch. "I feel silly now."

"Sirius does that sometimes," James says from over your shoulder. You can sense the look Sirius shoots him without having to look at them. You bite back a smile.

Sirius encourages your face up with the side of his finger under your chin. Your skin feels branded. "Hey, it's okay. What's on your mind?"

"You guys are busy."

"Not really," Sirius says softly. You really, really want to hold his hand.

"Yeah?"

"Well, Remus is," Sirius says. "But James and I are free."

You try to work up your courage and remember it's just Sirius. "Could we, maybe..." Sirius smiles, pretty teeth peeking out from his smooth lips. It strikes your heart alight. "Coul we maybe cuddle? Or something, I don't know, I just really need a hug."

You watch Sirius's shoulders fall. Letting out a breath he's been holding in. He relaxes. "Oh, baby, that's all?" He gets you into his arms when you pout. "I thought it was like super serious."

"It is serious," you mope into his button-up. "I really wanted a hug. I just didn't know how to ask."

"You're right," He steals a hand from your back to cradle your face. He holds you back and pushes a finger into your cheek. He looks mildly put out. "You're right, that is super serious. You know you don't have to ask for a hug, right?"

James finally comes around to steal you from Sirius. Gets you into his chest and hugs you until you're smothered. "You never have to ask any of us for a hug. Or a kiss. We're free range, baby."

"You guys were doing stuff," you go a little limp against his frame. He holds you up like you're nothing. "I felt stupid. I was just bored."

"Doesn't matter," he kisses the top of your head, swaying you back and forth a bit. “Hug me whenever. I know the others feels the same.”

“Even when I’m dressed like this?” You smother a giggle into his neck.

“Especially when you’re dressed like this,” James says. Sirius seconds it.

“Okay,” you sigh.

Lovesick, still hugging in the sitting room, you hear Remus call out that dinner’s now ready. You follow each other into the kitchen like a bunch of children.

You plate up your dinner while Sirius butters you a fresh roll. You smack a loving kiss to Remus’s cheek. “Thanks, Rem. Smells amazing.”

“Hey, can we eat on the sofa tonight?” James asks, already shovelling pasta into his mouth.

“Why?” Remus asks.

“Y/N wants to spend more time with us,” James wipes some sauce from his face, “She really wants to cuddle.”

“Oh, honey,” Remus pouts, “Why didn’t you just ask? I’ve been wanting to hug you all night.”

“That’s what I said!” You hear Sirius from behind you.

You warm, stuffing your mouth full of pasta to distract yourself.

The boys cuddle you all night.

#james potter #james potter x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #james potter fanfiction #remus lupin fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly marauders #poly marauders fanfic

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wileys-russo · 12 days

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/wileys-russo/747469515079778304/1-if-i-was-her-gf-best-believe-that-entire-flight

perhaps a tiny cheeky blurb about annoying her like that on the flight 😌🙏🏼

in flight entertainment II a.putellas

you stifled a laugh as your girlfriend finally joined you downstairs, luggage in hand which was left at the front door beside your own, her prized LV makeup caddy carefully balanced on top making you roll your eyes.

but it was her current pre flight outfit that had your giggles setting in.

normally you'd not dare to question whatever it was the spanish captain put on her body given that it could be a burlap sack and she'd manage to make it look good.

plus, you were more than happy to raid her closet at will.

though today the case was that both of you sponsored by nike were headed to an event in paris for a launch and the unveiling of alexia's statue, and so you'd both been sent your outfits for the entire trip separately.

assuming you'd both be sent the same you hadn't really worried to show one another the contents of your packages, but now it was coming to light that was most certainly not the case.

you ducked out of sight as she busied herself clearly checking off a list on her phone, if there was something the footballer swore by it was a list, you cleared your throat and took a seat on the sofa.

"ale!" you yelled from the living room, the blonde hurrying in with a concerned look tossed your way at the volume of your shout for her. "qué pasa?" the taller girl asked with a frown as you pretended to look intently at something on your phone screen.

"did you see the news? there is a viral plague of moths in barcelona! they have been eating curtains, fabric furniture, shoes, cotton, polyester-" you looked up at that point and gasped dramatically.

"dios mio mi amor it is too late, they have attacked you!" you pointed as her once genuinely concerned look melted into a displeased glare. the teasing was directed at the fact that her current outfit of choice, a bright pink nike hooded sweatsuit, something the girl often lived in when pottering around your shared home in winter.

but there was something different about this one in the fact that it was, seemingly intentionally, full of holes. all the same size and scattered around every inch of the set.

mind you, you weren't complaining about the slivers of tanned skin which popped out through these holes but you were far too consumed in how amusing it was over anything else.

but your girlfriend clearly did not share that view.

"you are not funny bebé." the blonde grumbled, shoving you to fall back down onto the sofa as you stood and she passed you headed for the kitchen.

"i hope you emailed nike and told them your outfit came damaged amor." you called out with a snicker, squealing as she balled up and threw at you the hand towel she'd just use to wipe her washed hands on and it landed on your head.

"alexia!" you huffed, shooting her a glare now as she simply winked and ducked down, rummaging around in the cupboard beneath the sink for something.

grabbing the damp hand towel before it stained the sofa you rolled your eyes and followed after her, seeing an opportunity as a smile curled onto your lips.

carefully twirling up the hand towel in your hand you walked past the blonde and struck, snapping the towel against her ass with a satisfying crack as she almost fell forward into the cupboard in shock.

"it slipped!" you smiled innocently, tossing it onto the counter as your girlfriend stood and glared you down. "no!" you laughed as she lunged at you, ducking under her arm and racing off as her footsteps sounded quickly after you.

"alexia!" you laughed louder as she caught you, arms snaking around your waist and lifting you into the air before collapsing onto the sofa, twisting around so your back met the cushions and she hovered over you.

"idiota." the blonde tutted, flicking your nose playfully with a shake of her head. "i saw an opportunity and took it mi vida, can you blame me? you'd have done the same!" you smiled reaching up to poke at her own nose as your girlfriend hummed, unable to really argue that point.

"you look good in pink, i miss when your hair matched." you spoke softer, arms wrapping around her neck as her legs settled either side of your hips baring a little more of her weight on top of you.

alexia only smiled at that, leaning down to peck your lips a few times, your hand moving to cradle the back of her head and encourage it deepen a little to which the taller girl paid no objections.

you exhaled and closed your eyes with a happy smile as the blondes lips lazily trailed kisses down your neck now instead, large hands settling on your waist as her thumbs rubbed small circles into your hips.

"can i ask you something cari?" you questioned after a few minutes as her head popped up, nodding down at you curiously. "do you feel...holy today?" you grinned, sticking your finger through one of the tears in the hoodie and poking at her shoulder.

"hey come back, baby!" you laughed as she immediately pushed up and off of you with a scowl and a shake of her head. "the car will be here in five minutes, levántate!" the catalan called over her shoulder before jogging back upstairs.

"amor." alexia warned as your finger hooked through one of the holes in her back, tracing the tattoos which appeared in tiny slivers. you ignored her, continuing to tug and poke and pull at the holes revealing more and more inked up skin.

"para eso!" the midfielder groaned, hand reaching around her back to push you away. "comportarse." the blonde clicked her tongue, her own fingers looping through the belt loops of the parachute pants you had on and drawing your body into hers.

"its not my fault you're like a big blonde beautiful walking fidget toy." you mumbled into her shoulder, the taller girl looking down at you with a confused frown as you chuckled and repeated the phrase back to her in spanish.

"hola sal!" you called out to your teammate as she arrived, handing off her luggage to be stored as the tall girl greeted you both with a hug. "just get out of bed capitana?" salma grinned teasingly poking at alexia who sighed deeply, pushing you away and making a beeline for the jet as soon as it was called for boarding.

"moths attacked our house, put holes in all her clothing." you tutted with a shake of your head, salma laughing as you fell into step with one another following after alexia into the jet.

you gave your girlfriend a look of mock offence as you sat in the seat directly across from her and she rolled her eyes, kicking her as a slightly smile tugged at the blondes lips and she looked out the window.

declining the offer of a drink from the air hostess you tensed ever so slightly as the engines roared to life, alexia noticing right away knowing you were fine once up in the air but take offs always had you a little apprehensive.

"nena, ven aquí." the girl nudged you with her foot, spreading her legs a little more and tapping her lap, eyebrows knitted together with concern. "estoy bien." you shook your head with a small smile, embarrassed that this still bothered you after so many years.

"bebita." alexia called for your attention again, starting to launch into a story from her childhood as a means to distract you, tapping her foot against yours anytime your eyes would stray toward the window.

your stomach lurched and you death gripped the arm chairs either side of you as the wheels left the tarmac, alexia talking even faster and louder and continuing to keep your gaze locked with hers.

finally the seatbelt sign flicked off and with one final dip of your stomach the plane seemed to settle, now flying smoothly as you exhaled shakily and loosened your grip, muscles relaxing.

again your girlfriend spread a little and tapped her lap, pouting dramatically as you shook your head and with a roll of your eyes unclipped yourself and stood.

"much better." alexia mumbled as you sat down on her lap, kissing your shoulder lazily and relaxing back into her chair. you busied yourself speaking with salma and a few members of the team but eventually you grew bored.

it was barely a two hour flight but you were restless, your girlfriend easily having fallen asleep as you felt the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest behind you.

shuffling a little more so you were wedged into the side of the seat you felt alexia stir but rolled your eyes as still hers remained shut, it astounded you that she never found any struggles with falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

so naturally, you found a way to entertain yourself.

you started off by just counting all the tiny holes in your girlfriends sweatsuit, but when that failed to ease your growing boredom it turned a little more physical, your pointer finger poking in and out of them instead.

"mi amor, stop." alexia mumbled tiredly, hand grabbing your wrist and pulling it away, eyes remaining closed. but of course, you continued, moving from the holes in her arm to the holes along her legs, tugging at them.

"bebita." alexia warned, cracking one eye open and raising an eyebrow as you smiled, pecking her lips and moving to poke at the holes in her hood which was draped over her head, finger digging into her neck.

"no." alexia woke properly now, grabbing your hand and holding it in her much larger one, tugging it down to rest against your leg as her eyes closed again. so naturally with your other hand you continued, poking this time at the holes around her torso.

you felt her jolt beneath you as you prodded at a particularly sensitive part of her ribcage, a strange noise halfway between a snort and a laugh leaving her mouth as you dug in a little harder with a grin.

"no no no amor por favor-" alexia begged as you tugged your other hand free, fingers digging into the tiny tears and poking and prodding causing her to laugh and wriggle beneath you.

though the taller girl with her muscular build quickly regained control over the situation, capturing your hands with her own and pinning them to the arm chairs.

you heard her catch her breath with a slight wheeze, your head slumping back to her shoulder and kissing her cheek before she turned and looked down at you with an annoyed glare.

"i love you." you promised sincerely, watching as a soft smile melted into her features and she let your hands go, lightly smacking your forehead before kissing it and repeating the three words back to you.

"what can i say cariño...my life without you is just, one big hole." you quipped teasingly, sticking a finger through the slit in her hood and jamming it into her ear as she huffed and yanked your hand away.

"alexia!" you squealed quietly as she bit your shoulder, pinching your hip with a shake of her head, her hand coming to grab your jaw so you were locked eye to eye, a slight smirk on the older girls own face.

"bebita i am going to make sure that we leave you behind in paris."

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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sluttywoozi · 2 months

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Nothing But Love | jww x f!reader

Wonwoo's never had a girlfriend for Valentine's Day before, or a girlfriend period, so this day needs to be perfect.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~4.5k | Genre: romance, fluff | Pairing: wonwoo x f!reader

Warnings: food, alcohol, let's pretend it’s the weekend, wonu is loaded (he’s a streamer but i don’t really get into it), wonu’s first relationship aww, wonwoo follows the boyfriend handbook, kissing, some suggestive thoughts, u send him a nude and he malfunctions, no smut in this but i may do a second part if there’s enough interest xoxo

Reader Notes: shorter than wonu (sorry to my tall friends i luv u), wears a dress and heels, has breasts and a vagina

Wonwoo wakes the morning of February 14th with his stomach full of both fluttering butterflies and hefty sandbags. He’s been anticipating this for weeks now and finally, it’s here. Valentine’s Day.

His first Valentine’s Day.

Well, sure, he’s been alive for all the others, but this is the first one he’ll spend with someone, and he’s spending it with you, his girlfriend, his first girlfriend. He begged you to let him take care of everything, made all sorts of preparations, and today, it’ll all come to fruition (hopefully). There’s always the chance things could go wrong, and that’s what has Wonwoo’s mind feeling heavy even as his heart feels light.

He rolls out of bed and scrubs a hand over his hair, not bothering to put on his glasses before he stumbles to the shower, knowing he would forget to take them off and they’d get all fogged up and wet. As he meticulously scrubs down his body, he goes through the plan in his mind.

First, flowers.

He placed an order for a bouquet three weeks ago, one with flowers that were carefully chosen to precisely convey his feelings for you. Red tulips for romance and passion, pink dahlias for eternal love and commitment, honeysuckles for devotion and affection, and baby’s breath spread throughout to symbolize everlasting love. He’s so excited to see how it turned out; you love flowers and have many of the meanings memorized by heart, so he knows you’ll know what they mean as soon as you see them.

Next, he’ll pick up the strawberries.

You adore strawberries in all forms - fresh, shortcake, compote, jam, jelly. Things with strawberries on them are an almost instant buy for you, meaning half the things you own are covered in them. You’ve even got Wonwoo buying strawberry themed items just because they remind him of you, evidenced by the red seeded mug in his cupboard and the patterned apron hanging in his kitchen, used only by you. So for Valentine’s Day, he went with chocolate covered strawberries, specially ordered for you with piped white chocolate hearts and edible glitter.

Then, he only has to wait a few hours before he can pick you up and take you to your favorite fancy restaurant. He made the reservations two months ago, expecting it to fill up as the holiday grew closer and closer, and he’s glad he did considering he checked last night and there’s not a single spot left. He’s sure that’s the case for most of the city, and he almost feels sorry for the people who didn’t plan like he did. Almost.

He closes his eyes as he rinses the conditioner you bought for him out of his hair, running his fingers through the wet strands until they no longer feel slippery and slick before shutting the water off and attempting to shake the excess droplets out. He reaches blindly for the towel and swipes it over his head and along his body until he’s sufficiently dry, stepping up to the bathroom counter and finding his toothbrush. He loads it up with toothpaste and starts brushing, leaning against the counter and huffing out a laugh when he remembers one of the jokes you made last night.

You’re so funny, and so smart, and so cool and pretty and beautiful and cute and everything Wonwoo could ever want. He’s so fucking lucky to have you. These are thoughts he has all the time, and he supposes he really should tell you them more often.

It’s hard to be so open when he still feels so shy around you, though. He’s comfortable with you, of course, but being affectionate or initiating things makes him feel bashful and timid. It’s almost like he’s being granted privileges he doesn’t deserve, and he’s reluctant to take full advantage of them because he doesn’t want to take advantage of you.

He spits and rinses quickly, his phone starting to buzz in his room. He races back, not knowing who’s calling but knowing it could be you. Even with blurry vision, he recognizes your contact picture and swipes to accept, bringing the phone up to his ear and plopping down on his bed clothed in nothing but a grin.

“Hi, baby,” he says, the smile evident in his voice and surely picked up by you. He still gets a little thrill from calling you that.

“Hi, Wonwoo,” you respond happily. “I just wanted to check in and see if I could do anything to help today.”

“I’ve got it all covered,” he assures you with pride, feeling his spine straighten and his chest puff out when you tell him, “Of course you do, you’re such a good planner.”

The conversation easily flows from one topic to the next, with you jokingly trying to uncover his plans the whole time. He can tell you don’t really want to spoil the surprise so he doesn’t give in, redirecting you with every attempt until he’s laying flat on his bed an hour later, his hair dry and his heart full.

“Baby, I wish I could stay, but I have to go,” he reluctantly says, checking his watch and seeing a notification from the florist that your bouquet is ready for pickup.

You say goodbye with a pout in your voice, but he knows it’s more playful than real so he doesn’t worry about leaving you too much. He still, of course, thinks about you the whole way to the flower shop, your voice and your laugh and your beauty on his mind as he coasts through traffic on his motorbike.

The parking lot is full when he arrives, bar the motorcycle spots, and he wonders how many people are here for pre orders and how many are here last minute. They’re all in the same line so it doesn’t really matter, and with a small sigh, he joins at the back.

He wastes time by scrolling through your shared album, the one you made in the early days for memes that swiftly became a repository for pictures of each other. He mostly cares about the ones of you, but it’s nice to see pictures of himself too, to see the way his smile reaches his eyes, to see the love he has for you in them. It’s his turn in what feels like no time, and he gives his name to the clerk, glancing around the shop placidly so they don’t feel like he’s rushing them.

“I’ll be right back with your bouquet,” they say with a smile, turning and disappearing into a back room before emerging with an arrangement of reds and whites. “Does it look like you imagined?”

He beams as he accepts the flowers, inspecting them and naming every single one in his head before turning back to the clerk and thanking them, “They’re perfect, thank you so much.”

He paid when he pre ordered so that’s all there is to it. The queue is even longer when he leaves, and he tries to hide the sympathetic grimace as he passes the long line of waiting people. He hits a bit of a snag when he realizes he doesn’t know the best way to get the bouquet home, deciding in the end to just put it in his backpack and hope for the best.

It’s not a long ride back to his apartment, and thankfully the flowers are only a little squashed when he pulls them out of his bag. They perk up when he puts them in water and the vase he bought for you, green milkglass with little painted strawberries dotted all over, and he smiles proudly, knowing you’ll love both the flowers and the vase.

The chocolate covered strawberries should be ready soon, and he wonders if he should uber to pick them up. Usually, he loves just having a motorcycle, but at times like these, he wishes he had a car too.

If it were any other day, for anything else, he’d ask you to take him. Unfortunately, he can’t ruin the surprise, so you’re out of question. Who else can he ask?

Wonwoo | mingyu will u take me to whole foods

Mingyu | Uhhh, sure, why?

Wonwoo doesn’t reply.

With the strawberries secured, all Wonwoo has to do is wait four hours. He’s picking you up at 6:15 for your 6:30 reservation, and he thanks everyone he can think of - God, Mingyu, Mingyu’s partner - for the fact that they're staying in and Mingyu is letting him borrow his car.

He knows you love the bike, but you’ll probably wear a dress tonight (fuck, he loves you in dresses) and he thinks a car might be better. He can always take you out on a late night ride after you change if you want.

He passes the time first by tidying his apartment and picking out his outfit, and then by doing his streaming for the day, an alarm set to remind him to get ready and go pick you up around six.

It goes off without him realizing it’s been hours, not minutes, since he started, the games blurring together until they felt like one continuous match. He stands on creaky knees and stretches, his face scrunching with the feeling of the ache in his back releasing, before shuffling to his bedroom and changing into the clothes he laid out on his bed.

After brushing his teeth, he messes with his hair, combing through it with his fingers and attempting to get it to lay right. It’s getting longer and he doesn’t really know what to do with it, but you love the length and that’s all that matters to him. He slaps on some moisturizer then sprays some cologne, the one he’s found to be your favorite, before jogging to the door and slipping into his shoes.

The strawberries and flowers are for when you come over after dinner so all he needs are the keys, and still, he almost forgets them. He dashes to the kitchen to grab them, swiping them off the counter and racing back through the door to the garage, telling Siri to text you that he’s on the way as he runs.

Mingyu’s car is nice, a champagne colored Audi sedan, and it hums to life when he presses the remote start. He feels very debonair with his fancy car and tailored slacks, and as he climbs into the driver’s seat, he hopes you’ll be at least a little impressed.

Mainly he wants you to feel special and loved, but he has to admit, he wants to prove himself too, prove that he can be a good boyfriend, a great boyfriend, for you. A boyfriend who thinks ahead and plans and provides, who knows your taste and what matters to you. A boyfriend who’s learned how to make you happy and strives to do so.

It’s not that he thinks you doubt him, it’s just that he feels a little out of his depth with you. This is his first real relationship so he doesn’t have a lot of experience, and while he knows that you’re patient and kind and forgiving, he doesn’t ever want you to feel like he’s falling short.

He tries to remind himself you’ve given no indication you think that as he pulls up to your apartment, sliding into one of the fifteen minute spaces before putting the car in park and getting out. Checking his watch as he walks, he notes the time and smiles. He should arrive exactly when he said he would.

If the fucking elevator would come, that is.

He taps his foot, reaching out and pressing the button again, then tapping it incessantly when it still doesn’t light up.

“It’s broken,” he hears your voice off to the side and whips his head over, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing in front of the door leading to the stairs. His hand falls limply to his side, his breath stalling in his lungs as you start to walk closer. You’re holding a purse and your heels, your feet protected by your outside slides and your overnight bag slung over your shoulder, and like he thought you would be, you’re wearing a dress.

It’s strappy, sleek, and you glow in it, the reds and pinks flattering your complexion and the fit flattering your curves, the watercolor silk gliding over your body like he wishes his hands could. A devious voice in the back of his mind whispers that you may not be wearing a bra but he disregards it, focusing instead on how beautiful you look and how few words he has in his brain.

Closer and closer you get and still, Wonwoo is speechless.

He can’t summon his voice, can barely summon thoughts, and when you set your bag down and reach out to feel his sweater, he knows there’s no way he’ll survive a whole night of you looking like this.

“Landlord’s out of town or there would be a sign,” you whisper, letting your hand smooth up his chest and wrap around the back of his neck, your nails lightly scratching his sensitive skin.

As if he were in a trance, he leans down, his eyes slipping closed and his lips parting as he presses them softly to yours. He takes his time relearning the shape of your mouth, rediscovering the different ways it can fit with his as he kisses you, his heart pounding in his chest at the way you kiss him back.

He’s about to swipe his tongue over your bottom lip, about to drop his hands to your waist and deepen the kiss, when the entry door bursts open and voices fill the lobby. He gasps, breaking the kiss and stepping back from you before taking your hand, throwing your bag over his shoulder, and nodding over to the door, “We should probably go. Don’t want to be late.”

Breathless, you blink at him and nod, following when he starts to tug you to the exit. He doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you to the car, carefully looking both ways before pulling you across the street. Unlocking the car and turning it on with his other hand, he brings you around to the passenger side and opens your door, waiting for you to get in and closing it once you set your purse down.

He jogs around to the driver’s side and slides into the car, checking his mirrors before pulling out onto the road and heading toward the restaurant. He was already listening to your shared mix on the way here, so it’s no surprise when your favorite song comes on. You gasp and aww at him like he planned it and he just laughs and takes your hand again, resting your combined grasp on your soft thigh.

You tell him about your day as he drives, detailing your time at the nail salon and showing him your new set at a stoplight before extolling the virtues of afternoon naps and getting ready slowly over three hours instead of getting ready quickly in one.

Not everything makes sense to him, like how gel can be nail polish and how one can spend three hours getting ready, but he’s happy to listen and happier to feel you squeeze his hand in excitement at different points in your stories. You pull away only to put your heels on, leaning down to buckle the sides and returning your hand to his.

For once, Wonwoo can do valet, so he pulls into the loop in front of the restaurant and hands the keys over, glaring at the other valet when he goes to open your door. The man backs away, holding his hands up and heading to the next car as Wonwoo jogs around to your side. He lives for opening your doors (and paying for your nails and sending you money for food and planning your dates and and and), so you know to wait for him to get it for you.

You told him he didn’t need to do all that in the beginning, but he gently begged you to let him. He’s never been a boyfriend before, he wants to do well, and he’s slightly embarrassed to admit he models his behavior after Mingyu’s. Mingyu and his partner are so happy, so in love, it’s almost displeasing to encounter, and Wonwoo can’t help but want the same for you and him.

Hopefully with less public displays of affection, though the kiss in the lobby earlier doesn’t bode well.

He can control himself though, he must, because being physical in public makes you shy and he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, no matter how fucking cute you are when you get shy. You are okay with holding hands though, and he’s thankful for that as he takes yours to help you out of the car.

He experiences the moment almost in slow motion, his heart stuttering before picking up as you smile up at him and rise, stepping up onto the curb so the valet can take the car. This brings you into his space and his brain goes foggy at the smell of your perfume, his free hand coming up to your waist as if on instinct.

It doesn’t stay for long as you step past him, pulling him to the gilded glass doors of the restaurant. You’ve only come here once as it’s rather expensive, but the food is incredible and apparently the cocktails are too. Wonwoo isn’t much of a drinker but he may indulge in a glass of red wine tonight, especially as he’s planning on steak.

He tugs the heavy door open, following you in and stopping at the host’s desk.

“We have a reservation for 6:30, Jeon Wonwoo,” he waits as the host looks up his name, holding his breath until the host smiles and swipes two menus and sets of silverware from the desk.

“Right this way,” they smile and turn to lead them through a sea of tables. Wonwoo lets you go first, still holding tightly to your hand as your heels click on the marble in front of him.

The table is in a nice spot, a corner booth that's actually quite secluded, and you beam excitedly at him as you slide into your side.

Discussion of what to order begins, with you debating between steak, pasta, and just ordering four appetizers. Wonwoo already knows what he wants so he can devote his focus to helping you choose, though he wants to tell you to just get everything. You’d probably be scandalized by that, especially because this is the kind of restaurant where the menu doesn’t have prices.

In the end, you order pasta and he convinces you to get two appetizers as well, tacking onto his order the other two you wanted. You glower at him half heartedly but squeeze his hand in thanks, already perusing the drink menu.

Wonwoo and you are both lightweights, so it’s likely you’ll only get one and he’s sure you want to choose the best. He already ordered his glass of wine, asking the server for a recommendation that would pair well with the steak and that had a relatively low alcohol percentage.

Wonwoo used to fear you’d run out of things to talk about considering how much time you spend together, but there’s always something to discuss. Some work gossip or scandal in the streaming world to share, plans for the future to draw out, nonsense debates to pass the time that almost never have a winner or a loser.

He’s generally a quiet person unless you get him going or activate the small part of him that’s a little maniacal, but he hasn’t been quiet with you since the beginning, since you asked if you were annoying him with all your ‘chatter’. He made an effort to engage and respond after, and now, it doesn’t even take any thought. Now, talking to you is as easy as breathing is (when you’re not around, at least).

The appetizers arrive, you order your cocktail, and before he knows it, mains are being delivered. His steak is perfectly cooked, tender and pink and flavorful, and the sound you make when you take a bite of your pasta is absolutely sinful. It has him thinking thoughts that do not need to be thought in public, has him remembering things that are not conducive to him looking at you and keeping his free hand to himself.

It’s relatively quiet while you eat, just sprinkles of conversation between bites, you holding out a forkful of your pasta for him to try and him reciprocating with a small piece of steak. You hum in delight and so does he, grinning at the way your shoulders wiggle when you get a particularly tasty bite.

You’re both too full for dessert and he’s got some waiting for you at home anyway, so when you both finish eating, all the server brings is the bill. He’s sure you’re both itching to peek at the total and distressed at the thought of finding out so he keeps it close to his chest, freeing his hand from yours to get his wallet out of his pocket. He slips his black card into the folder and places it on his side of the table, nodding when you rise and tell him you’re going to freshen up.

You’ve only been gone a minute when his phone pings, so he figures he has enough time to answer it before you get back. He smooths his face out, letting the phone read it and unlock before going to his messages.

Oddly enough, it’s from you.

And it’s a picture?

Unsuspectingly, he opens it, gasping at what he finds and slamming his phone face down on the table before anyone else can see the screen.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he mutters under his breath, forcing a smile when the server picks up the bill and rearranging the napkin on his lap as his dick stirs. Even with his eyes open, he can still see the picture.

Can see you, the straps of your dress down by your elbows and one arm hugging your waist under your breasts, pushing them up for him. Your skin was radiant, the necklace he got you for your three month anniversary resting gently on your collarbones, and your nipples were pebbled, hard (was it cold or did you touch them? fuck, he hopes you touched them).

The server arrives with his credit card and you still haven't returned, so he wills his cock to stop thickening and stands, checking over the table to be sure you haven’t left anything before walking to the front of the restaurant.

Wonwoo | u are evil evil evil

Wonwoo | need them in my mouth

Wonwoo | im by the front btw

He hears heels clicking on the marble behind him and doesn’t need to turn to know it’s you, doesn’t even jump when your arm weaves around his, though he does briefly let his eyes flutter shut when he feels the warm press of your breast against his arm. God and now he knows you’re not wearing a bra…

It takes all of his strength just to take a step forward, and another after that, until somehow he makes it to the valet stand, reaching into his wallet for the ticket before handing it to the waiting employee. You shiver, stepping closer to him when a cool breeze sweeps through, and Wonwoo kicks himself for not bringing a coat.

He’s a bit chilly too so he can barely offer you any warmth but he frees his arm and wraps you up against his side anyway, Mingyu’s car pulling up after just a minute or two. The valet leaves the driver’s side door open and jogs around, accepting the cash Wonwoo slips him as a tip before dropping the keys in his open hand and giving him a nod.

Wonwoo opens your door with his free hand, gently shutting it after you’ve climbed in and gotten settled. He takes large steps around the car, sinking into his side and shifting into drive before slowly pulling away from the restaurant.

He heads towards his apartment instead of yours - you like sleeping over at his place more because he has a nicer bed - and rather than holding your hand, he holds your thigh, your flesh warm through the thin silk of your dress.

The drive is tense, quiet, his fingers tightening on the wheel as your thigh flexes under his hand, your legs pressing together, trapping it. He’s not bold enough to work it higher and he needs to focus on driving anyway, but that doesn’t mean his mind isn’t full of thoughts of sliding it up, finding you wet and wanting, bringing you to the edge and then pulling away, over and over until he turns into his parking spot.

Which happens before he expects it to, his brain so preoccupied that he didn’t even notice the time passing. He shifts into park and exits the car, his hand feeling cold where it used to be touching you, before running to get your door and help you out of the car. He takes a second to grab your overnight bag from the back before accepting the hand you hold out and letting you tug him to the door.

His keycard grants him access, the door unlocking with a click as he wraps his free hand around the handle, pulling it open and following you inside. It’s hard not to stare at you as you walk, at the slope of your nearly bare shoulder, the curve of your waist, the bounce of your ass, and there’s no reason not to, which is just one of the many privileges of being your boyfriend.

Another comes after he’s gotten you into his apartment, your heels slipped off and your arms wrapped around his neck as you kiss him for all he’s worth.

AN: Happy Valentine's Day!!! lowkey for my bestie @sluttywonwoo ily you're the only valentine i need 💖sorry for the fade to black, i do plan on continuing this! i just had to scrap my other idea and i wrote most of this today so my brain is tired, i hope u understand 🫶

Part II

963 notes · View notes

jaegersdevil · 7 months

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boyfriend!gojo headcanons pt. 2

la la la (gege....... i will curse u buddy) masterlist

bf!gojo tells strangers you're related and then kisses you in front of them :/

bf!gojo scares easily (e.g. you literally walk into the kitchen when satoru is sipping on his little green smoothie and man jumps so hard the ceiling ends up green too....)

bf!gojo is the biggest pest in existence (ruffles your hair, will hide one of your shoes when he doesn't want you to leave??, doesn't kiss back sometimes because he thinks it's funny..., follows you around the house when you're pissed, says no as he's passing you something you asked for, pulls your ear because he's weird etc etc)

bf!gojo loves putting his face in your neck, whether it be a hug or just for fun, his nose is digging into your throat like 24/7

bf!gojo has a 0.5x photo of you as his phone background

actually, bf!gojo is one to take 0.5x photos of everyone (especially megumi because it annoys him the most) and finds it the funniest thing ever (it is....)

bf!gojo buys you one plushie one time, and suddenly he has a vendetta against it like he didn't willingly give it to you?? i'm talking putting it in the closet before bed, punching it because it's getting more attention than him?? god forbid if you ever get a pet.... he wouldn't know what to do with himself

when bf!gojo washes his hair, he puts it up in a towel

bf!gojo is forbidden from drinking soda (no i will not elaborate)

bf!gojo pretends to drop you if he's carrying you or giving you a piggyback

beware bf!gojo is a sass machine. do not sass him ever because he will sass you back thrice as hard (lovingly)

bf!gojo has an overwhelming mug collection but a 'minimalistic' apartment (mugs hang and sit everywhere because there isn't enough room in his cupboards)

bf!gojo puts his toothbrush in one of those things that stick on the wall and is shaped like a penguin

bf!gojo will bite

bf!gojo has one silk pyjama set (you got it for him for his birthday as a joke, but he loves them.... they're blue to match his eyes 🙄)

bf!gojo will steal your phone charger and then forget where he put it (but he buys you a new one, and then the process happens again like clockwork)

bf!gojo will go through an entire bag of your favourite candy to pick out the ones you like, just to put them in a separate container for you (it is absolutely adorable AND it keeps him occupied for half an hour <3)

bf!gojo whines when you don't give him attention when he is in dire need of it

bf!gojo laughs at you when you stub your toe only to get upset when you do the same when it happens to him (dramatic ass man)

bf!gojo shoots tapioca pearls at you through the straw (ends in a competition which you usually win (and satoru is a sore loser and refuses to partake in 'such childish activities' until he does it again the next week and he wins and then its fair game))

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #satoru x you #gojo x you

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solarmorrigan · 1 year

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( @nitro502-the-sequel‘s tags on this post made me ugly laugh and then I had to write something, I hope that’s okay??)

Wait, no, this is hilarious, hold on

Steve drops Eddie off at home later that night, where Wayne is awake and puttering around in the kitchen making what might possibly be lunch (he tends to keep overnight hours even on his days off, so as not to completely fuck his sleep schedule, but hell if Eddie can keep track of what time of “day” it is for him).

Wayne gives Eddie a nod of acknowledgement and turns back to the pan he’s stirring on the stove. “How was your–”

“HE CROCHETED ME A SCARF.”

This was a little louder than Eddie had meant to be, but Wayne, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He turns back to look at where Eddie is standing in the middle of the living area, clutching the ends of the aforementioned scarf like it’s a towel at the end of the world.

“Who did?”

“Steve.”

“Huh,” is all Wayne says. “Is crocheting the thing with the…?” He holds his fists out in front of him, rotating them at the wrists like he’s rowing a very tiny boat.

“No, that’s knitting. Apparently, they’re different,” Eddie says, brows raised and hands held up in front of him, like he can fend off the ghost of Steve’s surprisingly enthusiastic lecture on the subject. “Crocheting is with a hook, like–” Eddie holds out one curled fist, trying to demonstrate, but it mostly just looks like he’s either stabbing something or failing to pick up some invisible spaghetti. He gives up and flutters his hands in front of himself, clearing the image. “He showed me – never mind, it’s – you’re missing the point!”

“And I’m sure you’re gonna tell me what that is,” Wayne says, turning back to the stove before the beans (Eddie’s pretty sure it’s beans he’s smelling) start to burn.

“Steve crocheted me a scarf,” Eddie enunciates, because putting the proper emphasis on certain words will definitely solve the problem.

Wayne just hums. “Well, that was nice of him. Lord knows I can never get you to wear anything warm.”

Eddie groans, clutching at this scalp and then running his hands through his hair. He’s at least seventy-five percent certain Wayne is being obtuse on purpose.

“But what am I supposed to do about it?” he laments.

“Wear it, I’d say,” Wayne replies. “Can I see it?”

Eddie hesitates for a second, because it’s his scarf and Steve made it for him, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to it when he hasn’t even had it for twenty-four hours, but then he decides he’s being ridiculous, because if he can trust anyone with his stuff, it’s Wayne. He unwinds the scarf from around his neck and passes it over.

Wayne’s brows go up as he looks over the close, even stitches, running his fingers over the little ridges Steve somehow made with yarn. He nods appraisingly. “It’s nice,” he says, handing it back.

“Right?” Eddie tosses it back around his neck with a sigh.

“Did you say thank you?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, before thinking back over the moment when Steve had told him that the scarf was for him. “…more or less.”

Wayne shakes his head, turning back to his food with some unfavorable mutter about Eddie’s manners.

“Okay, but I think you’re still not seeing the problem here,” Eddie insists.

“Looks like the problem is that you’re having a conniption over a scarf in the middle of the damn living room,” Wayne shoots back.

“No, that’s– well I mean– no,” Eddie sputters. “Okay, look, what would you do if a girl made a scarf for you?”

Wayne pauses, and Eddie loves his uncle with his whole shriveled heart, but it is always funny watching him try to shift gears when he realizes they’re talking about gay things now.

“Well,” Wayne says slowly, “pretty sure I’m a little too old to have any girl knitting me a scarf.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie groans. “Fine! A mature woman, then. Work with me here!”

Eddie gets a raised eyebrow at the mature woman comment, but Wayne lets it slide. He tilts his head consideringly as he spoons some beans out onto a plate by the stove, where he’s already got toast waiting. He tilts the pan at Eddie, wordlessly offering, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I suppose I’d have to get her something in return,” Wayne finally says. “Or make her something, if I was the creative type.”

Eddie gets another pointed look at those last two words, and he groans again, letting his head fall back in defeat, because he’d been afraid that would be the answer.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to make. It’s not like I can make him warm clothes or do anything useful,” Eddie says, so caught up in the sudden and dramatic realization that all of his hobbies are entirely useless that he doesn’t manage to duck in time when Wayne gives him a not-entirely-gentle smack on the back of the head as he passes by into the living room.

“Stop that. The things you make are just fine. It doesn’t have to be useful, it just has to be thoughtful,” Wayne says, settling into his chair. “So quit standing around whining and go come up with something you can make to woo your boy.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie covers his face, even though Wayne will definitely already know he’s gone red. “You’re actually the worst. I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“You’re welcome for the advice,” Wayne drawls.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him, but the quick “thanks” he throws out afterwards is entirely sincere.

He retreats to his room after that; apparently, he has some thinking to do.

[Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

#eddie munson #wayne munson #eddie & wayne #steddie #stranger things #what does eddie make for steve??#fucked if I know there is absolutely a reason I stopped writing where I did #I've also never written wayne before but it was fun to try #solar wrote

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ourlittlefarmgoods · 9 months

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The Versatility of Hand Towels: From Kitchen Essentials to Hilarious Gifts

Introduction

Hand towels are more than just practical tools for drying hands; they are versatile items that find utility in various aspects of our daily lives. In this article, we will explore the versatility of hand towels, from their essential role in the kitchen to their use as tea towels and even their application as funny and unique gifts.

Hand Towels for the Kitchen: A Culinary Necessity

In the kitchen, hand towels are indispensable companions for chefs and home cooks alike. They are used to wipe hands after washing, dry freshly washed fruits and vegetables, handle hot pots and pans, and clean up spills and messes. Kitchen Hand Towel come in a wide range of materials, from absorbent cotton to quick-drying microfiber, ensuring efficiency in all culinary tasks. They also add a touch of colour and style to the kitchen, complementing the décor and ambiance of the cooking space.

Tea Towels: A Blend of Utility and Aesthetics

Tea towels, also known as dish towels, are closely related to kitchen hand towels but often feature more intricate designs and patterns. Beyond their practical function of drying dishes and utensils, tea towels serve as decorative elements in the kitchen.

With various designs, colours, and even themed motifs, they add a pop of personality to any kitchen setting. Embroidered Tea towel crafted from high-quality materials is not only effective in absorbing moisture but also durable, withstanding frequent washing and everyday use.

Funny Hand Towels: Quirky and Memorable Gifts

Hand towels can also take on a light-hearted and humorous role, making them excellent gifts for friends, family, or colleagues. “Funny” hand towels often feature witty or quirky messages, puns, or comical graphics, designed to bring a smile to the recipient’s face.

These towels can be tailored to specific occasions, such as birthdays, holidays, or housewarming parties. With their creative designs and playful humor, funny hand towels are thoughtful gifts that leave a lasting impression and create moments of laughter.

Personalized Hand Towels: A Touch of Individuality

For a more personalized touch, hand towels can be customized with names, initials, or special messages. Personalized hand towels make thoughtful presents for weddings, anniversaries, and other significant milestones.

They not only add a unique touch to one’s kitchen or bathroom but also show the recipient that their gift was carefully selected with them in mind. Personalized hand towels can become cherished keepsakes, holding sentimental value and fond memories for years to come.

Conclusion

Hand towels are not just functional items but versatile tools that serve various purposes in our daily lives. In the kitchen, they are culinary necessities, aiding in cooking, cleaning, and maintaining hygiene. Tea towels, with their aesthetic designs, enhance kitchen décor while still being practical for drying dishes. For gift-giving, Funny Gift Towel adds a touch of humour and personality, making them memorable presents for any occasion.

#Kitchen Hand Towel #Funny Gift Towel

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alwaysf0rev3r · 2 years

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3 Weeks Waiting

pairing: dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: you’ve been hooking up with your dad’s best friend for months, but you accidentally ghosted him during finals week. saying he’s desperate is an understatement.

warnings: needy!bucky (he needs a warning), m & f masturbation, face sitting, hand jobs, riding, desperate sex, slight sub/dom dynamic, m in f penetration, dirty talk, absolute filth, hair pulling, slight degrading, praise, creampie, age gap (buckys the age he is in the movies, and reader is in college, maybe in early/mid 20s?)

note: my requests are open!!!!! REQUEST STUFF FOR ME TO WRITEEEEE :)

Tired. Annoyed. Slightly grossed out by all the old dudes around you.

That was the best way to describe how you felt in that moment. Your dad had brought over some friends and coworkers to celebrate the beginning of summer, he always found an excuse to throw a pool party.

Irritation flooded you as you got up from your beach chair, trying to subtly sneak through to go inside. You grabbed your towel to wrap it around yourself before walking through the door and into your home.

Before you could grab the chips from the kitchen island, a familiar frame stopped you. He stood tall on the other side of the kitchen island, a cup of rum in hand, “Hey, Bucky.”

Saying there was tension between the two of you was an understatement. His eyes were dark on you, a certain desperation lingering behind them, and you knew exactly why.

The two of you had been hooking up for months now, it just… Happened. But you hadn’t seen, called, or texted him in over 2 weeks because of college exams, and that was the longest the two of you had ever not spoken. Even when you went out of town, you two texted like preteens entering puberty.

And you had the audacity to sit there in front of him cluelessly.

He had to sit and just give you a small side hug greeting in front of your dad. He had to watch you tan on a beach chair in nothing but a small black bikini.

He was in pain.

“Don’t ‘Hey Bucky’ me,” he shook his head, watching you grab the cool ranch doritos on the counter and grab one.

“What?” You pretended to not know.

“I sent you like— 5 texts and called you a lot.”

“I was studying and taking exams, Buck, I warned you exam week was coming… I wasn’t even on my phone until today,” you giggled at his grump expression, not being able to hold in your own laughter. It was obvious he wasn’t truly mad, more just too stubborn to admit how much he missed you.

“Is it funny?” he scoffed lightly, matching your little giggles as he walked around the kitchen island. He stopped as he stood a foot away from you, and from afar, it’d look like the two of you were just having a normal conversation, “Do you know how hard I am right now? I can’t cum without you anymore.”

Your eyes widened at his words, and it was rare for you to get embarrassed or startled at all, “You can’t say things like that so randomly, Buck.”

“Why? Does it turn you on?” He mocked, walking closer and looking around to make sure no one looked. He slowly let the bulge in his pants touch your thigh as he breathed in relief. He didn’t grind, anxious that someone would walk in and see, even though you two were on the side of the island that covered everything below your waist, “Take the towel off.”

“You’re like a dog in heat, Jesus,” you tried to hold yourself back, wanting to come off as stronger. But when he slowly moved his hips, you swore you’d snap, “Oh my god, don’t do that— People are right th—“

“I don’t care,” he moaned a little louder than he should’ve, groaning in pain as you backed away. He watched the towel slightly open as you stood in front of him, shaking your head in shame. Your chest was revealed only slightly, but the sight was enough to make him feral, “I’m gonna cream my pants, fuck.”

“Bucky,” you scoffed, grabbing your towel and taking it off. You threw it as his chest and watched him catch it blindly, too distracted at the visual of your body, “It’s a bikini, don’t be so desperate.”

You walked past him and towards the stairs, knowing him well enough to know he was most likely staring at the view that was your ass. You turned around while you took a step on the 4th step, your eyebrows going up, “You coming or what?”

He sprinted.

Ran.

Sped.

He was a fucking track star.

He nearly fell over running to the stairs and following you, like a loyal puppy. You made sure to make it torturous and walk slowly, but your heart was telling you to sprint. You wanted this just as much as he did, if not more.

But you wanted him needy.

The minute you entered your room, he slammed the door behind you and lunged at you. Your lips intertwined with his as he gripped all parts of you, from your arms, to your chest, to your ass, to your back… all of you. But he swore he snapped when you pulled his hair just slightly, making him moan into your mouth.

God, did you miss that sound.

You pushed him on the bed, watching him sit and stare at you with lusted eyes, completely at his mercy for you. In that moment, he’d do— say— be anything for you. He needed you.

Which is why he said what he did next

“I want you to sit on my face.”

Your eyes widened at his confession, unsure of where this energy was coming from. He was always a begger, or even when he was in charge, he just asked. He never demanded or told. But there he stood, feet away from you on a bed, telling you what he needed.

You giggled and stepped closer, standing in front of his sitting body. You ran a hand over his face and took a minute to take him in, it had been too long. His sharp cheekbones, his scruff, the way his eyes were wide with needy— Beauty was not a good enough word for him, he was so much more than beautiful.

“Earn it,” you kissed his cheek in response, then moved down to his jaw. You kissed and sucked on every part of his neck while you slowly slipped your hand into his swim trunks, grabbing his bulge. His breath shortened as you gripped it tightly, rubbing up and down.

You were slow to grab the waistband of his swim trunks with your other hand and pull it down, but when you did, shock filled your face. You had never seen him so hard… It was bigger than usual, almost scary, “I haven’t cum in nearly 3 weeks.”

“Do you need me to tell you what masturbation is?” you joked, running your hand on his tip and using his precum to lubricate your hand.

“You can show me,” he joked back, throwing his head back while you started stroking faster, “I tried so hard to but— Fuck— I couldn’t c-cause it wasn’t warm like you.”

“That’s so pathetic it’s hot,” you chuckled, hearing his little laugh as well. You continued jerking him off, hoping you could get him to the edge faster, “I fucked myself a lot the past few weeks.”

“So you had time to jack off but not text me back,” he breathed out, joking with you. The sex with you two was always that— Free. No pressure, just you two.

“I guess you won’t want to hear about me cumming to a photo of you then,” you shrugged, stroking him continuously.

His eyes widened as he looked down at you, sweat covering his head, “Did you really?”

“Yes— That photo with your turtle neck… I was looking through my photos and found it in my favorites album,” you became focused on stroking, trying to ignore how wet you were, “You were so hot in it— I came twice just looking at it. Then the next day I came to that video you sent me of you jerking off a while back.”

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he moaned, which was motivation for you to slip your hand into your bikini bottoms, and subtly rub yourself while jacking him off. But when he looked down, the world was over for him, “Oh my god, you’re touching yourself.”

“It’s like there’s something wrong with me, Buck,” you moaned, removing your hand and shoving it into his mouth. He sucked all the juices of shamelessly, keeping your fingers in his mouth while he tasted you, “I’m always so wet. I cum, but it isn’t enough… I need you to fill me up, it’s the only thing that works.”

“Use me, take what you want— Fuck— I don’t care, just— Sit on my face or fuck me, please, just do whatever,” he moaned even though your hand was no longer touching him. Your words were enough to send him screaming.

“God, you are desperate,” you stared, straddling him and sitting on his bare dick. Your rubbed your clothed crotch on his exposed one, watching his mouth open, “You’re happy with whatever I give you, it’s sad. I could slap you and you’d probably thank me.”

He stayed quiet and grabbed your hips to encourage you to move more. There was something different about this time… You were in control. You had been very few times, but never so confidently, and it was driving him insane, “I could hump you for hours and you’d be okay with it, huh? You don’t even know what you want.”

“I want you to sit on my face,” he rebelled, ensuring you knew he knew exactly what he wanted.

You scoffed and put your hands on his shoulders. You dug your claws into them before moving them down and scratching hardly, watching red lines form as he moaned. You pressed your hands against his abs and pushed him down onto the bed to lay down.

He stared at you, no longer willing to make jokes. He watched you take your bikini bottoms off before shimming up and onto his abs. You stopped there and straddled his torso, humping his abs slowly, “I’ll let you taste me when I think you deserve it.”

“What did you drink?” He asked, swearing he could cum just watching you grind yourself on his abs, “Drink it more often cause you’re so fucking hot right now.”

“Shut up, I’m busy,” you moaned, grinding yourself on his abs and watching his eyebrows furrow, “I humped the pillow you’re laying on dozens of times while thinking of your cock filling me up— I even fucked myself with a dildo on it. Fuck, nothing makes me cum like you, it pisses me off.”

He moaned at the mere thought of it all, unsure if he could hold back any longer, “You can sit on my face on it too.”

You removed your body from his and moved up more, stopping as your crotch stood right over his face. He stared at your wetness, like a feral dog in training waiting for a treat… Waiting to get animalistic.

You decided to tease him a bit and put a finger inside of yourself, fingering yourself from only an inch above his eyes, “I bet those fingers don’t fill you like I do.”

“I’ll cum in front of your face and you can see how they get the job done, too,” you joked, moaning as you watched his hand go down to his own dick, jerking himself off.

“I can play this game too,” he moaned, stroking himself, “I could cum so fast just watching you… Fuck.”

Jealousy overwhelmed you as you removed your hand and sat down, holding back a bit of weight to let him breathe. He removed his hand from his own dick to push you off, making your eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Don’t do that stupid thing you do,” aggression leaked through his pores, “Sit on me— Like just… Put yourself on me. I want you to just stuff my mouth, not that stupid pussy shit where you pretend to be one pound. I don’t care about air, just sit.”

You chuckled before doing as he asked, sitting with all your weight. You groaned as he moaned right into your pussy, sending your back arching immediately. He moved his tongue so quickly you bent forward, gripping his hair and pulling it slightly. It was all overwhelming as you tested the waters, grinding yourself on his face and waiting to see if he’d ever ask for air.

But he didn’t.

Should you be concerned?

You lifted yourself up for a moment, watching him take a breath before shoving yourself on his face again, nearly coming at the sight of him being at your control. You grinded faster, using his face like a toy, “I can’t believe you want me to hump your face like a pillow— You’re so— Oh fuck.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt a knot in your stomach, a feeling which made you do the hardest thing you’d done in your entire life.

You lifted yourself up and got off of him.

He looked just as disappointed as his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, “I want to cum when you’re inside me.”

The disappointment faded into desire as he watched you straddle him again, this time putting your bare pussy on his dick, rubbing up and down, but not high enough to his tip, “You’re so wet.”

You kept grinding on the side of his cock, waiting for him to do something to earn him getting what you’ve both been waiting for, “Please let me fuck you— I’ll do anything, fuck— Please. This is so good, but I need to just be inside you, I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

You took his begging as the final sign, taking it upon yourself to sit on his tip and slowly push down. You took your time, adjusting to what you’d spent too long without. When you were at the base, you moved your hips and circles, ignoring how stiff Bucky was. He was holding back, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white, “Bucky— Fuck me. Please. I can’t take it anymore, it hurts, just fuck me.”

He grabbed your waist and flipped the two of you over so you now stood underneath him, staring at his face. He looked down at himself entering you, knowing with that sight and the feeling of you pulling his hair, he could cum in seconds.

He relentlessly pounded into you, doing what he spent weeks penting up and thinking about doing. He rammed himself into you like a hammer hitting a nail, making your body twitch as you whined loudly. Everyone was outside at the pool, and you had all the freedom to scream.

“You’re so fucking good for me, taking me like a good girl, look at you,” he gripped your waist tighter and fucked you harder, “You’ve corrupted me— I can’t fuck anyone else, not even myself. God, I wish I could fuck you all the time. In public, in private, in cars, in every room and closet I see— Fuck.”

“Bucky, I’m gonna cum,” you yelped, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, “Do it with me.”

“I’m not wearing a condom, not tonight, baby,” he said through grunts.

“I’m on the pill, cum inside me,” you moaned, telling him exactly what he needed to hear. He spent months cumming in a condom, and very occasionally on your stomach after fucking you, “Fill me up.”

“Oh my god, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” he groaned loudly, meeting your volume as he pounded faster, “You’re milking me so good— I’ll cum inside you, I promise.”

You both moaned as you pulled him closer, the both of you grabbing each other while you felt the other release. It felt like it lasted minutes, taking longer to cool down as he peeled himself off of you to give you space.

You sat up slowly and looked down at the cum leaking out of you, which you felt curious about. You brought a finger to your entrance and picked up all the white cream around your hole and shoved inside of you. Thrusting a few times to ensure it was deep into you. You inhaled sharply at the feeling of both of your liquids mixing to become one.

You brought the finger to your mouth and licked it clean, looking over at Bucky, who’s eyes were wide.

“Bend over, we’re doing Round 2.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #needy!bucky #avengers #smut #dbf!bucky #dbf!bucky x reader

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