#and it makes him seem like kind of a dumbass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evansbby · 7 months

Text

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 (𝐩𝐨𝐲𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, a/b/o dynamics, daddy kink, HEAVY lactation kink, also heavy on housewife kink, domesticity kink, very heavy on breeding kink, and pregnancy kink, Steve is very condescending, also babies omega a lot as per usual, the usual stuff! 18+ only, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve is so turned on by his submissive little housewife, and so he decides he's going to breed her again.

𝐀/𝐍: I kind of went crazy with this. IDEK YALL. kinda went delirious as i wrote it and now it's late. Enjoy! (This is a drabble of my fic, POYT)

Steve can’t wait to get home to his wife. He’s only been married less than a year and yet he can’t get over the pure domestic bliss that his life has become. It’s what he’d always wanted, always dreamed about. And now he has it. With you, his perfect, beautiful, innocent little omega. And his adorable little daughter too.

“You’re home!” You breathe, your face lighting up when Steve walks in through the front door. And Steve can feel his own face lighting up, and he can’t help but take two steps forward and yank you into a crushing hug. All his stress and worries from work seem to dissipate at once. And the fact that you look so happy to see him? In a cute little floral dress, looking so extra curvy and voluptuous ever since you’d given birth. Your breasts are practically spilling out the top of your dress, and it makes him lick his lips appreciatively.

You’ve got Rosie on your hip, and she looks absolutely thrilled to see him too, which makes Steve’s chest puff out in pride. He can’t believe this is his life, and that he gets to share it with you. Sure, work is stressful as Steve plans to expand his family’s company even more and his father’s basically left him in control and responsible for everything. Not to mention, all the preparations for the senatorial elections next year.

But all that melts away as he hugs you close, his eyes fluttering shut in content as you loosen his tie and undo his collar button, pressing kisses on his shoulders and chest because you’re too small and delicate to reach his lips.

“Missed you so much, Steve.” You say, looking up at him needily.

“You did, didn’t you?” Steve smirks, although he knows that he probably missed you even more. He has a special picture of you framed on his desk. It’s from the day he proposed to you, you sitting in the field of yellow roses in your yellow dress, bathing in the sunlight and looking happier than ever. He stares at that picture more than he’d like to admit. Sometimes, he talks to it, complains to it about his dumbass employees and equally stupid business partners.

He also has a picture of Rosie from her six-month celebration. Which his whole family had celebrated as if it was her birthday – she was the first grandchild after all and so it wasn’t a surprised that everyone wanted to dote on her. Steve’s mom had been especially into the six-month celebration, which Steve didn’t understand because his mom would obviously be there for Rosie’s first birthday. And second, and third. And so on. She would, wouldn’t she?

He shakes those unwanted thoughts out of his mind before they go to that one place he doesn’t want to acknowledge right now. Instead, he focuses on you, his beautiful wife. You’re so cute and thoughtful, setting Rosie down in her baby chair before helping him out of his jacket and undoing his tie for him.

“How was work, Steve?”

“Good. The same.” He grunts, not wanting to talk about work at all. Instead, he picks up his daughter, examining her carefully. She’s cute as ever, way cuter than any other baby he’s ever seen in his life. Definitely cuter than the babies in the diaper and baby food commercials he sees on television. Rosie would be way better in those commercials, not that he’d ever exploit his daughter like that. If Steve had his way, no one outside of his family would ever lay their eyes on his wife and his baby – they’d be kept private. Because they needed to be protected by him and he loved them more than anything.

“Hey, Rosie. You look so cute, sweetheart. All ready for bed, huh?” He coos, giving his daughter a dozen kisses on her cute, fat cheeks. She giggles, wrapping her tiny arms around his face as he gives her kisses. And then he looks at her carefully, drinking her in because he hates being at work all day and missing out on her. She’s growing so fast, it feels like just yesterday she was the size of his hand and now she’s so much bigger. And she was looking more and more like her mommy as the days passed.

“She wasn’t showing any signs of being tired,” you speak up shyly, “I think she was waiting for her daddy to come home so she could say goodnight.”

“Is that right, Rosie?” Steve asks, and his daughter blinks up at him with a smile on her face, starts kicking her chubby little legs up and down excitedly. He can’t help but melt inside, deciding to play his favourite game with her. He throws her up in the air and she squeals happily. You gasp behind him, muttering a “Steve, please be careful,” which he is, of course he is.

Rosie yawns, and Steve kisses her face a few more times before placing her back down. And then he pulls you into him, kissing you fervently because he’s missed you so fucking much. Not to mention, you look so crazy hot right now. His little wife. His perfect little omega.

“Baby, this dress is so hot on you.” He mutters against your lips, lifting you up so he can kiss you properly.

You light up at his praise, “Thank you. Although it’s gotten a bit small–”

He smirks down at your breasts which look ready to pop out of the material any second, “It looks good.”

He kisses you some more, not wanting to stop as his hands go to cup your ass. But you pull away after a little while, telling him that you need to put Rosie to bed. He accompanies you, groping you every few seconds because he just can’t get over how hot you look, how you’re so glowing, how motherhood suits you so much.

The two of you put Rosie to bed, and Steve feels so fulfilled by his little family as he stands there with his arm around you, watching Rosie cuddle with her stuffed animal and immediately fall asleep.

“I made all your favourite food tonight.” You tell him as you grab his hand and lead him to the dining room. And Steve loves when you take initiative like that. Before, you’d never take his hand like that – you’d always wait for him to initiate and lead. But now, you’re more comfortable with him and he loves when you do little things like this. His little housewife, perfectly safe inside his house and leading him to the meal you’d cooked just for him.

You’ve set the dining room table up perfectly for two, but Steve pulls you into his lap after you’ve finished piling his plate up high with everything from chicken pot pie to mashed potatoes and vegetable soup. “Have you eaten, baby?”

You look down into your lap, “No, I was waiting for you.”

He feeds you along with himself, not wanting you to lift another finger. You’ve worked so hard on this dinner, and balanced that with other household chores – not to mention looking after Rosie. Now, he needs you to conserve your energy. Because of what he has planned for the rest of the night, of course.

“You’re such a good little girl,” Steve coos, tearing off a hunk of your homemade bread and dipping it into the soup before feeding it to you, “You did so good, baby, and daddy is so proud of you.”

You glow, “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, daddy – I mean Steve. Thank you, Steve!”

He smirks, patting your lips with a napkin. He continues to feed both of you, taking a second and third helping of food just for himself because he’s worked so damn fucking hard and he’s hungry and you’re like a Michelin star chef when it comes to cooking. But he loves how submissive you’re being right now, opening your mouth whenever he gives you another bite, smiling demurely when he kisses your cheek or temple, or widening your eyes when his hand playfully reaches up your skirt and settles on your bare upper thigh.

“You’re such a great housewife, omega.” He continues to sing your praises softly, wanting to see you squirm in his lap because you’ve never been able to take a compliment. “You must’ve had a busy day today, huh? My pretty little baby omega, running my house and taking care of my baby.”

You swallow your bite of food before nodding, “I-I tried. But I didn’t manage to complete everything on my to-do list.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you shake your head as if to reprimand yourself, “I did the laundry in the morning as well as some general cleaning up. I fed Rosie and played some games with her and then got her all dressed up in the new pink frilly dress we got for her six-month celebration. Then I took her to the park and did some groceries on the way back. I was supposed to go to that home boutique to get some new material for curtains and I was supposed to go to the post office too, but I had to skip all that because it was getting late and Rosie was getting fussy and I had to put her down for her nap and get started on dinner. I guess I didn’t plan everything out as perfectly as I thought I did.” You hang your head dejectedly.

It’s in moments like these that Steve just wants to hold you in his arms and kiss you all over and cherish you like the beautiful, perfect human being that you are. Instead, he brushes a bit of your hair behind your ear and tips your chin up till you meet his gaze.

“Baby, you know we have people to do all that, right?” He thinks back to the all the staff that he’s paying. Sure, he loves when you play housewife, how you insist on doing everything yourself. But he doesn’t want you to stretch yourself out so thin, and work yourself up too much. Especially not when he was trying to get you pregnant again. “Please tell me you at least had the driver take you.”

You’re silent, before looking up at him sheepishly, “It’s only a five-minute drive to the park and the grocery store, Steve.”

He frowns, “You know I don’t want you driving.” Omegas don’t drive.

“I know, I know. But I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

He decides to let it go, because Steve knows that marriage is about picking and choosing your battles. He shakes his head to let you know that he disapproves of this behaviour, but he also gives you a kiss on the temple, which informs you that he won’t be punishing you for this, which makes you relax and smile up at him. And how can he punish you? When you’ve been working so hard all day and so has he… and all he really wants to do is spend the night with his beautiful wife, doing all sorts of nasty, despicable things to you.

“S-Steve?”

He’s lost in thought, so when you call out his name in that shy, cute little voice of yours… well, it goes straight to his dick. He was rock hard the moment he’d entered the house, but now he’s positively about to bust a nut. You, all soft and cute, sitting in his lap and now you’re saying his name in that cute, breathy and shy way?! It’s like you were teasing him on purpose!

“Yes, baby?” He bounces you on his knee, licking his lips as he watches how your breasts bounce too. He drives his hard crotch into your butt, making you gasp slightly before you quickly recover.

“I was… uh… I was wondering if me and Rosie could visit you at work tomorrow?” You blurt out, looking so adorably shy as you immediately duck your head down again, “During lunch, maybe? I-It’s okay if you’re busy, though. It was just a thought.”

He knows you have a therapy session tomorrow morning (Steve oversees your schedule so he knows where you are at all times). He also knows that sometimes, after certain sessions (probably the ones where you talk about your parents) you get extra needy. He knows this because you text him a lot after those sessions, and call him a lot too. Normal stuff like describing how you cooked dinner or telling him about your day so far. You hadn’t made any girlfriends yet (well, there’s his mom and also a few of his colleagues’ wives who you were friendly with… but he knows you’re most comfortable with him). Once you’d called him while he was in the middle of a very important meeting, but he’d talked to you nonetheless because, well, he was the boss and he could do that. And because he knew you needed him.

“Of course, you can, baby. Just come right up to my office.”

You smile happily, “Okay, thanks! I’ll add it to my schedule. Let’s say… between one to two pm?”

Steve nods, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watches you take your phone out. You open your scheduling app to a colourful spreadsheet and quickly fill in a slot, the one right below “Therapy Session” and you label it as “Lunch with Steve and Rosie” with a bunch of hearts. He loves how organised you are, it’s the cutest and most amusing thing in the world to him. It also comes in handy in other aspects – like how Steve always has his shirts and ties all crisp and ironed and laid out for him every morning, and how his closet is always colour-coded.

He catches your lips in his, unable to keep from kissing you. God, he’s so in love with you and he can’t believe how perfect you are. Sometimes he can’t fully wrap his head around the fact that you’re his. Completely and utterly his. Because he knows he doesn’t deserve you. Not in the slightest.

But he has you. And he’s not complaining or ever letting you go.

Steve polishes off his third helping of food till the plate gleams clean, and you nod your head at him approvingly.

“Would you like some dessert, Steve? I think we have some leftover chocolate cake from last night.” (You had baked it at 2am the night before, because sometimes you did things like that and Steve had long ago stopped questioning it – especially since you’d packed him a fat slice to take to work today).

But Steve isn’t in the mood for chocolate cake right this second. He stands up quickly, with you in his arms bridal style. You squeal lightly, winding your arms up around his neck.

“I do want something sweet, baby omega. But I think you know what I want, and it’s not chocolate cake.” He murmurs huskily against your lips. Your eyes widen like they always do whenever he refers to sex, but he knows you want him just as badly. It’s the way your scent becomes so much sweeter than it already is, the way you squeeze your thighs together in a way you think is subtle but he notices every single time. It’s how he can sense your raw want and need for him through the bond you both share.

He starts walking towards the staircase with you in his arms.

“Should I tell you what I’m gonna do to you tonight, baby?”

You nod, your breath hitching in your throat so prettily, your hands looking so tiny as they trail down your chest. He can even see beads of sweat forming on your brow, and how your lips part open. All tell-tale signs of an omega who was at her most fertile and was ready to mate. (And of course, Steve knew you’d be very fertile tonight, because he kept track of things like that).

“Mm, first I’m going to lay you down on our bed and you’re going to feed daddy, aren’t you?” Steve smirks, holding you easily with one arm while his free hand slips up to squeeze one of your breasts. As he suspected, they look big and heavy with milk, bouncing with each step he takes. Your nipples are so hard, he can see them clear as day through the thin material of your dress, and his cocks gets even harder when he sees the tiny little wet patches. “Your tits look so sore, baby. You’re gonna let daddy drink from them, aren’t you? Relieve all that pressure, right, baby omega?”

“Y-Yeah, daddy,” you pant, nodding so quickly that you forget to be shy. And now, Steve can practically smell your slick as it trickles down your legs. He takes the stairs up two at a time, keeping you firmly in his arms and watching as your tits bounce enticingly just for him.

He’d always planned to drink your milk when he got you pregnant the first time. He’d heard of other alphas doing it with their omegas, and the thought of doing it with you always turned him on to the point where he had to immediately jack off. And he finally got his chance to do it when you were still pregnant, almost about to pop and you’d begun lactating of course. Fuck, Steve had been in heaven, he still remembers the first time he’d fed from your breast. One hand cupping your pregnant belly, his mouth latched on your nipple and you gazing at him unsurely because of course you felt uncomfortable.

But Steve had loved every second of it, and so had you because he’d fingered you the whole time he drank from you, and you’d cum three times one after the other. And Steve had blown his load all over your quivering pussy, so fucking turned on by the fact that he was feeding from his pregnant omega. And then it had become a regular occurrence after that. Like if the baby had had her fill and you still felt heavy, Steve would always step in to “help out.”

“And then after I’ve drank my fill, I’m going to climb on top of you and fuck you so hard.” Steve promises you, and he swears he feels you shiver with anticipation in his arms as he carries you into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. One glance at the baby monitor shows Rosie safely asleep in her nursery.

“Alpha, please!” you whine prettily, and he knows your omega senses have taken over. It’s how you’re humping against him now, your slick trailing down your legs lewdly. “N-Need you, need your knot, please, alpha, please!”

“Oh yeah? You want my knot?”

“Yes!”

“You want your alpha to cum inside your little baby omega pussy? Fill you up with my cum, then knot you so it all stays inside?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“You want me to fuck another baby into you?”

“YES, PLEASE, DADDY!”

That’s when Steve knows he has you right where he wants you. In that blissful state of complete abandon, where you leave yourself to the mercy of the omega inside you. Where you completely submit yourself to him and your own basest omega desire – mating.

Steve knows you’ve been on the fence about having another baby. The two of you had discussed it, and Steve had made it clear that he wanted a big family. You had expressed that you also wanted more babies, but you wanted to wait a while and focus on Rosie. Well, Rosie was almost seven months old now, and Steve was sure she’d love a little sibling. And then another one. And another one. And then another. And then one more. And then maybe another one after that.

He throws you on the bed, and you land on your back with a soft thud. Already, your legs are spreading on their own accord, as if you need him inside you right this second. But Steve plans on taking his own sweet time, and he salivates when he sees your cleavage, your chest heaving up and down as you breathe erratically.

He’s on top of you in a second, licking and nipping at your face like a feral beast who wants to mark his prey. He scents you heavily, till you grow lax in his arms, all submissive and needy as you stare up at him pleadingly, your nostrils twitching at his alpha scent.

“Alpha, plea– oh my!”

He rips your dress clean in half, letting out an animalistic growl when your tits spill out attractively. No bra of course. And no panties either. You weren’t allowed to wear those at home.

“S-Steve,” you gasp as he spanks your thigh and gives you a warning look, “I-I mean, daddy! Please fuck me!”

He chuckles, tweaking the stiff peak of your nipple before blowing cool air on it. He watches your features twist, your jaw go slack. “Let daddy have some fun first, baby omega. Don’t forget, you have to feed me first.”

He’s got his knee lodged between your legs and he can feel you steadily humping against it. But all he can focus on are your breasts. He rolls your sensitive nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pressing down gently before cupping your breast and squeezing it.

You moan as your milk spurts out, and Steve immediately latches on to your nipple, sucking hard. He moans around your breast, sending vibrations through your whole body when your sweet milk touches his tongue. Fuck, you taste so good, so sweet.

“That’s my good little baby,” he murmurs encouragingly, his voice slightly muffled as he tries to coax your writhing body. “Such a good little baby, breastfeeding your daddy like a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Ah, ah, ah! Y-Yeah!”

“That’s right, give daddy more of your sweet mommy milk,” he sucks almost your whole breast into his mouth, so incredibly turned on by what he’s doing right now. He massages your other breast, and it squirts out milk too. Steve takes care of that, licking all over both your breasts to get the excess milk off your chest before returning to your nipple, “Tell me how much you love feeding daddy.”

“L-Love feeding daddy, love it so much, please!” You mewl pitifully, grabbing at his hair and pressing his face more into your breasts. And Steve can’t believe this is you – his shy and innocent little omega wife completely transformed into this feral creature who is currently rutting against his clothed cock.

He can’t help but surge up and kiss you, his tongue mingling with yours as he makes you taste your own milk. And you’re moaning breathily, breaking the kiss every few seconds just to beg him some more, saying “daddy, please” before biting and sucking at his lip, kissing him deeper like you can’t get enough of him.

“God, I love your mommy milk so much,” he tells you, going back to suck your other nipple. And he knows you feel immediate relief as he drains you, alleviates the pressure from your breasts as he drinks from you. He feels you stroke his hair and wrap your legs around his waist, dry humping him even more needily, like you just can’t help it.

He spanks you hard, four times in quick succession, “You’re gonna feed me your mommy milk whenever I want, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes, alpha! I will!”

He grazes his teeth against your sensitive nipple, making you jump before you gives it another hearty suck, your milk still squirting out straight into his mouth, “Mm, so you’re gonna breastfeed daddy tomorrow, aren’t you? When you stop by for lunch at my office?”

“Yes!”

“Yeah? You’re gonna sit in daddy’s lap like a sweet little omega and let me suck on your tits while I do my work? Feed me your sweet mommy milk like the obedient little wife that you are?” God, Steve was so turned on, he reaches down to pull his cock out from the confines of his pants. You see it and gasp, immediately making grabby hands for it, and the smell of your arousal increases tenfold.

“Y-Yeah, daddy! W-Wanna be good for you, always wanna do what I’m told an’ be good for you,” you cry, clutching him close, “I’ll do anything for you alpha, please, please, please!”

God, you were such a good fucking omega. The perfect little wife, so innocent yet you turned into a freak in the goddamn sheets when he had you underneath him. You were almost as desperate for him as he was for you, although he knew you could never beat him at that game. He was so obsessed with you, it was unhealthy. He wanted you all the time, he thought about you all the time. To Steve, the sexiest thing in the whole world was you, and the fact that you were his property turned him on infinitely more.

He licks at your tits hungrily, lapping up all your sweet milk that he didn’t catch in his mouth the first time. And then he goes back to sucking, and he even gives your nipple a little bite, making you scream his name and hold him even tighter. And it’s then that he realises that you’ve cum, and he feels the sopping wetness of your release as you squirt all over his leg, crying like a baby as you moan his name deliriously.

“You’re a sensitive little baby, aren’t you, omega?” Steve whispers devilishly, reaching down to cup between your legs, feel your quivering pussy, your sensitive clit throbbing against his palm. “Can’t help but cum from feeding your daddy, huh?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry, baby omega.” He smirks, giving your sopping pussy a few slaps that make you jump and grip his shirt hard, a newfound neediness inside you. As if cumming once had left you sensitive down there yet still not satisfied, still greedy and panting for more…

“Daddy, I… Daddy, please! Need your knot, daddy please!”

You haven’t been this vocal with your neediness for a long time. Steve wonders if you’re about to go into heat, as if even your own body is telling you that it’s time to get pregnant again. Fuck, that was so hot, and he can’t help but graze his hard cock over your bare stomach, tracing your skin with his precum, making sure his scent is all over you till it seeps into your skin.

“You want my daddy dick, don’t you?” He asks you gruffly, switching to a more authoritative tone. The beast alpha inside of him is roaring awake, a natural response to how needy you’re being. He has this innate urge to control you, subdue you, pin you down and fuck you like an omega in heat deserved to be fucked.

“Yes, please, please, please!” You writhe underneath him, hips bucking up and your hands still trying to grab at his cock, trying desperately to somehow shove it inside your leaking, desperate little hole. Except he cruelly slaps your hands away, making sure he’s in complete control, not an ounce of leniency left inside him.

“Get on your fucking hands and knees. Right now, omega. Present for me.”

He watches as you pant and readily obey him. Your limbs are like jelly after your orgasm but you’re so desperate to obey him that you stumble into position readily. He loves how he never has to alpha-command you, because you’re so naturally submissive that you always listen to him no matter what. And fuck, your ass looks amazing as you get on your hands and knees, pointing it towards him and he can’t help but give it a hard smack, licking his lips at your hot little ass as it jiggles.

“Arch your back a bit more, let daddy see your little fuckhole. Mm, just like that. That’s my good little girl.” He praises you, rubbing your ass where he’s just slapped you. You’re swaying and shivering underneath him, poking backwards in an attempt to create friction. Steve smirks, gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them apart. And that’s when he’s hit with your sweet pussy scent, so hard that he almost loses control right there.

But he manages to control himself, breathing slowly as he stares down at your glistening pussy. Your cream is clear and slippery – an obvious sign that you’re ovulating and extremely fertile. Fuck, fuck, fuck – he can’t wait to fuck his baby into you.

“I’m going to breed the fuck out of you,” Steve informs you lowly, firmly gripping your hips to keep you from thrusting back against him, “it’s about time you were pregnant again, baby omega. You were made to carry my babies, and as my baby wife, that’s exactly what you’re going to do, aren’t you?”

“Yes, daddy!” You sob, “Please, put it inside me, daddy, please, I don’t think I can wait any longer, I just, I need–

“Tell me what you need.” Unlike you, Steve is better at keeping in control of himself. He has to be, because he’s the one in charge – and the juxtaposition of him being calm and you completely losing it, sweating and writhing naked underneath his still clothed body? God, it was so fucking hot.

“N-Need you! Need your knot!”

“Oh yeah?” He gives your ass another harsh slap, so fucking turned on by how it bounces. He jacks of lightly, rubbing the tip of his cock on your wet slit, making you shudder. “Tell me why you need it, baby.”

“B-Because I do!” You cry, earning another rough smack to your ass.

“Not good enough, baby omega. You have to tell me exactly why you want me.”

You’re crying from frustration now, he can see your delicious tears as they drip down on the sheets below you. He knows you aren’t the best at expressing yourself during sex – you’re mostly just begging him or screaming his name or being delirious. But shy little you articulating in desperate detail why you wanted him inside you? God, the idea of that makes Steve want to bust a nut right then and there.

“C-Cause I… ‘Cause I want you inside me, daddy.” You mumble shyly, but there’s nothing shy about the way your body betrays you, pressing your ass against his cock in a bid to get you to fuck him but all it does is earn you yet another slap on your poor butt.

“Do better.” He orders you, “C’mon, omega, you know you can do better. Tell daddy why you want his big daddy dick, and then I’ll decide whether you deserve–”

“PLEASE, DADDY! Want you so, so bad, please, please, please!” You sob in complete abandon, your slick pouring down your thighs, making them all shiny and the bedsheets beneath you all damp. “W-Want my big strong daddy, please, okay?! Want you to knock me up, daddy, need it so bad! Alpha, please breed me, please–OHHH FUCK!!!”

He drives his dick into you in one hard thrust. And fuck, you are so tight that he almost forgets how to breathe. Your velvety walls feel snug and tight against his thick cock, choking it almost. He feels like he’s in heaven, and that’s when his alpha instinct kicks in and he growls, reaching forward to grab your neck from behind.

“Daddy’s been waiting to fuck you all goddamn day,” he growls, tired of holding back and teasing you, and already moving his hips. He pulls his dick out of you, moaning loudly when he sees it coated in your sticky cream. God fucking dammit, you were wetter than he’d ever seen you before, like dripping your juices all over him and the bed and he hadn’t even done anything yet! “You tease me so fucking much, baby. Running around doing your cute little errands, our baby on your hip and you’re in that sexy fucking dress, all flowery and shit like you want to tease daddy, huh?”

SMACK.

He licks his lips as he spanks your ass repeatedly, his hips a blur as he fucks you hard, skin slapping against skin.

“D-Didn’t mean to tease you!” You pant, meeting his thrusts like you’re in heat, which Steve is genuinely beginning to think you are in heat. And it’s making you all submissive, saying all the right things and saying them so innocently: “J-Just wanna be a good wife for you, daddy. J-Just wanna make you happy, ah!”

“Is that right, baby omega?” Steve grabs you by the hair, yanking you up till you’re on your knees only, your back against his front. His other hand slips around to grab your breast, groping it and squeezing it hard, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. And holy fuck, you start leaking milk out again, and it gathers on his thumb. He latches his mouth on his mark on your neck, making you go lax and your mouth go slack. He shoves his thumb into your mouth, making you suck your own milk from his digit. “God, you’re so fucking kinky, baby. So innocent and cute yet so fucking kinky.”

He roughly pushes you back down, pressing your face into the mattress as the feral animal inside of him takes over once more. When his alpha instincts rile up, he has to exert his complete dominance which is why he’s being extra rough with you. Like now, as he watches you scream and bite at the bedsheets, your voice muffled as he holds you down. He’s so much bigger than you, so much stronger. He could really hurt you if he wanted to, because you were just a small baby omega after all. But he wouldn’t, because he loves you. He may push you over the edge, fuck you real rough and hard, but he’d never physically hurt you.

“G-Gonna make you carry my babies,” he mutters, yanking you back up and pushing you down cheek first against the mattress, so he can hear you cry clearer. “You hear me, omega? You’re my submissive little baby wife and you’re gonna carry my fucking babies.”

“I will, I will!” You sob.

He smacks your butt again, so hard that your knees give out and you fall back against the mattress but he yanks you back up by your hips. He hasn’t been this rough with you in a long time. Definitely not since you’d had the baby. You’d been weak and of course, he’d been barred from having sex with you for a few months. It was agony, but he would never want to hurt you like that. Even when the doctor gave you two the green light to have as much fun as you wanted, even then Steve held back for fear of hurting you.

But now, it’s like there’s something feral overtaking both of you. And maybe it’s because you’re ovulating and most probably at the beginning of your heat. It makes the animal inside of him purr and awaken, take his most alpha form and fuck you with abandon like he’s doing now. And it’s not like you’re complaining, in fact, you’re egging him on! Crying and sobbing and yet you continue to meet each one of his thrusts.

“How does it feel, baby? Being the future senator’s baby wife? Taking my daddy dick in your tiny tight pussy like you were made to do it?”

“L-Love being your wife!” You cry out, sounding so cute and earnest and desperate.

“Yeah? You gonna have the senator’s babies?”

“Yes, senator! G-Gonna have more of your babies, daddy! As many as you want!”

You’re so fucking delirious that you haven’t even realised what you’ve addressed him as, but it makes Steve even harder as he continues to rut against you.

“Fucking shake your ass on my daddy dick, baby. Mm, just like that, fuck! Make yourself fucking cum, omega. Is your little baby pussy gonna cry for me right now?”

His words are like magic, because your walls are already squeezing around his dick as you cum. As if you’re so hell-bent on being submissive for him, so determined to do exactly what he says that your body has somehow managed to orgasm on his command. And it makes Steve feel so goddamned powerful.

“Nngh, daddy! Oh fuck!” You whimper pathetically, and your body collapses on the bed, quivering and spent as your walls constrict around his dick, gripping him for all he’s worth as you squirt around him. Coating his dick with your omega cream, getting him so fucking close but he’s not done yet. He yanks your body back into place, continuing to fuck you hard.

“God-fucking-dammit, baby. You’ve already cum twice, huh? Your little pussy can’t ever hold it in, can you?” He scorns, despite the fact that it had been him who’d coaxed you to cum. All you can do is cry deliriously underneath him, and he knows you’re about to pass out soon. And he can’t help but be turned on at the idea of him still fucking you while you were out of it, and then when you regained consciousness, he’d still be fucking you.

Instead, he pulls out, and you immediately whine at the feeling of emptiness. Frowning and looking like you’re about to burst into tears because his dick isn’t inside you anymore, despite the fact that you were so spent already. Steve wastes no time in flipping you over till you’re flat on your back, and he can clearly see your face streaked with tears. He hikes both your legs up, pinning them on either side of your head. Folding you in half, twisting you like a goddamned pretzel just so when he eventually cums inside you, he keeps it inside you.

“Put it back in, alpha!” You beg so prettily, so breathy and weak and spent but still wanting him, “Please, put it back in!”

Steve smirks, forcing his dick back inside you. And your pussy is so slippery, so goddamned lubricated by your arousal, and yet he still has to force his way back in because of how tight you are. Because of how big and thick he is.

“You look so pretty while you’re getting bred, baby.” He chuckles breathlessly, unable to help pressing his lips on yours. It’s crazy how he feels like an animalistic alpha one second, hell bent on brutally fucking his family into you, and then the next second a glimpse of the loving husband comes out, and he needs to kiss your poor bitten, chapped lips.

And you kiss him back so readily, arms winding around his neck, pulling at his hair. The kiss is messy, and he wants to make it messier. He draws back, pressing his thick fingers between your lips to hold them open. And then he spits right inside your mouth, ordering you to swallow it. Of course, you obey immediately, and he’s so goddamned turned on by how much in charge he is. How in complete control he is. How he’s your fucking daddy, your alpha, your everything. The goddamned senator, the richest and most powerful man in New York, with his submissive little omega wife pinned down underneath him.

“Please breed me, daddy,” you beg lightly, like you’re about to faint. Your eyes flutter, but he gives you such an unbelievably hard thrust that you’re jolted back to consciousness. And he watches you carefully, watches as your eyes widen as you look down. He follows your gaze, letting out a rumble from deep within his chest when he sees what you’re staring at.

His fucking cock. Or the outline of his cock as it pokes out of your lower tummy, like the tip of it was all the way inside your goddamned womb. God fuck, he nearly busted a nut right there.

“So deep,” you marvel, making Steve puff his chest out in pride.

“Damn fucking right, omega. You can feel every inch of my daddy dick, can’t you?”

“Y-Yes, fuck!”

He presses your legs against your chest, licking his lips as he watches where you two meet. Watches his huge fucking dick drive in and out of you like it was your fucking job to take him. Your sopping pussy swallows his cock up greedily, and the lewd sounds of sex mixed in with your moans and Steve’s grunts echo around the room.

“Cute, helpless little fucking omega,” he mutters, watching how your breasts bounce at each thrust, how you cry so prettily for him each time he pistons his big dick inside you. “You were made to take my goddamned, dick, you hear me? You were made for me, baby. I’m your alpha and I fucking own this pussy. I own you and I’ll fucking breed you whenever the fuck I want.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You’d have agreed to anything he’d said at that point.

Steve grabs one of your ankles, kissing up your calf while you moan sexily. And then he licks your foot, teeth tugging at your cute anklet that he’d gifted you a few months ago. It’s got his name on it, another sign of his complete and utter ownership of you. Your toes gleam with white polish and Steve licks his lips, his dick so fucking hard because you are so fucking hot. He can’t help but lap at your foot, kissing up your instep while you moan so fucking loudly. He sucks your toes, the act almost making him bust a nut but he manages to contain himself.

“Gonna keep you pregnant all the fucking time,” He vows, his lips returning to yours. He presses his forehead against yours, forcing eye contact with you, “You hear me, omega? You’re my goddamned wife and from here on out, you’re going to always be pregnant, okay?”

“A-Always pregnant!” You agree weepily.

“Damn fucking straight. And I’ll keep you plugged up with my cum. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-Yes!”

“You want daddy’s knot, baby?”

“YES, DADDY! PLEASE!”

Always in perfect sync, the two of you cum at the same time. Steve’s knot swells, locking his dick in place as he blows his load with an almighty roar, spilling his hot seed inside you. His dick is milked by your pulsating walls, your greedy little pussy swallowing all his cum like a good fucking girl as you squirt around him. Both your fluids mingle together, plugged inside by his knot. He angles your hips upwards, just to make sure everything stays inside you.

You’re crying and crying, clutching against him needily as you have another orgasm immediately after the one you’ve just had. And Steve’s still blowing his load inside you, he doesn’t think he’s cum this hard in his whole life, searing you from the inside out with so much cum. Alphas had a lot of cum anyways, but this was an entirely new level. He gently moves his hips, fucking his cum deeper into you, riding you through your orgasm as he cusses under his breath. Your legs shake violently as you cry, burying your head in his chest as you whimper his name over and over again.

Finally, he collapses on top of you, immediately hugging you close and letting you cry into his chest. Smothering you in his heat as you cry due to being overwhelmed, and being fucked so good that you’re delirious and don’t know what else to do.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, I love you, I love you so much,” he coaxes you, your entire body shaking against him. You’re so well and truly spent, fucked exactly how you’d wanted to be, how you’d begged to be. And with one last bit of your strength, you wrap your legs around his waist as if to keep him inside you, and you kiss his collarbones and his neck, trying your hardest to catch your breath as you whimper how much you love him too.

It’s only after a good five minutes of this that he finally speaks.

“Baby? You with me?”

You smile weakly up at him, “Y-Yeah, daddy. That was…”

“…I know,” Steve chuckles hoarsely, kissing you all over your face before laying down beside you. You begin to whine at the lack of contact (despite the fact his dick is still inside you) and so he pulls you on top of him, and you lie there with your head on his chest. And he feels so content, his beautiful wife on top of him, naked and sweaty and thoroughly bred as he traces his name on your bare back.

It doesn’t take long for a smug smile to touch his lips, proud of how thoroughly he’s fucked you. But he doesn’t say anything, neither of you do. You just lay there, basking in each other. Steve admits it’s nice, because this is what he’d been missing all day at work. And he loves you so fucking much.

“Baby?” He asks after several minutes.

“Yeah, daddy?”

“You ready for round two?”

THE END SKAFALAL

I think it's safe to say omega is definitely gonna be pregnant again after this one shot!! PLEASE let me know what you think!!! Fav parts, diallogue ANYTHINGGG thank you! ily ily

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #chris evans #poyt drabble #chris evans fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

scuderiahoney · 4 months

Text

After All

Charles Leclerc x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, tooth rotting fluff

Charles is a lot of things. He’s determined, hardworking, a bit of a self sacrificing dumbass. He’s kind, talented, humble, confident, soft. He’s your best friend, your closest confidant, the person you would trust with your life.

And, according to everyone who’s ever seen the two of you together, he’s madly in love with you.

…..

Pierre’s the first one to say it. He’s known both of you the longest, he’s one of Charles’ best friends. He sidles up next to you on a warm afternoon. You’re both on Charles’ yacht, leaning against the railing and watching as he does a backflip off the deck and into the water.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” you point out, “and Ferrari will not be happy.”

Pierre snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “He is showing off.”

You give him a look of disbelief. “For who?”

Before he can answer, you’re drawn to look at Charles again when he calls your name. You watch and wave at him, and then he lines himself up for another stupid trick dive that makes your stomach lurch. He makes a splash when he lands, sinking deeper and deeper till you can’t see him through the bubbles. Just when you start to worry, just when you feel like he’s been under too long, he resurfaces. He kicks himself to the surface, hair plastered to his forehead, laughing raucously. He’s suddenly the boy you met at 13, big dreams and big plans and a big personality to get him there.

“You,” Pierre says, jarring you out of your staring. “He is showing off for you.”

You roll your eyes and elbow your friend. “What? He is not. Why would he be trying to impress me?”

“Because he is in love with you,” Pierre states, so matter of fact you almost don’t realize what he’s saying. “Come on, it’s obvious.”

“He is not!” You laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Jesus, Pierre, the fumes from those engines must really be getting to you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, probably to rebut with some insane theory he’ll present as fact. He’s interrupted by Charles calling your name again. This time he’s waving you down to the back deck, eyes sparkling. He’s going to want you to jump in. You have a fear of heights, a fear of falling, a fear of deep, open water. Despite it all, you head down to meet him anyways. Charles could talk you into anything, could make even the scariest things seem easy.

“You have to hold my hand, though,” you say, when he urges you to jump in with him. “The whole way, no letting go.”

“The whole way,” he promises, knitting your fingers together.

…..

It’s a bit of fate that you end up in Suzuka for the race. You hadn’t been planning on going, but there’d been cheap flights available when you looked the week before, and suddenly you’re off to Japan. Charles is thrilled about it, always happy to have you there, even when he’s busy and barely gets to see you. He says there’s something comforting about knowing you’re in the garage or the stands.

He takes you with him to as many things as he can, including the pre race media days. The second you meet up with him after you get to Japan, he’s talking non stop about Sebastian’s Buzzin Corner project, and your heart melts at the excitement in his eyes. He’s been missing Seb lately, having a tough go of things and searching for guidance.

You watch from behind the scenes, behind the cameras, as the entire grid arrives to make pollinator hotels and decorate canvases. You smile when Sebastian spots Charles and runs over to give him a hug, and you smile even bigger when Charles follows Sebastian around like a lost puppy. Sebastian seems just as happy to be near Charles again, stopping by to check on Ferrari’s progress frequently.

Charles turns during a lull in the event, when the cameras are on another team and Sebastian is distracted, too. He waves you over, eyes bright, smile wide. You can’t help but be drawn towards him. Any time he wants you nearby, you go willingly, eagerly.

He has paint on his fingers, speckles of it on his shirt. Charles is creative, too. He doesn’t get nearly enough chances to show it, in your opinion. He’s stifled by brand deals and the public eye and overbearing management. You stand next to him, eyeing his and Carlos’ artwork with a soft smile. The pollinator hotel is filled with supplies, the roof is decorated, and Charles tells you excitedly that they’ve already had their first “guest”. He hands you a paintbrush when nobody is paying attention.

��You should add something, chéri,” he says, nudging you lightly.

You look up at him, twist your face into an unsure smile. “Am I allowed to?”

“Of course,” Sebastian says, having made his way back around to the Ferrari team. You smile at Charles’ old teammate as he pays your shoulder lightly. “It’s not exclusive, you know.”

You laugh, reaching out with the paintbrush and adding a small heart next to the stripes and stamps the guys have painted on. “A little love for the the pollinators and bugs.”

“You weren’t saying that about that spider last week,” Charles teases.

“It was in my hair,” you say through gritted teeth, looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t slander me in front of Seb.”

Carlos is giggling, watching the two of you. Sebastian is doing the same, his eyes lit up reminding you of years ago when he and Charles had been teammates. He’d joked about the two of you exhausting him, with your boundless energy and constant flip flopping between bickering and affection. You’d insisted you were the ones keeping Sebastian young.

Someone calls Charles and Carlos over for a photo op. You peruse the bee hotel while you stand next to Sebastian. There’s a lot of people’s artwork on there, but somehow you think you know which brushstrokes belong to Charles.

“I see not much has changed,” Sebastian says, nodding his head towards Charles. “He calls you darling and then teases you in the same minute.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “He is my best friend, both of those things are his job.”

“Ah, to be young and oblivious,” Sebastian says in a lilting tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughs, tilts his head at you. “Just that my wife was my best friend, once.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The glare has no effect if the grin on his face says anything. Sebastian is older, wiser, and Charles trusts his judgement on nearly everything, but you know he’s wrong about this. There’s no way Charles sees you as anything more than a friend. You’ve come to terms with that. You can live with that. You have to live with that.

Charles makes his way back over to the two of you, hands in his pockets. You plaster a sunny smile back on your face and try to ignore the way Sebastian is watching the two of you. Charles is telling you to paint something else, pointing out the empty space left on the canvas and the bee hotel.

He takes your hand, still wrapped around the paintbrush, in his own. He dips it in the black paint, leads you over to the wooden structure, and adds another heart.

“More love,” he says, singsongy, squeezing your hand. Behind you, Sebastian barely muffles an affectionate laugh. “More love for the bugs.”

…..

“This is my favorite song!” You yell over the booming bass.

You have a drink in your hand, your… 6th? of the night? You’re not sure, you’ve lost count. Charles keeps handing them to you every time your gets low. It’s always tequila and soda, always with two limes.

Charles laughs, shaking his head. “You have said that about every song in the past hour.”

“I mean it this time,” you say, eyes wide. You’re standing up from the table, pulling on his arm. “C’mon, we should dance, Charlie!”

He groans lightheartedly. Really, all of this should be your sign to cut yourself off. You don’t like dancing, and you rarely call him Charlie. Everyone calls him Charles, so you’d let the nickname go years ago. You’d worried it made you sound childish, made you sound like you were holding onto years past. He doesn’t budge from his spot in the booth, watching you warily.

“Amour, I don’t like this song as much as you apparently do,” he says, shaking his head. “And I like dancing even less.”

“Fine,” you say with a pout. “I will find someone else, then.”

You melt into the crowd before he can pull you back into the booth and down to earth. You’re at that pleasant stage of drunk where everything is funny and fuzzy and floaty. You spot Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, at the bar, and she needs much less convincing to join you on the dance floor. She abandons Alex with George and follows you eagerly. It’s Las Vegas, you’re here to have fun. This is fun. The two of you squeeze through the swirling mass of people till you find a good spot.

You don’t know how long it’s been when Charles finds you there- you just know you’re sweaty, a few drinks deeper, and past the point of no return. The song that’s playing now is your actual favorite song, a fact that you tell Charles when he steps in front of you, his hands on your waist to steady you.

“I know,” he says, because of course he knows. Nobody knows you better than him. “I also know you are drunk.”

“M’having a good time,” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his neck. It’s just to keep you steady, you tell yourself. “Vegas, baby!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, but he starts to sway to the music with you. One hand stays on your hip, but the other comes around to your back and pulls you closer. You like being pressed against him, like being able to feel the warmth of him even through the fabric of your clothing. You don’t think before you spin in his grip, press your back to his front, keep your arm around his neck behind your head. Tomorrow morning, or rather, later today, you can blame it on the alcohol.

Charles wraps his arm around your waist in response, and you swear you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he pulls you in again. You’ll blame that on the alcohol too.

It’s like you blink, and then you’re standing out on the sidewalk, surrounded by the lights of the Las Vegas strip. The night air is cold, and you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the talk of a night race in the desert and the temperature.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks.

You’re surprised to find him standing next to you, and you blink at him.

“S’cold,” you say, unable to explain the rest of it. You just giggle again. “Where’s Charlie?”

Max raises his brows. “He went inside to get your jacket. You left it in the booth. Remember, five minutes ago, when you said it was cold?”

Huh. You don’t remember, but Max is probably telling the truth. He and Charles are more of friendly rivals than enemies now, despite their formative years. Max is definitely not trying to kidnap you as revenge. He has nothing to get revenge for- he won the race. Maybe he’s bitter that a Grand Prix he talked about so negatively had ended up being one of the best of the season, you suppose. Though you’re not sure that would give him a reason to kidnap you-

“I called him that once,” Max says, and you tilt your head at him. “Charlie. He didn’t like it.”

You remember. It was in Brazil, when they’d all been gathered in a garage. You’d seen it in a video. You can’t admit that, though, without admitting you watch tiktoks of your best friend, so you stay quiet on that subject.

“He thinks it’s childish,” you say with a shrug, scuffing the toe of your shoe on the ground. “I… forget, sometimes.”

You forget that Charles isn’t just your thirteen year old friend, the guy you’d never expected to even tolerate you. You can’t remember how it even happened, how you went from barely saying hi in the halls at school to dinners with his family, homework at their kitchen table. You’re not sure it matters now. What matters is keeping him a part of your life.

You’ve adapted. You’ve let pieces of him go, like childhood nicknames and any hope he’ll ever look at you the same way you look at him. Charles is larger than life, now. You’re still small. You’re still thirteen sometimes, still sitting at the table, begging Charlie to help you with your math problems.

“That’s the thing,” Max says, nudging your side lightly. “He doesn’t seem to mind when it’s you that says it.”

You frown. “Oh, he definitely minds.”

Max shrugs. “He doesn’t show it, then. Probably because he loves you.”

You nod solemnly. “I am his best friend.”

“Right,” Max laughs. “Sure. Friend.”

Charles reappears shortly after that, your jacket in hand. It turns out Max isn’t even leaving- he’d just been tasked with keeping an eye on you while Charles went back inside. He says goodbye and goes back into the club, while Charles is checking his phone, telling you the car should be there any minute. The night has gone from fuzzy to blurry, and you lean heavily on Charles’ shoulder, blinking repeatedly and trying to stay awake. He pours you into the backseat of the car, drags you out of it ten minutes later when you get to the hotel.

“You are so drunk,” he says, standing in the elevator, your head against his chest.

“I know you are but whatamI?” You slur, tugging on his jacket.

Charles just laughs. Even if he could understand you, he wouldn’t get the reference. His hand is resting on your shoulder, fingers squeezing your bare skin softly. You’d taken your jacket off as soon as you got inside, complaining about being hot. Charles had just taken it from your hands with an exasperated smile.

“I think you should sleep in my room,” he suggests when the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

You’re not that drunk, but you’re not going to argue. “Yeah, okay.”

When you wake up in his bed in the morning, Charles is asleep on the couch. He’s stretched out, one arm hanging off the edge, one foot on the armrest. His blanket is tangled in his limbs, and you feel guilty, suddenly. It was his night to celebrate, and he’d ended up taking care of you, ended up sacrificing his hotel bed and sleeping on the sofa. You sit up, feeling sick to your stomach, and not from the hangover.

“Lay down,” Charles says, not even opening his eyes. “S’too early. You need more sleep.”

“I should go to my room,” you whisper, and he opens one eye and looks at you warily. “That couch cannot be comfortable.”

“It’s not,” he admits, and the guilt lurches in your gut again. He’s smiling, though. “You tried to insist on sharing the bed, but you were very drunk.”

That’s not surprising. Drunk you always wants Charles close. You direct your eyes to the comforter and muster up all the courage you have left.

“I’m sober now,” you tell him. “So either we share the bed, or I go to my room. You look so uncomfortable.”

Charles hesitates for only a second. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve crossed the line. But then he’d shifting, untangling himself from the blankets and tumbling off the couch. He crawls into the bed next to you, sighing happily as he sinks into the mattress. Seemingly almost without thinking, he reaches out, slips his arm around your waist, and hauls you against his chest. You let it happen.

There’s something sacred about the time between morning and night. The sky is a purple hue outside the hotel room window. The halls are quiet. Charles’ heart thuds in your ear, steady and beating out a soothing rhythm, and nothing about this feels out of place. It’s like this is where you’re meant to be, tucked against him, slotted together like puzzle pieces. You wrap your arm around his upper arm, and he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

“G’night, Charlie,” you mumble.

He laughs, and it’s a sweet sound. There’s no hostility behind it. “Goodnight, amour.”

…..

There’s something to be said about your inability to see something as it is until it’s staring you in the face. You’re stubborn as a mule, and maybe blind as a bat, too. It’s not till the holiday break that it all clicks into place.

Charles is sitting next to you at your kitchen counter, decorating cookies. You’ve been baking all weekend. It’s your grandmother’s recipe, now your responsibility to keep up the tradition. There are batches set aside for your family to decorate later, another set for the cookie party you’re holding with some of your friends from university. But Charles had whined and begged about wanting to decorate cookies, about wanting to be a part of the tradition, and you’d given in oh so easily.

He has a heart shaped one in his hand, a knife with red frosting in the other hand. He’s being so delicate, so particular, like it means so much to him. It’s just a cookie, you want to say to him. You hold my actual heart in your hands every day without a care, but you’re so delicate with a cookie?

Except, then, you’re thinking about it, and maybe that’s not true. Charles is brash and bold and confident, but he’s never anything other than gentle with you. He cares deeply, throws himself headfirst into things, he’s all or nothing. But when he’s around you he lets his guard down, takes the time to think. He’s cautious, heartfelt, kind. He takes his time.

“Max asked me to play padel today,” he says casually. “To make up for him missing our match.”

You laugh, though it feels a bit forced. You’re watching his hands, watching as he takes the white icing and writes something on the cookie. “Oh? You didn’t go?”

Charles shakes his head. “He wasn’t free till 11:00. I told you I’d be here at 10:30.”

You frown, blinking at him. He’s so focused on the cookie he doesn’t even notice you staring. He hasn’t spent this much time on a single cookie since he got to your apartment that morning.

“You could have come over later,” you say.

He shakes his head. “This was more important. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

It shouldn’t be the moment, is the thing. Nothing spectacular happens. It’s not like he’s made some big confession, not like anything drastic has changed. Somehow, you just know. He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face, and it’s so, so obvious. You wonder if this is what he sees when you look at him. You wonder if this is what everyone else has seen and told you about. There’s so much love in his gaze that it makes your heart skip a beat, makes your skin feel hot, makes your fingertips go numb. You set your cookie down on the table.

He holds his in his own hand, peering down at it as if he’s judging it in a competition. He turns it between his fingers, leaving a red thumbprint on the underside of it. He has icing on his fingers, all the colors of the rainbow. It’ll probably stain his skin.

“You are always more important,” he breathes, and you can’t breathe at all. “The most important.”

He turns the cookie towards you, but you already know what it’ll say. His initials and yours, in white icing on a red backdrop. He’s been saying it all along, really. The whole way. More love. I know. Somehow it has still caught you off guard, stolen the air from your lungs and the words from your lips. All this time pining after him and you had never actually considered he might be feeling it, too. But it’s there, written on the cookie, and it’s written on his face, too.

You lean in to kiss him. He tastes like frosting and feels like love, and you wonder how you didn’t see it sooner.

…..

A week later, Pierre spots the matching hickeys on yours and Charles’ necks and laughs his ass off.

“I told you,” he says, through peals of laughter, shaking his head. “You are both so blind.”

Charles wraps his arm around your waist, and you shrug. You stare up at your boyfriend, happier than you’ve ever been, the weight of his hand on your hip grounding you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, dismissing Pierre even as he continues to laugh. “We figured it out. That’s all that matters.”

Charles leans close, presses his lips to your forehead. You feel it all. The years of waiting, wondering, wishing. Pierre is congratulating the two of you and saying something about calling Carlos about a bet they’d apparently had. You can’t bring yourself to care. In the end, you suppose, Pierre deserves to gloat. All your friends do.

They were right, after all.

thanks for reading! you can check out my other fics here!

#charles Leclerc #f1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #charles Leclerc oneshot #f1 oneshot #charles Leclerc x reader #charles Leclerc x you #cl16 #honeywrites #first public fic on a blog with an Oscar icon and it’s about Charles?? oh well

2K notes · View notes

slutt4lovee · 2 months

Text

friends (b.b.)

𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒 - 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2356

warnings: NO SMUT, just cutesy fluff, maybe just a tiny bit of angst but not really, nothing really to warn about. might be some typos and shit but at this point y'all should be expecting this from my dyslexic ass.

summary: After being friends with Bucky for years, you finally get the confession you've been dreaming of.

Being Bucky's friend isn't really as great as Steve made it seem. Sure, Bucky is caring and funny and fiercely protective of the things and people that he loves. Yes, he's funny and charming and everything good in the world, but he is also arrogant and cocky and so emotionally repressed that you're not even sure he knows what feelings are anymore.

Being Bucky's friend means that you're also the Winter Soldier's best friend and that is a horrible feeling. Not because of the fact that he is the Winter Soldier but more so because the Winter Soldier has a fucking martyr complex. Despite the fact that Bucky is an amazing person who you think encompasses every good aspect of the world, he's an incredible dumbass. Not just a regular dumbass, the kind of fucking idiot that thinks everyone else, everything else is more important than him. The kind of idiotic person that thinks everyone but him is worth saving, the kind who runs head first into danger because he genuinely doesn't care if he lives or dies as long as he saves someone. Bucky is the type of imbecile that would run into a building, knowing it was rigged with explosives just to save a cat.

Bucky may be one of the best people you've ever met, but being his friend is horrible.

It's caring so intensely for someone who doesn't even care about himself. It's not being able to see or even speak to him for weeks or months because he's off on some insanely stupid mission to save the fucking world or something stupid like that. It's him constantly thinking he's some kind of invincible god and you having to remind him over and over and over that he's not. No matter how much he might look like one. It's trying to convince someone that hates his entire fucking existence that he deserves every soft, sappy thing in the world no matter how much he thinks he doesn't.

But worst of all it's being in love with a complete fucking idiot who doesn't even think he's worthy of love. You'd take all the anxiety, the panic, the dread, the crying and worry a million times over if you could just not be in love with that complete fucking dumbass. Or if you could maybe convince him that he deserves all the love in the fucking world.

—

You can't sleep, never can when he's gone. Some stupid romance movie you've seen about a hundred times plays on your tv—a feeble attempt to keep your mind off Bucky. To keep your mind from imagining what he's doing on his mission and all the ways it could go horribly wrong.

It doesn't really work.

It's almost impossible to keep him out of your mind. When you're not worrying about all the ways he could be killed, you're pining after him in the worst fucking way.

Just staring mindlessly at the screen daydreaming about him and the way his clothes always fit just right, just enough to give you a good view of his muscles without being too tight. And the way he looks in his stupidly attractive one armed outfits he wears on missions—which shouldn't be so fucking hot, but it is, it really fucking is. And his lips, just everything about them, their shape, their pretty pink color, the way they look so fucking soft all the god damned time. And that boyish, way too endearing, smirk of his that makes your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest. And his hands and the way they feel against your skin, rough calloused fingers with a touch so soft it sends chills down your spine. And—and, God you're so fucking fucked about him.

He's your best friend, really one of your only friends, and yet you can't stop thinking about him doing filthy things—that he would probably never do—to you. It's horrible and dirty and disrespectful but you just can't stop, thinking about Bucky's mouth and if it's really as soft as it looks.

You smell him before you even hear him, woody smoke, and honey, mixed with sweat. You smile softly to yourself as he drops his bag to the ground with a little grunt. Your mind moves slowly, struggling through your lack of sleep to put pieces together. You're clumsily climbing over the back of the couch the second you realize he's really there.

"Bucky," You start to say, stumbling a little at the ungraceful way you dismount from the back of the couch. "What the fuck?" You ask, waving your hands up and down in his general direction.

He's not sure if you're questioning his appearance or his presence...maybe both. You're not really sure either.

"I just got back," He mutters, words dripping with exhaustion as his arms slip lazily around your waist, making you trip over your own feet as he pulls you into his chest.

"You didn't text," You whisper, matching the soft tone of his voice as you slide your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He doesn't respond right away, he pulls you closer instead, grabbing onto your shirt to keep you there as if you had any plans on letting go. He makes a soft, barely audible noise, as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. His arms are tight around your waist, holding you to him like he's scared you're just gonna disappear and the thought makes your chest ache. You tilt your head, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose presses into the top of his shoulder, your lips just barely touching the leather on his jacket. Your nose floods with his scent, and you find yourself wishing you could capture it and keep it forever. He smells like camping in the summer, like searching for bugs and plants and pretty rocks in the woods, like staring up at the sky and pointing out the prettiest ones.

He smells likehome, warm and cozy and safe.

Slowly it feels like every ounce of worry and dread is leached out of your body. He's home, he's safe, he's here in your arms and nothing else fucking matters. This is the good part, this right here, all the worrying and sleepless nights are worth it just for this feeling. This happy sort of peaceful relief you get every time he comes back safe.

"M'sorry," He mutters after a few seconds, his words muffled in the crook of your neck. "Jus' wanted to get home."

Your stomach twists at that, a giddy sort of feeling floating around in your stomach at his words. He came straight from his mission to you. Didn't stop at his place, didn't go to the compound, he came straight to you. Straight home to you.

"Took ya long enough." You whisper against his shoulder, voice light and teasing as his grip on your shirt tightens.

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell this one must've been rough on him. It's obvious from the way he's clutching your shirt like a lifeline. Holding you to his chest like he thought he'd never see you again, like he's scared to let go. You don't ask him about it, he'll talk when he's ready, but you do hold him just as tight as he holds you. Rub your hands along his back, over his shoulder, up the back of his neck, lingering the softest touches everywhere you can reach because you know it calms him down.

"S'good you came home, you were gone so long I was about to come lookin' for you." You tell him, smiling softly against his neck at the little snort he lets out.

He's quiet for a bit longer, just standing there with his arms around your waist, his hands clutching at your shirt like he's terrifiedyou're going to vanish. After a while he relinquishes your shirt and before you can even think about pulling away, not that you would, his hands are running down to the backs of your thighs.

"M'sorry," He murmurs into your neck, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist like you weigh absolutely nothing. "Came as quick as I could, darlin', didn't even get to shower or anything."

"Did you eat?" You ask softly, holding onto him a little tighter as he hooks his arms back around your waist.

He shakes his head and you start to offer to cook him something while he showers but he's walking in the direction of your bedroom before you can get a single word out. He nudges your bedroom door open with the toe of his boot without saying a word and it makes you frown because Bucky is never silent around you. Talks so damn much you started to think he just liked the sound of his own voice (really he just loved the sound of yours but he's not about to admit something that sappy).

"Do you want to eat?" You ask, voice all soft and sweet in a way that makes his head spin.

He shakes his head again and without even letting go of you, he falls forward onto your bed, sandwiching you between him and your mattress. He's heavy, dense, thick muscle directly on top of you, but you don't complain. You wouldn't dare tell him that he's crushing your fucking chest because then he'd let go and you don't want that.

He settles with his head on your chest, his ear pressed up against the center of it. Listening closely to the sound of your heart like he didn't believe it was real. His hand slips a little under the hem of your shirt but stays resting on your hip as if all he wanted was just to feel your skin.

He's silent for a while, laying so still that you almost think he's fallen asleep. You don't say anything either because what could you possibly say? You could tell him about work or something but you're almost certain he doesn't want to hear that.

"Thought you were dead..." He whispers as he nuzzles his face against the center of your chest. His hands squeeze at your hips and you can't shake the feeling that he's trying to make sure you're real.

You don't really know what to say to that either. You stroke your fingers through his hair and you swear you feel your heart break a little at the pain in his voice.

"God, I thought you were fucking dead..." His voice cracks a little this time and his arms wrap around your waist tight, too tight but you don't say a thing. You're happy to just let him squeeze the life out of you if it makes him feel even a little bit better. "They...they got in my head, made me see things...and all I could think about was that I never got the chance to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You ask and you think your voice comes out a bit strained because he immediately loosens his grip.

"That I'm fucking in love with you," He forces out, voice rough with emotion as he shifts a little so that he's looking down at you.

Your heart fucking stops at his words and all you can do is just stare up at him like a complete fool. Cheeks flushing bright red and eyes wide as you stammer and choke on 16 different failed attempts at speech.

He loves you. No. He's in love with you.

"I thought you were dead and all I could think about was that you didn't know I loved you." He tells you, voice softening some as his eyes scan over your face. "All I wanted to fucking do was hold you and kiss you and just fucking touch you again and I know that's so fucking selfish of me but...fuck."

"You...love me?" Your voice comes out all meek and unsure as you look up at him. You're not even sure if your heart has started beating again because it feels like you could, very well, drop dead at any fucking second.

"Of course I do you fucking idiot." Bucky laughs and the sound is utterly heart wrenching to you. He tries to smile but it just looks so fucking sad that you want to cry.

And maybe he's right and you are a fucking idiot because you can't think of anything to say. You want to tell him you love him too but the words won't come up, they stick in the back of your throat and make you choke. All you can manage is to reach out, grab his face, and pull it down to yours in a pathetic excuse for a kiss.

He kisses you back instantly, taking control of the kiss, somehow calmer than you. His lips are soft and sweet against yours and nowhere near as clunky and uncoordinated as you but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. He smiles a little against your near frantic lips, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face.

It's not your first kiss, not even close, but you're so clumsy with it that it damn near feels like it. He hums against your lips like it's the best damn kiss he's ever had, strokes his thumb over your cheek and laughs when your teeth hit his.

You think he'll pull away, you would if you were him, but he doesn't. If anything he kisses you a bit harder, trying to take control of the kiss and guide your lips to work with his and it works wonders, you practically melt into it. He makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when you finally relax and then his tongue slides over your bottom lip and you melt all over again.

You've never been the biggest fan of tongue kissing, it's always just so wet and slimy and forceful. But there's something about the way Bucky's tongue slides so so softly across your bottom lip that has you parting your lips without a second thought. And you don't fucking regret it at all.

It doesn't feel all slimy and gross like you're used to. His tongue is soft and wet and there's a faint hint of sweet mint as he kisses you. One of his hands squeezes at your waist under your shirt and he fucking groans like kissing you is the best thing he's ever experienced.

He kisses you until you're both breathless, until your lips are raw and swollen and slick with spit.

His forehead presses against yours and his voice comes out all hoarse and raspy as he says, "Fuck, I could kiss you for fucking ever,"

You laugh at that and the noise is so soft and sweet that it makes his breath hitch. You flutter your eyes open, thumbs stroking at the side of his neck as you look up at his flushed face.

"I love you too," You whisper and God, the way he smiles sends a jolt of warm heat through your body. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do. I really fucking do."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #fluff #bucky fluff #light angst #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier

1K notes · View notes

corpsebasil · 11 months

Text

Sleepy -> pure Ethan fluff here

Ethan’s best friend likes him more than she’ll admit, and he has a habit of sleeping on her.

Tara caught you the first time it happened.

You were at Ethan and Chad’s dorm, studying for your Econ exam with Tara, when you’d found yourself curled up against Ethan, head in his lap, dozing away from boredom.

“Look how cute.” Tara whispered to Chad, pointing her pen at the two of you. Ethan’s head had fallen back to rest against the wall, his eyes closed as the two of you slept.

The next time was at the Halloween party. This time it was Ethan, exhausted from the alcohol and the noise, that had sat next to you on the couch beside Anika and Mindy. And when his head had moved to lay against your shoulder, his breaths slowing as he found comfort in your presence, you’d had to shush Mindy so she wouldn’t wake him up with her loud gossiping.

Most recently, you’d been found by Chad, curled up together under the covers in Ethan’s bed, his arm slung over your waist as your head burrowed in the space between his neck and shoulder.

No one in your friend group understood why the two of you weren’t together. It made no sense—you were always attached at the hip and, whenever you hung out, you always inevitably seemed to be napping with one another. For Ethan, it was because he was constantly stressed, and with you he could relax, breathing in the scent of your perfume and running tentative hands over your soft skin. For you, it was…

Well, you weren’t entirely sure.

So when you began receiving messages from your friend’s shared group-chat you gave a wary glance to Ethan where he laid curled up in a ball beside you, his head in your lap.

Core Four

Chad: Alright Y/N, spill the tea. What’s going on w you and E?

Chad: That rhymed

Chad: lol

Y/N: nothings going on why?

Tara: surrrre

Tara: *image*

Tara: looks like a whole lot of ‘nothing’

Y/N: stopppp when did you take that??

Chad: what the HELLL 🔥🔥🔥

Y/N: Tara delete that pls

Tara: no I’m making it my lock screen 😏

Chad: I thought I was your lock screen

Mindy: As long as his Ghostface ass stays away from me I don’t care who he naps with. Next subject.

Chad: don’t be boring

Y/N: *left groupchat*

Tara: noooo

You sighed, turning off your phone and chucking it to the end of the bed before running your nails absentmindedly through Ethan’s curls. Truth was, you did like your friend. You just didn’t know how to tell him.

“Y/N.” Ethan grumbled, lifting his head a fraction as he blinked sleepily. “What’s going…on?”

“Hey, Sleepy.” You smiled down at him, then squeaked when he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you under the covers next to him, his head moving to rest on your stomach. “E, what the—”

“Just go to sleep, please.” He grumbled, voice drowsy. “Need your…” he trailed off and your face flushed, but you made yourself comfortable, resting a hand against his head as you relaxed, your eyes slowly closing.

“Come on.” Tara was urging, watching as you did your makeup and ignored her. “Just get together all ready I’m sick of this.”

“He’s my friend, Tare.” You argued, raising a brow at her in the vanity mirror. “It’s not like that.”

“Really?” She asked, flouncing over. “Because I heard that Chad says he likes you.”

“Chad likes me?” You asked, confused, and Tara rolled her eyes.

“No dumbass. Ethan likes you.”

You blinked at her for a moment before shaking your head.

“I call bullshit.”

“What kind of friends nap together all the time?” She pushed, approaching to crouch on the floor beside you, crossing her arms and resting them on your legs. “I mean—come on. Come on. The boy can’t keep his hands off you.”

“That’s bull—” your phone rang and you both jumped. You reached out but Tara grabbed it first and you yelped, diving for the brunette as she giggled and ran, answering the call.

“Hey Sleepy.” She cooed, reading off Ethan’s contact name. She shot you a wink as your face burned. “What’s—” she paused. Then she looked at you, a curious expression on her face. “Yeah, yeah. She’s here, hold on.” Tara passed you the phone and you snatched it away, heartbeat quickening as you answered.

“Hello?”

“Y/N.” Ethan’s voice met your ear and you tensed. He sounded…sad? Distressed? “Can you come over? Please?”

“Why what happened?” You asked, already standing up. Screw it, you’d take your makeup wipes with you and remove your half-finished look. Tara was watching you, looking a bit worried, as she handed you your purse.

“I don’t know I just…can you just come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, E.” You said, listening to the phone click as you looked to Tara. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing he—he kind of sounded like…like he was crying or something. All he said was ‘Tara, give me Y/N please.’” She paused. “Is he okay, or—?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry for leaving. Dunkin in the morning?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

So you left, going to Ethan’s dorm as fast as you could. You knew Chad was out with Mindy and Anika, and assumed that that’s why Ethan had called. But why did he sound so…upset?

You used your spare key that Ethan had made you to enter, knocking first, then pushed inside. When you got to Ethan’s room you saw him sitting with his head in his hands, but he soon looked up at you. His expression was pained and you felt a stab of anxiety run through you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, setting your stuff down as you moved to him, sitting down beside your friend.

“I um..” he trailed off, looking at you then away. “this is embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” You said, reaching out to rub his back. “Tell me what happened.” Baby. You’d almost called him baby at the end of that sentence. You were insanely glad that you hadn’t.

“I have night terrors.” He said after a weighted pause, his eyes shifting to yours. “I cant sleep sometimes. When I’m alone I—I just…I just toss and turn. Everything freaks me out I don’t like to be alone.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him.

“Night terrors? About what?”

“Well,” his face turned a shade of pink and he looked away. “well I was trying to go to bed and then I saw you and—” he paused, breath hitching, and you felt your chest tighten. “It’s fine. You’re here now, right? You’re fine.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself, his eyes darting across your face like he wasn’t sure this was real, and something in you cracked.

“Is that why you’re always so tired with me?” You asked, frowning. “Because you cant sleep alone?”

“No.” He said, and you stared at him in confusion, but he cut you off before you could speak. “I sleep with you because I feel…safe with you.” He seemed embarrassed again and glanced down at his hands. “I don’t feel comfortable with anyone else. Not like—not like you..” he sighed and blinked up at the ceiling, seeming to fight back a wince. “Im totally weirding you out right now, aren’t I.”

You watched him for a moment, contemplative, before you kicked off your shoes. He could only stare as you moved to the opposite side of his bed and shoved your shorts off, left in a huge t-shirt curtesy of Ethan himself.

“It’s not weird.” You said, slipping under the covers, and smacked the mattress next to you. He still stared, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, E. Get in the bed.”

A hesitant laugh left him as he did so, climbing in beside you. It was muscle memory, at this point: your head on his chest, his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. You felt his soft breaths on your hair as you settled, adjusting into the familiarity of his body as you rested.

“You know I care about you, right?” Ethan asked into the darkness, his thumb brushing soft strokes against your waist. “Like..more than anyone.”

You smiled against him.

“Are you saying you have a crush on me, Sleepy?” You teased, and he startled you by instantly saying, “Yeah”.

You sat up a bit, looking at him, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks had gone red. You brushed his hair away from his forehead and ran your fingers across his cheek, your head tilting.

“Then do something about it.” You whispered, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, before he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to yours.

Core Four

Chad: Y/N?

Chad: Y/N I know you’re getting these messages. I added you back to the groupchat a week ago.

Y/N: what do you want

Chad: my BOY over here says he’s going to his GIRLFRIENDS HOUSE TO WATCH A MOVIE

Chad: WHICH?? GIRLFRIEND???

Tara: WHAT

Mindy: Ew.

Y/N: he has a girlfriend?

Chad: …

Chad: it’s not you??? he just left the house like an hour ago

Y/N: why would you think it’s me??

Chad: BECAUSE

Tara: nooo my fave ship

Mindy: Thank God.

Y/N: *image*

Y/N: idk what movie he was planning on watching because this man is out like a fuckin light

Tara: AHHHHHHHHHHHJOANASKNKSN

Chad: WHAT THE HEEEEEELLLLLL🔥🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

Mindy: I hate you all.

#ethan landry #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x reader #scream six #tara carpenter #Chad meeks Martin #mindy meeks martin #scream 6

7K notes · View notes

hor3nee · 22 days

Text

• Fatherhood •

What kind of dads are the JJK men ?

CW/TW: GN! Reader, Mentions of crappy parenting, BREIF mention of pregnancy in Geto's, (Lmk if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji x Reader

AN: Almost cried writing this the baby fever is going HARD rn dude. Headcanons !

• Gojo •

Menace of a father, but in the good way! Gojo spends his years raising his kids as if he's their best friend, truly and genuinely treats his kids as equals and in a sweet way, allows his children to have complete trust in him. Because Gojo is quite childish himself, he loves playing with his kids, making a fool of himself, and indulging with them.

Has a bit of a bad side to this though, his lack of traditional discipline or making himself the 'adult' in the situation leads the kids to both be very spoiled and not really ever listen to him.

"Sweetheart, darling, my perfect angel, can you please go to bed?? pretty please! Help your old man here, please??"

"Nuh uh!" And with that bout of defiance, he's back to running up to you, like HE'S the child, begging for your help. Because it seems you're the only one who can get the kids in line, and you do.

Plays pranks and teases the hell out of his kids as they get older, always in a loving way of course, but nonetheless loves getting them flustered over his stupidity. Type of dad to do dumbass dances in the middle of a Walmart to embarrass his kids.

• Geto •

Geto is optimum of what it means to be a gentle parent. Cannot, for the life of him, bring it in himself to yell at his kids. He's so soft-spoken, never so much as raising his voice against his children. Geto has children who respond to his voice alone, because it's so lulling, he's familiarized them with it and made them feel safe with it.

Doesn't mean he can't discipline them, of course he can, and he does so extremely gracefully. Whenever you're on your last straw with the kids, fighting the urge to start scolding them and yell, he steps in, smoothly taking over and the kids instantly listen to him.

"We're your parents, honey, c'mon that's not very nice to say, is it? They carried you for 9 months you know. Say sorry." Like magic the kids shut up and come over to you apologizing while Geto stands back, calmly having fixed the situation with ease.

With everything Geto does, has done, experienced etc, he can sometimes feel conflicted. Geto knows what he is capable of, and what he has done, he's extremely self-aware even if he justifies it, and he can struggle to balance the weight of all of it while also remaining a dutiful father.

Despite it, he does wonders keeping it separate from what his children have to see or experience, teaches them respect and kindness and hopes they hold true to it.

• Nanami •

Not a single man on this list fathers as hard as Nanami fathers. He's built for it like no other. Nanami treats fatherhood with his all, he puts his all into it and makes damn certain he does right by it. Stern when necessary, sweet when needed, provides for his kids and refuses to miss any important milestone of theirs.

Nanami is a calm man but the second work starts piling potentially making him miss his kids school play or something he's arguing with his supervisors and ready to throw hands.

He keeps the drawings his kids make on his desk, alongside a photo of you and your kids. Literally just stares at it while working smiling, unable to wait till he's home with the kids. They are his pride and joy genuinely.

No matter how over-worked Nanami may be though, when he comes home you are basically on vacation. Insists you rest and he takes over literally everything involving the kids.

"Darling, darling no, I got this covered. You take rest. You know I love spending time with my kids." He says with an earnest smile, both kids in his beefy arms just dangling around and playing with their father. He's definitely exhausted from work, but that never stops him.

• Sukuna •

The King of the Curses, as cruel and terrifying as he is, taking pleasure in all sorts of sickness and treating love as pointless, legitimately likes his kid.

He doesn't care about fatherhood, or the responsibilities that being a parent entails, but it's nice having a mini version of himself around. That he likes. An extension of himself and you, it's nice to have around he doesn't mind it. He may act aloof about it, not outwardly showing affection like hugs or kisses, but he clearly enjoys it.

He gets a massive ego trip when his kids cause chaos and disturbances. Points at them laughing with his belly "See that? That's mine."

Sukuna never minces his words though, and his kids have to get used to his bluntness. Again, he doesn't care for the concept of 'parenting', and will in their face call the kid some extreme insults and weak and they have to learn to take it.

On the flip side, Sukuna also never minces his praise, and Sukuna has an abundance to give his kids. Every accomplishment or show of strength that they show he'll let them know he's proud. A good ol' fashioned fatherly slap to their shoulder while he praises them.

He treasures his children, and even if he doesn't put much effort into parenting them, you taking over most of it, he's definitely a present figure in their lives.

• Toji •

Went to get milk, hasn't been seen since.

#sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #gojo saturo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x you #gojo x you #geto x you #dad!sukuna

929 notes · View notes

sexlapis · 4 months

Note

i know requests are closed and im sorry but i need this so i dont forget 💖 actor!toji looking at edits on live and hes like “so yall see me like this” and the fans go wild

actor!toji on live!

okay i’ll make an exception once.

𝜗𝜚 actor!toji (x implied gn!reader)

sfw, crack, tiktok (bc that’s it’s own warning), suggestive, horny toji fans, toji has reading glasses, petnames (‘kid’) he’s a little rude but when is he not :), old man toji <3

〆(・∀・) : me after not writing abt actor toji for like a month 😊🤗

masterlists

actor toji masterlist

“hey, everybody,” toji said, waving to camera as if he didn’t fumble and struggle in front of his fans for the past ten minutes trying to get his phone to stand up securely. he looks cute, dressed in a navy blue hoodie with nothing underneath and his dark hair was a messy mop atop his head.

now he just sits in his chair at his dining room table, watching the viewer count rise and rise to absolutely ridiculous numbers.

“fourty thousan-fifty thou-sixty thousand?! didn’t know i had so many fans..jesus christ…”

honestly, toji had no idea what he was doing and he was a tiny bit nervous. this was his first ever “live” (something that he did not know even existed until you told him) and he had no idea how to entertain his fans or what they really wanted. but they seem pleased with him just staring at the camera in confusion and admiring his handsome face.

toji proceeds to read some of the comments in the rapid moving chat of chaos. here, starts the beginning of his own demise.

many comments are sweet, kind, praising him for his talent and acting skills, some were just spamming their country flags and names, a rare male fan is asking to see his guns collection, others asking about his upcoming projects but the majority of them are…not exactly PG in the slightest.

toji’s eyes could bulge out of damn skull at some of the explicitly and complete shamelessness of his fans. he knew they found him attractive, but this was a whole other level of depravity.

“what the fuck…” toji whispers in awe, mouth agape as his eyes scan through the chat, his eyes being fed with the most desperate and thirsty comments he has even read, “you guys are sumthin’ else…”

his one sentence just pours fuel on the, already blazing and large, fire, the chat moving so fast that is starts to lag.

“why’d i even speak..”

he actually takes time to read each comment that he can see (and stomach) and one of them catches his eye.

“watch your edits on tiktok? i have edits? what’s an edit?”

the chat blows up even more, commenters begging and begging him to watch these…edits.

“alright, alright, i’ll watch these “edits”,” toji says to the camera, before pulling out another phone, one that is clearly quite old, jagged edges and a cracked camera, a raggedy phone case and just overall not in the best condition it could be in.

“‘what is that ancient ass device’ eh? this is my main phone,” he replies to a comment, showing his phone to the camera to his fans can see, “‘s fine, works perfectly. and it’s not “ancient”. it’s actually a nokia. pft, dumbass kids.”

toji can feel himself being flamed in the chat. even more so when he pulls out his reading glasses.

“yeah, ‘m fuckin’ old. jesus.”

he squints, scrolling on his beaten up phone with his index finger, “y’know, ion even really use tiktok, i only got it so _____ can send me videos of whatever the fuck. i swear, that kid sends me a million videos per day..” toji sighs, smiling at the thought of you, “ahh, they’re just so dumb.”

toji, after a long time of searching through trial and error and directions from his fans, eventually finds the search page of tiktok.

“alright, what’d i type in then? just ‘toji’? ‘toji fushiguro’?” he looks for answers in the chat, but find himself getting frustrated at the lack of actual responses to his question. he tuts, “i’m just gonna search ‘toji fushiguro edits’ and see what happens.”

he does just that and the results are…very interesting.

right in front of his very eyes are miles and miles of edits of himself, created by his fans, their depravity exposed for him to see, some of who were probably watching him at this very moment.

“jeeeeesus christ. ‘dunno what i even expected, honestly,” he scrolls through them, audios changing constantly as he does so, his eyes wide and wondering, “i’m actually impressed…”

toji pressed on one, and he watches it, the edit flashing in the reflection of his glasses as he watches. his open mouth slowly turns into a smirk of amusement and all out disbelief, the audio of the video being something about… ‘needing someone older’?

“so you guys see me like this?” he asked, expression incredulous and he breathes out a small chuckle, “buncha little fuckin’ freaks.”

the chat seems to like that. a lot.

his chat is once again flooded with comments from hell…hell for people driven purely by lust, that is.

toji huffs, “how old is this person anyway?”

he seemingly clicks on the account and reads their username. well, almost.

“‘tojis little cu-woah!” he almost drops his phone out of his hand, jaw on the floor, “how old are you! sixteen?! toji looks to the camera, eyebrows furrowed before slamming his phone on the table and pointing at his fans through the screen, “go do your homework! and be in bed by nine. actually, no scratch that, eight! christ…sixteen years old, oh my god…”

he continues to mutter to himself, completely baffled at how some of his fans are so young and just so…out of their minds. his skin crawls at the thought of a sixteen year old liking him in such a way.

toji shivers, “god, where are your parents?” he questions and continues to search through the edits, before finding one that looks safe, innocent and PG.

he was proven wrong however, when the audio was a woman rapping about being put in full nelsons-

“okay, that’s enough!” he slams his phone down again on the table, “i’ve seen enough,” and then he reaches for the camera, not even caring about his viewers. he mutters a, “crazy fuckin’ kids” before abruptly ending his “live” and going to take a nap.

the next day, you have sent him over ten videos on tiktok, all of them being edits of him from the day of the live, most of them containing the clip of when he called his fans, quote, a “buncha little fuckin’ freaks” unquote.

toji sighs at them, secretly entertained that you must be watching these deviant edits of him too.

〆(・∀・) : no i have not forgotten abt actor toji

#actor!toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fluff #toji crack #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x self insert #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you

849 notes · View notes

kitorin · 8 months

Text

"I need you to be completely honest with me right now."

"What's wrong, Rin?" Another page turns, your eyes remain glued to the novel, head resting on his thighs as his fingers occasionally poke your cheek.

"Am I ugly?"

The question makes you choke on your spit; Itoshi Rin, the very man who had you infatuated at first glance with his prominent eye lashes and his wintry gaze, just asked if he was hideous.

"Who the hell said that?" The surprise makes you sit up, and Rin barely dodges collision with your head. It's common knowledge that he couldn't care less about his appearance, skin and hair care were simply for hygiene, which was all that mattered to him. There's anger heating up at the thought of someone breaking his indifference, and it reveals itself through your speech

"No one, Yukimiya's photographer came for a photo shoot. Everything went well until I noticed the lines on my face."

"Lines?"

He nods "They weren't there before." His fingers ghost over an area near his cheeks. "Apparently they're not supposed to be there." Rin reaches into his pocket, unlocking it and showing you a photo.

It's a photo of him, Hiori and Yukimiya, the three of them grinning whilst being covered in designer brands. Nothing seemed wrong, it's an adorable photo; revealing Rin's typically concealed dimples, eyes squinting with joy, the kind of smile he uses when he's genuinely happy, instead of the polite and subtle one he gives to interviewers.

"I don't see an issue."

"Here." He zooms into his face. "Those things." His lithe fingers point towards the area between the sides of his nose and the corners of his mouth. Smile lines.

"Fans said they shouldn't be there. So, am I ugly now?"

There's a legitimate confusion laced with his tone, and you silently thank how he decided to talk about it with you before believing in whatever comments were left on Instagram.

"First, whatever fans say have no credibility, they're just people on the internet. Second." You climb into his lap again, cupping his cheeks and once again getting lost in the depths of his beryl irises. "Those are called smile lines. You're not ugly for having them, and never will be." His aquamarine eyes gaze back, as you brush a strand of hair out of his face.

"Even if they weren't there before?"

"Of course. They're a sign you're living a life filled with joy and happiness. And that is more beautiful than any beauty standard out there, and so are you." Your thumbs trace the creases, the entirety of your palms can feel the warmth of his cheeks, savouring how the softness contrasts the callousness of your hands. "You're beautiful, you always have been and always will be. Don't listen to anyone who says otherwise."

Your lips plant a kiss on his forehead, and you soon return to admiring every crevice of his face. From the viridescent azure irises and the eyelashes which adorn them, how surprisingly soft and squishy his cheeks are (of course only you'll ever know that).

"Thank you for putting them there then."

"Hm?"

"I never had reasons to smile. Not until I met you."

Anyone can tell Itoshi Rin seldom expresses emotion, let alone joy; but you had always assumed he kept it to himself rather than believe nothing was worth his jubilation.

His hands reach for yours, fingers ghosting over them. "Thank you for brightening my life, for being the reason why I'm able to live so happily." Gently, his hand pries one of yours off his face, placing a kiss on it. "I love you."

Rin smiles; it's soft, exposing his dimples and smile lines, cheeks matching his lips in colour. You're pretty sure you're just as flushed.

A quick peck to his lips (he still tastes like the persimmon haichuu you were eating together earlier) and you swear he somehow grows redder. "Does this mean I'm allowed to have the last ice cream?"

"You're supposed to say it back dumbass. And fuck no, that's mine." Despite his callous language he picks you up into a cradle carry, placing you down besides him, soon making his way to the front door. "What flavours do you want? And what kind and which brand?"

"Awww, I love you too, I want the vanilla and melon soft serve by the way."

Rin scoffs. "Of course you only say it back when I'm doing you a favour." But he's pocketing his wallet, and about to unlock the door to leave. "You're annoying."

"Yet you still love me."

"Are you sure? Because I'm buying every flavour of yukimidaifuku and you're not getting any. Milky candy too." You don't miss the smirk on his face at the sight of your disbelief.

"I hate you."

"Love you too darlin'."

[In the end "you're not getting any" was a lie]

Tagging: @yuzurins

#this was rushed yet it rotted in my drafts for a bit lmfao #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #fluff #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x y/n #bllk fluff #blue lock x you #blue lock fluff #blue lock manga #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic writing #rin fluff #itoshi rin fluff

1K notes · View notes

theemporium · 7 months

Note

🧸 le monagasque x reader’s daughter taking her first steps inside charles’ childhood home

☕️

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

edit: I’m a dumbass who only realised now you said daughter😭I’m so sorry

It had just been like every other Sunday brunch.

With so many Sundays robbed from his family due to the race season, it became something like an unspoken tradition for the Leclerc family to spend non-race weekend Sundays together. Something lighthearted and sweet. Something that helped him put his family first, no matter what was happening on the race track or in the garage.

Once upon a time, it was just Charles and his brothers making their way to their childhood home. Each boy would have their own role to help their mother. Each boy would laugh and smile and bask in something as simple as a meal shared together which wasn’t as easy when they were all around the world.

And in more recent years, there had been a few additions to the Leclerc Family Brunch.

“He looks just like you.”

Charles lifted his head to see his mother standing by the doorway, a warm and kind smile on the older woman’s face as she watched the sight in front of her. Her son sat on the floor of the living room, an array of toys around him and her grandchild crawling around as he happily babbled.

“Really?” Charles asked, a little bashful as his mother’s grin widened.

“It makes me feel twenty years younger,” Pascale joked, a look of adoration on her face as little Adrien Leclerc garbled happily on the floor before tilting his head up to look at her. “He even has your smile. Different eyes though.”

“He has his mother’s perfect eyes,” Charles cooed as he grinned down at his son.

Though you had been more than welcome at the Leclerc household for their Sunday brunches, Charles also knew that you liked to give him some time with his family regardless of what he said. After many weeks of trying to tempt you early on in your relationship, he finally relented and made his own Sunday tradition with you. It started of as a day to just treat yourself at the expense of his card, but soon became your day away from him and Adrien.

Just a day for you to take a breather from the Leclerc men in your life.

“Ah, Maman, look what I taught him,” Charles announced suddenly as he shuffled back until his back was pressed against the couch. “We’ve been practising.”

“Charles,” his mother scolded softly. “He’s your son, not a dog.”

“But he’s so obedient,” he teased playfully before turning his focus back to his son. He spread his legs open and patted the floor in front of him as he called his son’s name. “Adrien, box box!”

Adrien’s head snapped towards his father and he let out a happy giggle like he seemed to realise what was happening. He began to crawl towards his father, a wide and toothless smile spread across his face.

“My smart boy!” Charles praised as his son continued to crawl across the carpet towards him.

“Oh Adrien,” Pascale cheered with a clap. However, her smile faltered slightly when he started to slow down.

Charles' brows furrowed together. “Adrien, come on. Box, box.”

Adrien looked at his father before he stopped fully. But before Charles could even say anything, he was sitting back on the carpet before he began to slowly push himself up onto his feet with the help of the table beside him.

“Maman,” Charles murmured breathlessly, excitement mixed with tears shining in his eyes as he watched his son stare determinedly towards him. Later on, he would be grateful his mother had half the sense to take her phone out while he was so focused on young Adrien.

Charles could only let out a choked, wet laugh as he watched his son take one step and then another and another, and eventually letting go of the table as he took shaky steps towards his father. He could only let an array of mumbled French as his son fell into his arms, quickly hugging the young boy to his chest as he pressed kisses all over his face.

“My smart boy. My smart, smart prince,” he continued to mumble against his chubby cheeks as Adrien squirmed and squealed in his father’s arms. “Oh, I can’t wait to show Mama what you can do, hm? Gonna be a good boy and show her what a smart boy you are? She’s gonna be so excited.”

And truth be told, Charles cried when Adrien walked in front of you too when he caught a glance at your glossy eyes. But he wasn’t ashamed to be emotional about his family.

#cece's slumblurb party #charles leclerc #formula one #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

1K notes · View notes

anghraine · 2 months

Text

It's 11 PM, but one of my favorite little Darcy/Elizabeth moments happens while she still hates him and thinks he's a depraved monster, and I find it really entertaining.

It's during the Kent section, when Darcy calls at the parsonage and finds Elizabeth alone. During a longer, awkward conversation in which they both deeply misunderstand each other, they have this tiny interchange:

[Darcy:] “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr Collins first came to Hunsford.” “I believe she did—and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.” “Mr Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.” “Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding—though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr Collins as the wisest thing she ever did."

So: they are in Mr Collins's house. Darcy tries to re-start the conversation with a polite nothing about the house. Elizabeth agrees about Lady Catherine's micro-managing, but can't resist the chance to make a sly jab at Mr Collins (who is not present) to Darcy (a genuine villain, as far as she believes).

Darcy's reply looks a bit like an attempt to redirect the conversation into safer waters (they can agree that Charlotte is cool!). But although his remark is only somewhat related to what Elizabeth said, I think it's a natural follow-up in his mind because he is also insulting Mr Collins, if more subtly.

He could have praised Mr Collins's judgment in choosing Charlotte or just said something nice about Charlotte; he doesn't. Instead, he suggests that Mr Collins's choice of Charlotte was a matter of good fortune—or chance, as Charlotte herself would say!—on Collins's part. Darcy and Elizabeth both know Collins is a fool and that his choice of a woman like Charlotte says nothing about his judgment, only about his good fortune. (Elizabeth has even better reason than Darcy to know how much Collins ending up with Charlotte was lucky for him, but Darcy can see it anyway.)

Darcy's phrasing gives him some plausible deniability, but I think he's generally quite careful with his wording and the implicit insult to Mr Collins is not accidental.

Elizabeth, I think, takes this exactly as intended. She's not at all confused about where this tangent came from or offended by it or anything. She readily seizes on the new line of conversation as encouragement to keep insulting Mr Collins and his appeal to women with functioning brainpower.

Elizabeth is pretty scrupulously polite in general, so I kind of love that she just starts venting about her absolute contempt for Mr Collins and the Collins/Charlotte marriage to Darcy in the middle of a tense and weird conversation in Mr Collins's house. And I love that Darcy, who is otherwise more or less dog-paddling his way through this conversation, is like "yeah, your friend seems really cool, that dumbass is lucky he accidentally chose someone with a brain."

Elizabeth: "Right? And, let me add-"

(Is it a bit of an asshole move on both their parts in the context of that scene? Yeah, I think a little. I also love it! Please trash-talk obnoxious hosts in their own parlours for the rest of your lives.)

#anghraine babbles #deep blogging #i'm feeling a bit 'don't explain the joke' about ... well. explaining the joke. but it's still funny to me!#darcy and elizabeth are genuinely good people but sometimes they can't help statler and waldorfing it up #austen blogging #pride and prejudice #jane austen #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #otp of otps #sidenote: i don't think darcy and charlotte really interact 'onstage'#but i find it interesting that charlotte (who does not like men) sticks up for him multiple times #and is the one to deduce months before the pemberley scenes that darcy is generally different than she's known him #meanwhile darcy is oblivious to charlotte trying to further his romance with elizabeth but is like ... good vibes tbh #charlotte lucas

639 notes · View notes

toorurs · 24 days

Text

LOVE IS AN OPEN DOOR

synopsis: if you wouldn't know any better you'd think that chuuya nakahara doesn't take a liking to you - he loathes you. but what if one day you make a shocking discovery that it might be the opposite.

pairing: chuuya nakahara x gn!reader | wordcount: 1.2k | content & warnings: im at the first ep of s4, so if chuuya mischaracterized no need to wonder…, school au-ish kind of??, cursing (fuck), dazai teases chuuya for his crush, chuuyas kinda not rly good with his feelings and expressing himself, drinking (chuuya offering to go out and drink), dazai plays cupid/matchmaker

a/n: when i wrote this i didn't have 15 yo dazai or chuuya in mind (cause of the school au yk) just as them idk but interpret it however you like - high school or college wtv, im so obsessed with chuuya rn y'all don't even know, hope u guys enjoy this little thing i've whipped up in an hour

you're convinced that chuuya nakahara hates you.

that's one thing you're sure of. after all, he avoids you like the plague; however when the two of you do get in touch with one another, he starts cursing you out, calling you names such as “dumbass" and abruptly leaves.

yeah, you're pretty sure that that guy dislikes - if not despises you. although until now you've hadn’t had the slightest idea why. well, that was the case up until now.

some days have passed since you started noticing it. every time you hung out with dazai and started laughing a bit too loudly at his jokes or lightly slapped his shoulder, chuuya gave you a death stare - if you wouldnt know any better he looked like he’d grab your throat any minute to shut you up.

admittedly (and also embarrassedly) you never really noticed it until dazai has pointed it out. which, on one hand, explains the weird feeling you’ve recently gotten - it felt like someone was shooting daggers at the back of your head, luckily for you, that’s solved now.

but on the other hand, you still demand an explanation why chuuya would do that. is it simply because of his (one-sided) hatred towards you, that can’t be the case right? or did he have a huge crush on dazai, that’s the most realistic explanation that you can think of.

once school ended and the bell had just rung to release everyone from their classes and go back home. you’d usually scurry home right away, because there was no point in staying longer, after all who’d want to endure this hell house also known as school more than necessary, it's no use right?

well jokes on you, staying over time was definitely worth it. kunikida assigned you the task (forced) to carry a huge stack of boxes full of documents and paper to your homeroom teacher's room, because it was the “right” thing to do - well at least according to his ideals.

“but what about dazai? that idiot just ran off and is probably slacking off right now!” you protested, because it's not fair when everyone has a task to complete and someone else just gets to relax, right?

at your complaint the blond could only scoff “i’ll scold him later, but for now let's just concentrate on the task in front of us, time is running out.”

that’s how you ended up here, back pressed against the heavy classroom door that separated you and the two guys that were inside the room as you tried to listen in into their conversation.

initially your plan was to find dazai, drag him by the collar of his white button up and beat his ass for skipping and leaving you alone with a ton of boxes that not only cost you ten minutes to carry around or so.

because neither kunikida or anyone else didn’t bother to tell you that there were three, fucking three, of those staples of boxes that were filled with countless papers.

however, it came to a change of plans upon hearing chuuyas’ voice. usually, any sound that was made inside of the classrooms was drowned out and barely audible to hear outside the room.

this time, that didn’t seem to be the case though. chuuyas’ screaming and dazais' hysterical laughter were faint but loud enough to hear from outside the room.

“come on chuuya, there's no need denying it, you have a massive crush on them.” dazais’ voice was laced with amusement as he started laughing out loud which seemed to piss the redhead off.

you were able to hear a small huff that escaped dazais mouth. “chuuya, there’s really no need to start getting all violent, just admit that you’re absolutely whipped for them!” the brunette chuckled. “so stop kicking me in the balls!” that probably earned him another kick as you could hear dazai letting out a small “ouch.”

“shut up, shitty dazai.” the guy in question only snickered at that. “yeah, yeah. everyone’s able to tell that you’re madly in love with them. every time you’re around them you start to get beet red, the color even exceeds the one of your hair! a hilarious sight to look at, really.”

you didn’t hear a response from chuuya and apparently neither did dazai so he just continued his rant. “also, let me tell you one thing, you’re not making it any better by cussing them out or intently staring at them, that’s just scary, man!” dazai closes his eyes and starts shaking his head before tutting in disappointment.

“oh chuuya. the brunette sighs, eyes still closed. “letting a beauty like them slip away this easily by not showing any proper interest. you’re to be pitied, really.” the male moves away from his previous position and bolts over to the door, crossing his arms as his back leans against the door.

an exasperated sigh leaves chuuyas mouth. “what do you expect me to do then? they probably have a horrible impression of me already. if i pull up with a bouquet of roses and some cliché pick up lines, they’d probably stare at me in horror, wondering if i got possessed or something.” he sneers at dazai.

just who in the world are they talking about?

dazai pretends to think for a moment before snapping his fingers. “well for starters, how about greeting them, doesn’t even have to be verbal, just some waving or nodding. then start hanging out with them!”

“idiot! how's that supposed to work from just greeting each other!” the ginger scowls at dazai.

“hold your horses.” the brunette whistles. “i didn't say to rendez-vous and have a candle-light dinner. how about accepting those group invites first that you keep declining. then you’d have the chance to meet up with them more often and get to know them.”

dazai continues to advise chuuya by giving him tips and recommendations “try bonding over stuff with each other, like favorite shows or food. and if you’re not incapable of doing so, how about complimenting them. wouldn't hurt you know?” dazai shrugs in simplicity.

chuuyas still skeptical “assumingly that was the case. the two of us attending the same party, they’re alone and i finally get the chance to approach them, what the fuck am i supposed to say?” dazai only smiles at chuuya, a look that says “that’s up to you.”

“why not use me as your lab rat!” dazai suggests optimistically.

“no way in hell!” chuuya shoots back pessimistically.

after pondering and musing for a while, chuuya comes up with a curt sentence. “i find you really good looking and cool.” the redhead stops and both you and dazai await his continuation in anticipation. “wanna go out and grab drinks sometimes?” chuuya doesn’t look up from the floor which he’s been staring at for the past minute. the tips of his ears tinted in a vermillion red.

“well, that wasn't so hard was it?” dazai asks cheerily, clapping his hands together. “if you still have doubts, how about you try it on the real thing now?” and before you can realize what's going on dazai swiftly steps away from the door before grabbing the door handle and opens the door, revealing your figure to the two guys.

you’re not sure who's more taken aback, you or chuuya.

e/n: as y’all can tell the title is inspired by frozen's love is an open door cause y’know dazai opens the door for chuuya to confess his feelings. does this make sense lol??

#toorurs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fluff #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara x you #chuuya nakahara fluff #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya fluff #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x gender neutral reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x gn reader #bungo stray dogs x you #chuuya bsd #bsd chuuya

408 notes · View notes

caelivir · 2 months

Text

red lips, dying for a kiss | rayne ames

— synopsis. in which rayne discovers that red lip combos are his weakness.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. university au, friends-ish to lovers, rayne has a little bit of a crush

— word count. 2.3k

— warnings. very brief violence mention in the beginning, alcohol consumption (rayne and reader are 21 in this), making out (i tried to keep it brief), ooc rayne but he’s kinda drunk so

— notes. breaking theme for this one but it’s okay. i wanted to drop this on valentine’s day… clearly that didn’t work out. also as i go to post this hidden lights reached 1k notes which is absolutely insane to think of. thank you for giving it so much love. anyway, happy 100 followers! thanks for sticking with me. enjoy!

dedicated to all the rayne girlies. i pray we find (or already have) a man like him. ♡

ryoh’s parties are always a bad idea. rayne can’t count the number of times something has gone wrong. cops show up. someone locks every single bathroom from the inside. a dumbass jumps off the roof and into the pool. any incident you could think of has probably happened. the last one rayne went to nearly got him screwed over when he fought against a guy picking on his brother, and it was not pretty (for the other guy) to say the least.

from that moment on, rayne had made the decision to never attend another one of ryoh’s parties. it doesn’t matter who begged him or what the circumstances were. no one was going to change his mind on that.

unfortunately, ryoh grantz would not have that. it took three days and a two hundred dollar bribe to convince rayne to go because who would he be if not taking advantage of the rich.

so that’s where he finds himself now, standing in a circle with his friends as music blasts in ryoh’s mansion. they talk about who knows what as rayne wishes he could go home. he has to see it out though because this would be the easiest two hundred dollars he would ever make.

his second red solo cup of the night is filled with some unknown (but surprisingly delicious) concoction that sits untouched. he swirls the cup around in his hand, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

rayne chugs his entire drink down, setting the empty cup on the first surface he finds before mumbling an excuse of having to use the bathroom, not caring whether his friends heard it or not. he stops by the kitchen to rummage through a cooler, skin freezing as he digs through the ice. he finds two cans of a beer brand that he likes.

he weaves through the crowd in the living room, trying his best to not bump into anyone or spill any drinks because the last thing he needs is another altercation.

unfortunately for him, life always has a curveball in store for him.

“hey, look! (y/n)’s here!” someone had yelled, causing people to push closer towards the front door. the flow carries him closer despite his protests.

the half blonde finds you easily. it’s hard to miss your bright smile, even in a room surrounded by dozens. a crowd surrounds you and your group of friends. they greet you with hellos, offer drinks, and fight for your attention. you try your best to address everyone as you and your friends inch closer to the dance floor.

rayne knows you. your friend groups overlap often so he was bound to meet you at one point. you're popular around campus, known for your friendly nature, kind acts, and most of all, you're known for your beauty. he hears about a new attempt to gain your affection almost weekly. you never seem to accept them for some odd reason. it doesn't matter who it is. the d1 basketball prodigy? the rich girl in your philosophy class? they'd be rejected all the same. your lack of care for relationships has sparked up rumors, but even those never seem to faze you.

as for his opinion on you, rayne acutally likes you, which is a rare feat considering that the half-blonde cannot stand the presence of most people. but in this case, he likes you. he has the smallest of crushes that he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone except his brother, maybe.

in the times your paths had crossed, you had been an easy person to be around, never doing anything to irritate him and always trying to include him in every conversation and activity. it makes him feel all warm inside. the thought of it brings the ghost of a smile onto his face.

he also can't deny that you are indeed one of the most beautiful people that he's ever come across. you would have to be a fool to try and deny that. it's a little shallow on his part to like you partly for your looks, but he can't help it when your smile has the power to blind angels.

"rayne?" your head tilts, surprise written all over your face. he locates two shots in your hands. "woah, i'm surprised you're here! people said you wouldn't come to these anymore!"

rayne is barely to pick up the sound of your voice over all the music. "got paid to be here." he speaks loudly, avoiding yelling as much as he can.

"well, that's one way to get someone to come to a party." you giggle.

it's at this point where rayne closely inspects your face. his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips, colored in a combination of reds. he's never seen it on you before, and paired with the rest of the makeup on your face, it stands out, commands attention.

and it looks… really fucking good. rayne takes the sight of you in fully. yeah, you look really fucking good tonight. the half-blonde gulps, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

"take this with me!" you urge rayne, holding out a plastic shot glass to him.

unwilling to bring himself to say no to you, rayne sighs, accepting it. the two of you raise your glasses up in a silent toast before pressing the plastic to his lips, tilting his head back, and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. it burns. it tastes horrid on his tastebuds. the half-blonde scrunches his nose in disgust, and you take the empty glass from him, how you went unbothered by such a disgusting beverage is beyond him.

as much as rayne wishes he could be with you, he desperately longs to find someplace quiet. the bass of the music pounds against his head. "i'll see you around, (y/n). have fun tonight. be safe." rayne says.

"oh okay. see you rayne." you frown, but maybe that's just the lighting messing with him. he swears there's disappointment laced in your voice, but that could also just be the alcohol playing games with him.

rayne makes his way upstairs. he prays that he won't barge into people having sex. luckily for him, it's still early, and the room that he chooses, the one at the very end of the hall, is empty. he relaxes the moment he locks the door as if a weight was being lifted off him.

the half-blonde sets his unopened beers onto the nightstand and lies on the made bed. he stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, contemplating his life choices. his thoughts drift to you and your gorgeous lips, but he’s quick to dismiss them. when he’s finished with that, he cracks open his first beer, leaving a ring of condensation on the nightstand, and opens up his phone.

the next hour or so is spent watching compilations of bunnies and sipping on his beers. it’s perfectly fine like this. save for the bass of the music bouncing against the walls, it’s peaceful. he feels the effects of the alcohol he drank humming in his veins. it puts him into a lighter mood. however, that peace is disturbed when there’s a loud pounding on the door.

“what the hell?” rayne mumbles under his breath. did someone confuse this room for the bathroom? the half-blonde pulls himself out of bed, unlocks the door, and cracks it open just a little bit to see who it is.

“rayne, is that you? oh my god, please let me in.” you beg, clasping your hands together in prayer.

confused, but without any complaint, he allows you into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

you practically collapse on the edge of the bed, and rayne can sense that something is amiss.

“are you alright?” he asks cautiously, standing a foot away from you.

“do you ever just get sick of people?” you ponder suddenly, shooting to sit straight up.

“sure.” rayne shrugs, still unmoving from his spot.

“you can’t tell anyone i told you this,” you point at him with narrowed eyes, voice slurred. “swear you won’t.”

“i won’t.”

“good.” you nod. “as i was saying, i get so sick of people sometimes. being popular is fucking exhausting. i don’t know how much longer i can keep up with this. i swear i can’t enjoy things on my own time without people barging in or commenting on it.

“i can’t sit on a couch to catch my breath without people wanting to talk to me. not that that’s bad of course, i love talking to people, but christ, just back up a bit. like can’t they just take a hint and realize that i don’t want to talk? do you get that?”

rayne nods. “must be rough.”

“it is,” you groan and then sigh, standing up to dust off your clothes. you stumble from dizziness after having gotten up too fast. however, you shake the feeling out. “sorry, i shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. that was a stupid thing to complain about.”

“no, it wasn’t.” rayne argues. “people who are always in your space are fucking annoying. i would know so there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.” at this point, he could tell the alcohol is doing its number on him, making him more vocal and bold.

“do i annoy you, rayne?” you ask, eyelashes batting at him, this innocent worry behind your eyes. it drives him mad.

“no.” he says sternly, inching closer, his gaze falling to your crimson lips. that damn red lipstick. he wonders what would happen if he were to mess it up. what would happen if he were to ruin that precise lining of color? what you let him cross that line? in his tipsy state of mind, he wants to find out.

“are you sure? because i know whenever we see each other i kinda cling to you, but if that bothers you, just let me know. really it’s no-” you ramble before rayne cuts you off.

“i want to kiss you.” the half-blonde mutters. his eyes stare deep into your own. your eyebrows raise in shock.

"huh?"

"i want" rayne's hand flexes at his side as he exhales, resisting the urge to touch you. "to kiss you."

"why?" you whisper so quietly that he almost didn't hear you.

maybe this is a reckless decision. maybe he shouldn't be risking a friendship with a drunken mind, but honestly in the moment, he really couldn't care less. he can regret it in the morning if things fell apart.

"i like you." rayne admits.

a moment of silence falls onto the room. you stare and stare, sinking your eyes deep into rayne’s as his confession weighs further down onto you.

“oh thank god.” you exhale, pulling rayne in by his shirt.

rayne practically melts into the feeling of your lips, soft against his own. he can taste faint traces of alcohol on you. he places his hands on your hips to press your bodies together. his palms explore your figure, circling around your lower back, trailing upwards to your ribs and back down to your waist. your hands entangle themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan out of him.

kissing you is a feeling like no other. it’s straight euphoria, maybe even something greater than that. the butterflies flap violently on his stomach. fireworks ignite his blood. being with you is like soaring across the sky.

you deepen the kiss, exploring each other with such desperation that it makes you dizzy. his tongue moves against yours in perfect sync, as if it were a choreographed dance. by the time you pull away to catch air, you and rayne are breathless, huffing as the half-blonde rests his forehead against yours.

you beautiful red lipstick is now smeared across your mouth, staining at the corners and below the chin. rayne pulls his head back. his fingers graze over your lips, admiring the mess. he’s sure it transferred onto him as well.

“you got something right there.” you joke, pointing at him.

“shut up.” he whispers. however, a smile breaks out onto his face, betraying his words.

“so,” you say, snaking your arms around the half-blonde’s waist. “the rayne ames has a crush on me? i never thought i’d see the day.”

he hums as confirmation. “would i be wrong to guess that you like me too?”

“no.” you grin. “in fact, you’d be one hundred percent right.”

“wonderful.” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss. you turn your head, having him miss your mouth entirely.

“i’m starting to believe you only like me so you could have a make out partner.” you tease, causing the half-blonde to sigh at your antics.

“i like you because you’re kind.”

he pecks one cheek.

“because you’re fun.”

he pecks the other.

“because you’re intelligent.”

he presses his stained lips to your forehead.

“because you’re so beautiful.”

rayne kisses the tip of your nose.

“my beautiful, (y/n).” he mumbles with a barely noticeable slur, cupping your face.

“you should drink more often. i like this side of you.” you comment, looking up at him with a gaze that drives him crazy.

“please just let me kiss you again.” rayne quietly begs, his mouth centimeters from yours.

“kiss me whenever you want.” you whisper before colliding with him once more.

in the morning, ryoh has to pick the lock to get into the guest bedroom. he stumbles in pissed off and ready to blow up on the person who dared to put him through such a hassle.

however, the sight he walks into flips his mood instantly. ryoh finds you and rayne tangled in each other’s arms completely knocked out. upon closer inspection, he notes the matching lipstick stains on both of your mouths, and a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

the blonde man pulls out his phone, snapping pictures in different angles to solidify this moment in history.

“he better thank me for this.” ryoh says to himself before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

#anime #manga #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle x reader #rayne ames #rayne x reader #rayne ames x reader #from kor ; ♆

577 notes · View notes

luvring · 4 months

Text

THE MOST ATTRACTIVE PERSON IN THE ROOM

timeskip iwaizumi x gn!reader ft. msby + osamu, akaashi | 1.5k words, swearing, implied alcohol, suggestive?

“okay, iwaizumi, i dare you to…” hinata drawls, tapping the wooden floor beneath him—the beat of the song that he’s gotten stuck in everyone’s heads today, you note.

“hmmm….”

“this is why we can’t play truth or dare with you, shoyo.” atsumu groans, though there’s a lopsided smile that accompanies it, before taking a sip of his drink. condensation drips down the side and he wipes it with the sleeve of his jacket.

“as if you didn’t steal my dare idea last turn!”

“can’t steal somethin’ that was never yours in the first place.”

“huh? i literally said it out loud.”

“i thought it before y’said it.”

“what?!”

“holy shit, get back to the dare.” osamu snorts and throws a pillow at their heads. “’m gonna have to retire by the time hinata comes up with 3 syllables.”

you laugh softly from your spot on the couch above. hajime snickers next to you, his arm hanging loosely above you.

not around you, of course. just above, on the couch, close enough to brush your head every time you lean a little too far back—which is why you’ve curled further into the edge instead, feet tucked under the throw blanket you had gifted hinata a few months earlier.

emboldened by the conversation as distraction, you let your eyes shift to loom at him. his cheeks are flushed, and eyes crinkled as he watches his team in amusement. there’s an almost empty drink in his left hand, more clinking ice than beverage. but he brings it to his lips to take another sip, and you watch, and you wish you could stop watching, but your eyes seem fixated on his lips as they meet the edge of his glass, and the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

the sound of bickering is muffled, and you should look away, really, it’d be embarrassing if he caught you, but he’s scratching the side of his neck, and he looks really good, and—

“okay, fine, iwaizumi.” hinata brings your focus back to the room and stares with sudden determination. “i dare you to kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

the two stare at each other. no immediate snarky remark or laughter follows.

you blink.

you think everyone blinks, actually.

your eyes flicker to hajime again, and you watch his mouth again, though this time it opens and closes twice, three times, as if words would appear if it silently lured them. “...i—what?”

“pfft—”

“don’t feel like getting kissed tonight, sorry, bro. alright, bo, you’re up next, right?”

“oh! yeah, wait, we’re skipping iwa?”

“oh, shut up, ’tsumu, like yer dumbass is the most attractive person in here.”

“i am, actually. objectively, even.”

“you have a twin, atsumu.”

“not seein’ your point here ’kaashi?”

“y’callin’ me ugly?”

“technically jus’ less attractive, but yeah, yer ugly.”

“guys,” you warn. you think bokuto’s still confused on who’s turn it is, while osamu’s put his drink down and sitting up straighter. “drop it. and hajime, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“yeah, but you’ll have to take a shot,” atsumu interjects.

“thought you as the self-proclaimed ‘most attractive person’ were gonna stop him anyway. was he supposed t’drink a shot if he picked ya?”

“no, we would’ve both taken shots.”

hajime raises a brow. “what? as the guy who’s supposed to have the dare—what the hell kind of logic is that? you know what—”

he lets out an exasperated sigh and moves his arm from behind you to rest on his thigh. and it’s not like it was touching you in the first place, but the vacancy makes the back of your neck feel a little colder. “fuck it, i’m tipsy enough.”

“fine, y’can kiss my cheek—”

“i’m not kissing you, atsumu,” hajime just less than growls.

atsumu puts his hands up in surrender while hinata snickers, and you think osamu’s building up to an “i told you so,” but you’re too busy watching the man next to you to really know.

there’s tension in his shoulders as he places his glass on his coaster—one of two that have actually been used, the other drinks leaving rings of water in their place. it’s a wonder that hinata has any in the first place.

your eyes move from his leg that’s started to bounce, to his hands that start to fiddle with the watch on his wrist, and then his mouth where he bites a lip.

and then they move up again, just a little higher, to his eyes—

which are already set on you.

neither of you say anything. but then his eyes flicker down to your lips, and a quick heat builds in your face, your ears, your neck. something in you thinks it must be a joke, but hajime’s already flushed face turns more red, and the (big) part of you that has a crush on him is just a little happy it seems to be because of you.

there’s no time to process that further though, his silence is enough to get the attention of the others anticipating his choice.

atsumu only looks between the both of you for a second before clapping his hands together. “ohh, ohoho—”

“ooh, iwa!”

“huh? ohh—”

“can you guys be normal for 2 minutes?” sakusa sighs and leans back into his chair, deciding to stare at the ceiling instead of his teammates if only for a moment. “and if you two are going to kiss, can you do it faster before my brain shuts down?”

“rude.”

hajime ignores them and clears his throat before facing you properly, shifting so one leg is propped on the couch underneath him. taking it as your cue, you sit up and collect your blanket to one side.

the room hasn’t been this quiet since you arrived first and offered to help set up. but it isn’t suffocating—the quiet is a buzz, and seems to sit in anticipation just as much as you.

“can i?” hajime asks softly.

you nod, your only hesitation is in wondering if he’s serious.

but even a little hesitation is enough. his lips purse, and a concerned crinkle appears between hajime’s brows that you almost want to reach to smooth out, its existence, you promise, unnecessary. he says your name. “seriously, we don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

you’re shaking your head before he’s done his sentence. “it’s okay, haji.”

“ooh, haji—”

“shuddup, ’tsumu.”

“is it weird i feel awkward watching this?”

“aw, c’mon, ’ji, they’re cute.”

the conversation is an odd comfort as it dulls the sharp attention on you, the tension your body seems to hold everywhere.

hajime moves closer, shrinking the gap between you until your legs touch and you can count the inches between you on two hands. his cologne is easy to notice, and you wish you could pinpoint the fragrant notes, maybe write them down in your head to look for later. (you wonder if that's a weird thing to do.)

the lips your eyes had lingered on maybe a dozen times just tonight are a lot easier to watch as his tongue pokes out to lick them. subconsciously, you do the same.

then a hand comes up, hesitates before finding place on your cheek, and you let yourself lean into its touch. it’s odd—how you wished the arm behind you on the couch would accidentally move a little closer just a few minutes ago, and now your face is being held instead. you wonder if you could ever get used to it.

for a split (embarrassing) second, you even let yourself wonder what it would be like to wake up to the same touch and owner in bed beside you.

hajime looks at you, and you smile when your eyes lock. and maybe it’s your own drink kicking in, but you reach for his free hand to lace your fingers in between his as you nod once more, look at his lips one more time.

his chest rises as he takes a deep breath.

“seriously, guys, if ya don’t kiss already ’samu’s gonna start going bald.”

“the fuck?”

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you or the warm breath that hits hajime’s skin, nor can you fully get rid of the smile on your face as hajime murmurs what sounds like a “for fuck’s sake,” beneath one of his own and leans in.

and then he kisses you.

and you think there’s cheering, clapping and something about losing a bet on who’d kiss who first.

but it doesn’t matter—not while you’re finally finding out how soft hajime’s lips are, while his grip on your hand tightens, while his thumb rubs your skin and fingers moves closer to the back of your neck to pull you closer, closer.

your free hand comes to wrap around his shoulder, and he lets go of the other to reach around your back. somewhere in the back of your head you wonder how long (how deep?) a kiss is acceptable in front of an audience, but you can hear, feel, hajime take a deep breath as he pulls you close enough that his chest is pressed against yours, and you think the others can look away themselves when it’s too much—there’s someone more important to you.

me after writing atsumu myself: wow he's so funny silly stupid 🫶 mann i don’t necessarily Want to know about perfumes and alcohol until i’m writing a fic and go ah. what the hell is a good scent. like girl what is Cedarwood ? not everyone can smell like..mint and vanilla. and how am i supposed to know what this guy would drink when all i’ve had is soju with raspberry gingerale / mango concentrate. which is rlly good btw. yummy...

🏷️| @devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @spooky1magazine1bread @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @tooruchiiscribs @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist @libbyistired @milkbreadforlife @itsukkie @sirimirihiro @mylahrins @aria-chikage @heyitstial @akari-fujikawa

#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x gn!reader #writing kisses is so. yknow ud think w the amnt of fluff i write id get it by now. i dont though unfortunately. its always a little awkward #ouaahhhh.....whatever... he kisses u soo good he goes smoochy kiss kiss mwah smooch mwah #bkak r together in this in my mind btw. my cutiepies...

1K notes · View notes